"All toddlers are terrorists." -- Earl Fox

Lisa writes: Lori told me some Benjamin stories to post.

Benjamin loves the juice boxes Lori buys for the kids' lunches. So much so that she's taken to storing them on the top shelf in the pantry so he doesn't drink them all. A couple of weeks ago, sister Ava (age 7) was home sick. Lori was tending to Ava and so Benjamin had to fend for himself for a few minutes. Lori found him struggling to climb up the stairs with a juice box in each hand, proudly announcing that one was for for Ava. She thought, "Aww, how sweet. He's taking care of his sister," and then immediately thought, "Wait. Where did he get those?" This two-foot-tall kid managed to climb up five pantry shelves -- nearly eight feet high -- and back down again with two juice boxes. Lori said, "I'm glad I didn't see him do it."

Last week, Dave and Lori were reading bedtime stories to Cameron and Ava, respectively. They heard Benjamin in his room playing. When Lori came out of Ava's room, Benjamin was standing at the top of the stairs, looking like he was thinking about going down. Lori said, "No, it's time to go to bed," put him in his pajamas and put him to bed. A while later, Dave and Lori went downstairs to lock up for the night. Dave went first, and came running back. "You might want to see this." Benjamin, after duping everybody into thinking he was playing in his room, had gone downstairs, pulled a full cartoon of 18 eggs out of the refrigerator. He carried them across the kitchen floor (dropping a few along the way) to the living room where he proceeded to alternately squeeze and toss the eggs as far as he could. On white carpet. He then apparently wiped off his hands and went back upstairs, where Lori found him. He was clean. No evidence of his crime. And while he often confesses what he's done ("Uh-oh. Mess.") this time he spoke not a word. The egg disaster wasn't discovered for two hours. Anybody got any good ideas for removing dry, bright yellow egg yolk from white carpet?

12/9/08 Addendum: Lori wrote her own version of the story.

The Egg Story

‘Twas the night before Thanksgiving and in our house, both parents busy reading to children snug in their beds.

Benjamin was thought to be watching with care, a favorite video of Pooh Bear in the room next door.

Later with all the kids tucked in bed, and I in my PJs and David—well you know—were just settling down for a long winters nap.

To make one last check of the locks, downstairs David went.

When all of the sudden he ran up once more, shouting “When did Benjamin get down the stairs last?”

I arose to see what was the matter, to my shock and dismay 16 eggs were discovered.

They had been broken and splattered on carpet and floor, when we thought not a creature had been stirring, not even a mouse.

Not a mouse but a Benjamin, stealthy and nimble, he’d cracked all our eggs without even a sound.

Wiped his hands and to bed with a nod and smile.

Happy Thanksgiving to all and to all a goodnight! (Except for Mom and Dad who had to scrub the carpet and floor.)