Today, at 3 years and two months old, you nearly burnt down our house.
I thought I would write you a little letter to capture this fact. The
past few days you have been running through the house shouting "FIRE!"
at the top of your lungs. I was reconciled to the noise level (which
is extreme) but wondered why "FIRE!" was happening. Hmm.
I got home from work today to find Monica, my able-bodied helper who
has a great sense of humour, hanging onto the kitchen table and
looking around suspiciously. Despite your angelic appearance, my
little blue-eyed curly blonde head, you climbed onto your desk,
redistributed the contents of the very top shelves, called your
brother in and gave him all the wet wipe packets to play with - thus
making him an accomplice. Then you proceeded to do some bum cream
decorating (very tasteful, at least it was not all over your brother)
and finally, attempt to light the pile on the floor which was your
offering to the fire gods.
Why I left the matches safely at the top of your tall desk I simply
don't know. Perhaps I thought that they would be out of your reach? I
was crazy (or probably slightly sleep-deprived). Luckily the first two
matches did not really take, and Monica caught you as you lit the
third one.
I have to salute her. But she does say that of all the kids she looks
after (4 of her own, 2 boys belonging to Mandy and sometimes their
cousin Eli), you are the naughtiest.
I love you. But please don't play with matches again in the house!
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