Monkey Girl

Several times a day, Lea stands beneath the pegs on the wall where the kids' headgear hangs and shrieks a bit, while pointing at the monkey visor on the first peg. She loves this thing and happily dons it herself and walks around the house. We were curious about its attraction to Lea, and this week, we discovered why she has such an affinity for it.

Quite simply put: Lea is a monkey girl.

Her favorite pastimes of late include:

1. climbing into her Fisher Price Ocean Aquarium swing and kicking wildly whilst throwing her body back and forth in order to get up some speed and height. Needless to say, she has neither the capacity nor the volition to strap herself in. Tomorrow, the swing will be folded up and moved down to the basement.

2. climbing into her high chair, where she likewise enjoys kicking her legs. Fortunately, she does know how to get down out of it safely so we don't have to replace our table with a low, Japanese deal and toss out all of the chairs in the house.

3. Climbing into the stroller, standing up while in the stroller, and detaching the bike lights that I have attached to the top of the stroller, on the outside, to increase our visibility in the evenings. Apparently, Lea has noted that "spring ahead" has rendered these obsolete. Do not ask me how she has managed to do this, though. I think she's a bit of a houdini as well as a monkey. And hopefully she's good at slithering on her belly snake-like, too, and will locate the one light that has now gone missing.

And my favorite move:

4. Climbing the stairs to the bathroom. The other night, I went into the kitchen to get her a snack, which involved opening the freezer, taking out an individual serving sized ice cream, and walking back towards the dining room, where I had left her. I was gone perhaps two minutes, if that. When I passed the stairs, I heard someone opening and closing the bathroom door. It wasn't Hallie, who was asleep, and it wasn't Sharon, who was upstairs with her. It was Lea, who grinned her impish grin at me as if to suggest that she had triumphed. Which, of course, she had.

This is why we keep the gate closed, and Lea on our side of it: