Kid Behind Bars

My child has become a danger to himself and society. He's Trouble-Makin' Tommy, the boy who doesn't sleep at night and yet still musters up the charisma to give his Ma a devilish grin as the day starts. He's rarin' to go, crawling across the beds to play with the Venetian blinds and then explore the terrain until I save him from catapulting himself off the edge. Once he's down on the ground, he scoots towards live outlets, casting a smile in my direction. "No, Tommy, NO!"

Then it's onto the fan. Why not grab the fan, looming high above like a glorious conquest? "Tommy, NO!"

So we head upstairs. And he's off...zipping around the kitchen, he opens up the heavy metal drawer underneath the stove, clambering pots and pans into one another until til I pick him up. "No, Tommy! That's dangerous." He heads for another drawer as I slurp down my coffee. His fingers pull this once open and he strains to pull it out with all his weight. Except he doesn't quite have control, so his fingers soon are trapped in the shut drawer and he screams uncontrollably.

The poor kid.

It's gotten to the point where I can not leave Tommy for a split second without worrying that he'll find The Most Dangerous Item in the household. Whether he's stuffing Kleenex wads into his mouth or grabbing Grandma's glass frame of Claudia precariously---yet artfully---displayed on the lowest shelf, this kid is a danger.

And now he's behind bars.