A few days ago we had an intervention. Or, depending on how you look at it, an exorcism. Either way, the coffeemaker had to go.
It was impossibly cute the first 10 times Colt dragged one of us by the hand into the kitchen to demonstratively point at the coffeemaker. It was bearable the first 100 times. But after that, we had to take action. So we did what any reasonable, judicious parents of a toddler might do if faced with such a dilemma.
We hid his toys.
Not his toys, obviously. But the one thing he just can't seem to get enough of since Grandpa left town. That damn coffeemaker.
Out of respect for future, mature adult Colt I did not capture on video the, ahem, range of emotions he experienced when denied the opportunity (every 2 minutes) to "make" coffee. It wasn't pretty. And all it took was a 5 second exchange of his furious pointing and my no-nonsense face making. Recipe for disaster.
I guess I should be grateful for all his "helping" around the house. I mean, he's practically running the place. He helps me do laundry on Sundays by dragging his hamper from his room all the way across the house to the laundry room, handing me its contents piece by piece, then dragging the empty hamper back to its spot beside the changing table in his room. Trust me when I tell you it's every bit as adorable as it sounds.
And helping make coffee topped the list of favorite household chores. So now that the coffeemaker has found a new home at the back of the bottom shelf of the pantry, Colt is lost. He's old enough and aware enough to remember what used to be on the counter (and how much FREAKING fun it was to play with). So he still makes regular trips to the kitchen, but he has some new material. Now, when he rounds the corner and sees the empty countertop, he loosens his grip on my index finger, stops in his tracks, and points anyway – while giving me a really confused look. Then I give him the brilliant explanation I worked long and hard on last week while counting to ten during one of his "displays of emotion".
"It's all gone," I say.
Confused look continues.
"Yep. All Gone."
Then he looks up at me through his bangs and juts both arms out to his sides, palms up. You know, like this:
"That's right. The coffeemaker is all gone."
I have no idea who taught him this universal sign for all things pitiful. But I think it's awesome and I really have to concentrate on making the no-nonsense face when he does this. And it's WAY cuter than the crumpled puddle of howling toddler that used to happen every time I cruelly refused to pick him up and let him make a cup of coffee no one had any intention of drinking.
Incidentally, the "all gone" pictured above is in reference to the water that finished draining out of the tub only moments before. His little feet were beyond pruney and he showed no interest in getting out of the tub to finish getting ready for night-night. So I combined every scrap of parenting wisdom I have and deployed my new go-to plan. I let the water out of the tub, then looked at him like I was just as shocked as he was. Scoff! What happened to the water?
You guessed it.