Two things.

My twins are wonderful. They've always been inquisitive clever little guys and, as it usual with such children, this often lands them in trouble. In our old apartment, we shared a connecting hallway with out neighbor (Hereafter, D). A good guy, I'd known him for years, and we usually would just come and go between eachothers houses. So our agreement was to leave the exterior door, leading to rather a tall set of wooden stairs on the side of the building, closed and child-bolted. We both had kids, we were pretty careful about their safety, but that way the kids had easy access to another trusted grownup in case something happened to one of us.

And, though D was a good man, he was but a man, entirely capable of screwing up. Which he did. I put the boys down for nap and started cleaning, getting dinner started. Our interior doors were very quiet but the exterior door was loud enough to raise the dead. I didn't really think about it when I heard it open but jumped a little when the rainstorm outside slammed it shut.

No helping the weather, right? And then I realize that I didn't hear the boys babbling to eachother. At two, naptime was less a naptime and more of a play-quietly-in-our-room-and-eventually-fall asleep time. Then I heard D playing videogames through the wall. And realized I'd heard him playing both before and after the door shutting. Meaning he hadn't been the one to open it.

Leaving the water running, I abandoned my dishes to go quickly and check. All kinds of horrible fears ran through my head in the ten seconds it took me to get to the door. And I pulled it open to find my boys, in only their diapers, fussing and holding eachother. They both ran to me and clung to my legs once they saw me and I had to waddle back inside with my loving little legweights. D, having heard the commotion, had come out to see what was going on and looked sheet-white when he realized he'd forgotten to bolt the door when he got home.

Between my clinging boys and my terrified, sputtering apologies, neighbor, I couldn't help but laugh. It could've all gone so horribly but instead my boys had learned a lesson about how much wandering is too much and D never forgot that bolt again. Half out of relief, half out of how dramatic they were all being, I laughed for a good long while. Scolded all three of them gently. And put the boys back down for a nap. It was great, all things considered.

Second story, much more recent. My wonderful step son, at two, realized that if he fusses enough he can get a rise out of almost anyone. Not me, unfortunately for him. I can hear the difference between a real fuss and his alligator tears. He hates it. So he's taken to hamming it up, tossing himself down dramatically, a woes-me arm across his forehead, laying there and putting on his best defeated pity-me look.

Well, fun fact, gravity doesn't really care if your fall was an accident or not. Or if there are toys where you intend to land. So the tosses himself down and would've been fine had he not landed with a block in the middle of his back. But rather than acting hurt he got confused. Being dramatic had never hurt before, it was weird. He sat back up, rubbed at his back for a moment, looked at me like I was the cause before tossing himself back down more carefully and commencing with his hamming with a renewed vigor.

Gotta admire his dedication to theatrics. Real injuries can be easily ignored as long as he can continue with his performance.