A few minutes ago I hear this from Soren in the back bedroom, "Anders is touching the ceiling! Anders is touching the ceiling!" So I cruise back there, note the snowy white mattress and Anders in the act of scraping the ceiling with the back end of a toy hummer, sweep the culprit off his feet and into his naughty spot/crib, all the while sputtering a war cry that can only come from a mother concerned. I shooed Soren out of the room and closed the door with Anders wailing indignantly "I not touch the ceiling! I not touch the ceiling!"
A few minutes later I reentered his room to insistent repetitions of, "Sorry Mommy. Sorry Mommy. Sorry Mommy. Come get me. Get me Mommy. Get me. Sorry Mommy." I put my hands on my hips, squared my shoulders, and stared him down, "Anders, do we touch the ceiling?" My demand met with a raised chin and a cheerful, "I not touch a ceiling, Mommy." "Do you know you could get very sick," I asked him? "Yeah, I get died and bleed. I not touch a ceiling, Mommy." As I reach down to rescue him from crib purgatory, I echo what we always request after the naughty spot, "You need to say sorry and give me a hug and a kiss, Anders." He did much better, the little heart-melting bugger. He burrowed into my shoulder, wrapped his little hands around my arms, rested his head on my shoulder and said perfectly, "I love you, Mommy."