A few times a day, for the past few days, I’ve heard silence. While I like a quiet, calm, peaceful house, I don’t like a silent house. Silent usually means someone (Isabelle) is usually involved in something they shouldn’t be doing. For instance, yesterday I found her up in her closet happily ripping the one piece of tissue paper into many tiny pieces. (It was left inside a shoebox and somehow she found it!)
When I didn’t hear anything from Isabelle for about two minutes after washing the breakfast dishes this morning, I went looking for her, expecting the worst. Had she figured out how to disengage the child lock on the bathroom door so she could unroll the toilet paper? Was she trying to climb up or into something? Did she wiggle her way behind the wall unit to play with the lamp cord? My mind raced as I tried to find her. She wasn’t in her usual spots. Knowing that she couldn’t climb the stairs, I looked around the first floor of our house a second time. She wasn’t on the other side of the kitchen island. I circled my way into the dining room from the kitchen. Not there. I peeked into her play room and didn’t see her. But, I heard something. It was the sound of cardboard scratching on fabric. I looked down and almost directly under my line of vision was Isabelle. She had sidled her way into the corner of the room and was flipping through her board books. There were several board books on the floor in a semi-circle around her body. She was reading a Bizzy Bear book, playing with the cardboard pieces that move. Ahhh. This kind of “silence” was golden. Whew!