It’s happened, you guys. Coco can now open the front door. All. By. Herself. She’s been working on her skills for quite awhile now, but she’s finally mastered the art. This morning I stepped outside with the dogs and pulled the door shut behind me. Still in her pajamas, Colette just opened the door like a pro and joined me on the front porch. The upside is that the deadbolt is still a pretty good distance out of reach. Still, I’m all over that situation like a hawk. A loving grandmotherly type of hawk, of course. Because beyond that front door is road. Just because it dead-ends don’t let that fool ya. Not sure where all the cars go ::cough cough:: but this little strip of blacktop gets some major action.
Since Ben has been grown for a good number of years I had forgotten how mischievous little ones are, and with Coco underfoot a whole lot of the time, I fully understand why child-bearing years stop before age 50. And then I have Jerilyn telling me that little girls are terrors and can’t be compared to little boys. She says she’s an expert because she had a sampling. I really hope she’s wrong… but I can promise you that old Benjamin was such an easy going kid — and Colette is about as far from that as it gets.