A while back, I bought Mitchell a giant tub of foam stickers. And he taught me that I can’t be trusted to make decisions. He climbed the shelves to get them, and, while the stickers were mostly placed on the paper, the paper backings went everywhere. Every. Where. It was bad. So, I got that all cleaned up (he made efforts to help) and swore I’d never make that mistake again.
Until yesterday, when Target had a book of Sesame Street stickers on clearance. I thought it would be fine. He can’t peel them off the paper himself, so he had to being them to me to do. Perfect, right? Until I’m stuck on the couch. He started bringing them to me and running back to the dining room with them. But that’s where his easel is, so I didn’t think much of it. Playing nicely, I thought! Look at me, rocking the two children, I thought!
He was so darn proud of himself, too.