Trouble (with a D in it)

It has been 20 days since I have blogged.  That may be a record, and not in a good way.  I've spent time pondering why that is, especially since I've actually had more time lately, and I've come to a few conclusions:

• Instagram shareable via Facebook means less posts just to share one picture.
• I've taken up working out, and that is taking up my mornings (my best blogging time).
• It is January, and I really don't feel like doing much of anything that isn't essential.

But mostly, I think this is the most accurate conclusion:

More time = less excitement = less blogging.

But lest I neglect the blog entirely, Dylan is doing his fair share to create excitement.  When he isn't busy whining constantly, pulling my fingers to try to get me to go somewhere and do something that he's too lazy to explain aloud to me, or bullying his brothers, he's pretty much always getting into trouble somewhere.

And it seems that trouble has gotten worse with each child.

Trouble spelled with a capital A was never much trouble at all.  I can't remember a single thing Adam ever wrote on, cut up, or otherwise vandalized.

Trouble with an X is generally accidental.  Well, not an accident, per se, but definitely something he did without any sort of premeditation or general awareness mid-act.  (Case in point: trouble with an X recently equaled a severed phone cord, and I am pretty certain he didn't realize he was even cutting the cord until the deed was done.)

And then there's trouble with a D.  Intentional.  Focused.  Not that he focuses on intentionally getting into trouble, but he is very present in whatever trouble he is causing.  And he is 100% remorseless.  It seems that everything in his path exists purely to fuel his creative purposes, consequences be damned.  And so his destruction is total.  Absolute.  And adorable.  

One of his recent masterpieces featured my "Hunter 4th Ward Music Library" stamp I'd managed to leave out.  After an hour of Zumba with Michelle, I flopped down exhausted onto the ottoman.  I arched my back to get a nice post-workout stretch, and the door separating the basement from the stairs came into my view.  Slowly, the realization dawned that my door had not, in fact, grown spots.

"Dylan, did you stamp the door?"

He proudly responded, "I samp a door!"

"Did you stamp anything else?"

"Yep!  I samp ah da waas!"

"You stamped all the walls?  Anything else?"

At which point, he took me by the hand for a private tour of his gallery.  The fridge.  A kitchen chair.  The counter.  The entire wall leading down the stairs.  The pantry door.  Oh, and the entire floor in between points A, B, C, and D...

And he was so proud that I just couldn't feel furious with him.  Luckily a little warm water did the trick on each surface, and thankfully both Michelle and Alex pitched in to make quick work of the task.

There was less luck involved in today's work.

This one happened on Aunt Michelle's shift, but knowing it can happen to anyone, I won't dock her pay.  :)

Yes.  That is orange and red nail polish, and yes it is apparently all over my bedspread too.  And yes, it is my own fault for leaving the nail polish out in my bedroom when I know that Dylan watches tv in there.

Sigh.  Trouble with a D is BIG TROUBLE!