by Carrie Huseman
He climbs on the dishwasher and barrels through stacks of folded laundry, takes off laughing with Crew’s crayons and checks back to see if I’ll follow.He climbs on the dishwasher and barrels through stacks of folded laundry, takes off laughing with Crew’s crayons and checks back to see if I’ll follow. He squawks while I make his dinner and sits at my ankles hoping for scraps. He fiddles with the baby gate and empties every drawer he can find. But then, he sleeps.
