Behind Closed Doors.

Ava has recently learned how to open and close doors.  She’s even catching onto the locking system.

Every time I hear a door slam shut, I have to chase it down like Chris Hansen’s camera crew moving in on a pedophile.  I’ve told Ava that I don’t want any closed doors in our house, I want to know exactly what’s going on at every minute.  This will hopefully carry on through the teenage years, so I don’t have to kick the door in on a study date wielding a Louisville Slugger.

Last week, I heard one slam.  I was trying to iron one of my wife’s linen crochet sweater things that was supposed to be ‘dried flat’ and not ‘slung over a railing’.  I figured I had a few seconds to finish up and this was the result.

Bondage Elmo, courtesy of our dog’s collar and Ava’s creativity.

And I must’ve been too slow on this occasion, caught in the bathroom mid-wipe.  Taking the luxury of properly cleaning my ass led to this.

Ava poised to blow up her Rody, old-school cartoon style.  The TNT plunger was primed and ready.  She didn’t want to ruin her outfit, so I had to finish the dirty work.

No matter how old she is, I’ll never be comfortable with what goes on behind closed doors.