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LIZ DREIER | More adventures at the beach

I settled down with the baby monitor, listening to my grandson singing and talking to his stuffed animals. All of a sudden there was silence, and I thought he had finally gone to sleep. The next thing I heard was the sound of furniture moving followed by the patter of little bare feet. 
Liz Dreier Column 08312020
Liz Dreier

Recently, I wrote about how beach life didn’t exactly agree with our grandson, aka, Wonder Boy.

I guess I should say he didn’t agree with beach life. We never figured out what the problem was. The waves? The wind? The sand? Pretty much everything we loved about the beach he hated. Except for the beach house. That was his sanctuary, and he was happy to stay there with his toys, books, and cartoons.

One day, after a very short trip to the beach, we brought him back to the house for lunch and a nap. It was my turn to stay behind, so I settled down with the baby monitor, listening to my grandson singing and talking to his stuffed animals. All of a sudden there was silence, and I thought he had finally gone to sleep.

The next thing I heard was the sound of furniture moving followed by the patter of little bare feet on a tiled floor. I stood at the top of the stairs looking down. There was little Houdini, looking back at me with a big smile on his face.

“Hi!” he said.

“Did you get out of bed all by yourself?”  I asked.

“Yeah!” he admitted proudly.

He took off for his parent’s room at warp speed. I caught him in the act of freeing his dog, Rita, from her crate, but I put the kibosh on that plan.

“Nope,” I told him, “Rita needs a nap and so do you.”

I put him back in the portable crib, gave him a big hug, and went upstairs. About 30 seconds later, I heard the unmistakable sounds of an escape artist plying his trade. I found the culprit standing in the hallway, looking cute but guilty.

More hugs and kisses, then back in the crib he went. I made him lie down, covered him and his stuffed toys with a blanket, and told them all to have a nice nap.

Then I stood outside his door and waited. This time, it took him less than 30 seconds to escape. He opened the door, saw me standing there, and slammed the door in my face. I opened the door in time to see him slip from one of the twin beds into his crib.

“Show me how you got out of bed,” I told him.

He grabbed the cover on the twin bed and hoisted himself out of the porta crib. Over the course of the next half hour, he performed that stunt over and over, whether or not I was in the room to watch him.

When his mom and dad got back from the beach, he greeted them at the door. He was excited to show off his escape routine to a new audience. They were not amused.

I didn’t have the heart to tell them this was the beginning of a new adventure in parenthood. They’ll find out soon enough.

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