Where Did It Go?

Ah, my son has theatrical ambitions. At least, that is what I am telling myself. Either that or we are entering the stage when he will soon begin to lie to me in earnest to save his behind.

Recently, we've been playing a game he calls, "Where did it go?" It started at the dinner table with Daddy or someone hiding their hands up their sleeves and saying, "Where did it go?" It graduated to Daddy throwing Toddler over his shoulders in a potato sack carry and saying, "Where did he go?" This is a most captivating game (for some people). We can play it behind the shower curtain while on the potty, when drying off from the bath ... the possibilities are endless!

Heck, even my cats play this game sometimes when they hide themselves behind the venetian blinds (back when I was still silly enough to have floor length window coverings). The difference between the cats and Toddler is that the cats really do think that no one can see them when they are behind the curtains. (Lump? What lump? No one back here but us sunbeams! What tail? That's not my tail sticking out. I don't have a tail.)

Unfortunately, "Where did it go?" has quickly become, "I don't know where it is!" Toddler thinks this is a great game. He takes his toy whatever and puts it behind something and says, "Where did it go? I don't know where it is." Okay, this is funny, and maybe a little bit cute the first few times. The big cheesy grin on his face is wider than a cheshire cat when he starts. I'm in luck so far ... Toddler has a worse, Fib Face than DH does, although Toddler still has a long time yet to grow out of it.

"I don't know where it is," becomes a tad frustrating in stores when I let him take one car with him to hold down the urge to pick up everything in sight. The game is downright irritating when it has to do with where he put my shoes when we're trying to get out the door. Oh, yes. Did I fail to mention that Toddler likes to wear my shoes everywhere? Combine wearing Mommy's shoes all over the house with a typical toddler's short term memory, with the urge to play the game, "I don't know where it is," and we have the recipe for a disaster.

Maybe, just maybe, this game will be the final straw that makes me walk my shoes up to the closet rather than kicking them off by the front door.

Ah, probably not. I have other shoes.