Hiding places

Lately the bubs has taken to hiding stuff from us. This wouldn't be so bad if it were his own stuff, but nothing of his ever seems to go missing except the occasional sock, which is probably my fault. No, the stuff he likes to stash in strange places is invariably our stuff -- keys, cell phones, hand tools, Guitar Hero drumsticks -- that sort of thing. Some of the hiding places are obvious; he has a favorite kitchen cupboard and a few low shelves where things frequently show up. Others are downright tricky; we found Jared's cell phone ringing away under a chair cushion the other day and yet ANOTHER screwdriver jammed under the mattress on our bed. What compounds this problem is that the few words the Piggy says with regularity -- "Dad", "hi," and so forth -- are not at all useful in helping us triangulate the position of the latest lost item. Oh, well. Nothing has permanently disappeared yet.

In other news, we are trying to get the bubs into some social settings so he can learn to interact with other kids. He still suffers from those sweet but ultimately unproductive delusions that all toys are his and most people are around merely to indulge his whims. This weekend we went to a family get-together at a park and we let the Piggy run loose on some of the playground equipment while we watched from a distance. At one point I looked over and he was lifting up a little girl's shirt and poking her belly button. This was a six- or seven-year old girl, and she seemed to have zero reaction; she just sat there at the bottom of the slide, staring off into the distance while the bubs prodded her stomach. Very strange. Kind of awkward. Jared went over and intervened; we don't want the bubs getting the idea that disrobing other people is OK, even when they don't seem to mind.

I have a feeling this parenting gig is going to get stranger and stranger.