A Crook Named Mikey

I awoke the other day to the sound of my husband laughing hysterically and Mikey weeping, frantic. He was beside himself, frothed into a lather.

My boys each have a personalized stool. We put their breakfast on the stools and they sit on the floor to watch television in the morning. We also sometimes use the stools as stools, and so sometimes they wander near shelves where one of us needed to reach something high up.

That morning, Mikey looked around. He saw Alex’s stool where it was yesterday, right in front of the television. But where was his stool? He became immediately, intensely upset and wailed that his stool had been stolen by “a crook named Mikey!!!!”

I tried so hard not to laugh at his anguish. I calmly went into the closet and pulled out his stool. It was nestled in there because someone was reaching a hat or a shopping bag.

A crook! A crook named Mikey! I marvel at the way his brain works.


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