Trouble afoot

Some kids are really good at entertaining themselves with toys or books or crafts.

Brynn is not one of them.

When her brother and sister are away, she constantly interrupts me. “Mom, will you watch me dance?” “Will you put on Katy Perry?” “Mom, read me this book.” “Mom! What does this say?”

When the questions reach two-dozen in number, I lose it. “Find something to do,” I’ll say. “On your own!

And she does.

But it’s never good.

Take the situation today. Brynn dished up rapid-fire questions and demands, and eventually I snapped. She went outside to pet the cat. I basked in the peace.

But almost instantly, it was too quiet. I hollered for Brynn and surveyed theĀ view from the window.

It felt like a scene from theĀ Where’s Waldo? books. I looked and looked.

Finally, I spotted Waldo.

Lurking 14 feet up a tree.

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I don’t know how she scrambled up so quickly, but she would’ve completed the ascent, had I not opened the window and shouted, “Stop!”

I fetched Martin for back-up. Together, we coaxed her down, branch by branch.

Now, I am an only child and as a kid, I’d pester my parents relentlessly. And my father would often say, “Why don’t you play in the street? Go steal some hubcaps! Go climb a tree!”

I alway knew that he was joking; I never took him seriously.

But with Brynn?

I’m not sure I’d test that theory.

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