Whodunit? More like “Who-Deaned-it.” Dean is our resident Houdini and mess-maker mastermind. (I call him my little Who-Dean-y.) Like most two year olds, he gets into everything and can escape from any 5 point harness.
Before I had children, I often entertained a childish conspiracy theory that there was somebody who regularly broke into my home only to steal little things for the sole purpose of driving me crazy. I imagined some deranged individual bent on frustrating me by stealing my car keys, pieces of scrap paper scribbled with important messages, signed checks, etc…someone who cackled with glee just thinking of my frantic, fruitless searches. (“Mwah-ha-ha!) Whenever I couldn’t find something, the word “thief” kept blinking in my mind like a relentless construction road sign. My inner dialogue would go something like this: Where is it!! It was just here a second ago!! Somebody must’ve stolen it!! I can’t believe this!! What kind of sick per…Oh. There it is…
For the most part, I’ve surrendered the thieving leprechaun theory and replaced the blinking word in my mind to “Dean.” Where did Dean put it? Did he run off with it? Oh, anywhere is in the realm of possible locations now! Dean!! Call Scotland yard! I’ll offer reward mon…Oh. There it is.
Poor Dean. Sometimes it’s true and he is the culprit behind the missing cell phone, the car keys caper and the mystery of the lost XYZ. But sometimes he’s not. There are days when I simply misplace things, forget things, and have zero short term memory or total recall to help me out.
More than not, he is the mastermind behind the spilled nail polish, the writing on the wall, and the stains on the living room carpet. But then again sometimes he’s not, (and the other children take full advantage of having a convenient scapegoat to take the heat for their little whoops-a-daisies) “It was probably Dean, Mom.”
Each of us holler, “Dean!!” in the same tone David Seville hollers, “Alvin!!” And through it all, he still loves us. He still gives us plenty of hugs and kisses and wants us to come and play with him all the time. And his sniffling little “sorry” melts us. His big blue eyes are so endearing, so imploring, it’s impossible to stay mad at him for more than 15 seconds. Man, he’s good.
Who stole my heart? Who-Deaned-it?
My little Who-Dean-y did.