Don't Drink The Apple Juice

First I must preface this story by saying that the story I am about to tell will disturb my mother on so many levels. So if you're reading this Mom, uh, Hi! You might want to stop now. Consider yourself warned.

We keep a gate at the bottom of the steps to keep Meredith from climbing the stairs - there are 13 of them so a pretty good fall if she were to fall down them. She thinks climbing stairs is big fun so she makes a beeline for them if she thinks they're open. She also seems to have a capacity for hearing tones previously detectable only by canines and sensitive computer equipment; hearing so powerful that she hears this gate opening regardless of where she is in the house.

Jamie just recently learned how to open this gate so he can go upstairs to use the bathroom, but he doesn't always remember to close it. Being a three year old boy, he also (like many adult males I know) does not always remember to flush. Heck I'm just happy when he gets the pee in the toilet.

So I'm sitting here and realize I don't see Meredith at the same time I hear a noise from upstairs. I go flying upstairs and there she is grinning a self-satisfied grin, soaked up to her shoulders in toilet water (you guessed it - unflushed) gleefully splashing with the pitcher we use to rinse hair in one hand and bobbing the drain plug up and down in the other hand like some sort of weird demented splashing yo-yo.

As a friend pointed out, I was grateful Jamie didn't have to poop.