Do what'cha gotta do

I think that when I look at DJ and say, "caaaareful," in that way that moms do, it makes whatever he is doing 1,000 times more attractive to him. As I've said before, of course, this is especially true of the stairs. Also, I think DJ wakes up every morning these days thinking, "I have GOT to get my mom to TAKE ME OUT OF THIS HOUSE." Like the rest of us, he does not want any more of this:

What our yard looks like, several days into spring.

Thursday was especially bad. I couldn't get anything done, because DJ was crying and clinging to my legs unless I was supervising Stair Time. This meant no folding laundry or picking up the hundreds of stray toys, let alone working on technical reports or dissertation proposals. So finally, I taught DJ how to do this:

DJ on a chair.

Now, you might be thinking, "really, this is a solution to your problem? Climbing on furniture?" Well, yes. Here's why. First of all, while DJ climbed on and off the chair and opened the pretend microwave, I made cornbread and lentil-barley stew and brushed my teeth. Also, the worst thing that can happen if DJ falls off this chair is...I don't know...breaking a bone? It's nice soft carpet. If he falls down the stairs--the stairs that are carpeted on the top half and hardwood on the bottom half, with unforgiving ceramic tile at the end--he could die. So, totally worth it. And there's this:

The as-of-late-elusive happy DJ.