I suppose Gigi is a normal 2 year old.  She gets in to everything.  Her favorite place to get into is the master suite and bathroom.

Somehow the first born did not exhibit this behavior.  He never got in to things.  He never destroyed things.  He never took toothpaste and coated the bathroom cabinents.  She did. Yes, it's all child-locked which was a complete farce because criminal masterminds are not to be stopped with child locks.  She figured out the child locks almost immediately and then turned her attention to getting on the internet from Chris' cell phone.  All of that took place last Fall.

Last week I was cooking dinner.  The smell of rosemary baked chicken suddenly was interrupted by the smell of something I couldn't place.  It was a smell that didn't belong in July - it was the smell of January or February.  "Why," I wondered looking at my green beans, "does it smell like The Flu in here?"  I turned around to see Gigi standing there.  Upon closer inspection I saw she had used a whole tub of Vick's Vapo-Rub as hair gel, face cream, and body lotion.  I ran her up to the shower.  6 hair washes later it was out. 

The next day she used a tube of Diaper Rash Ointment in much the same way.  When Chris arrived Will and I pointed upstairs so he could take care of the child.  It was the same day she'd taken a permanent marker to my carpet and to her hands and feet.  I asked her what she was doing, she said she had tattooed herself.  "My a Rock Star" she said, beaming. 

Yesterday as she had unleashed a wave of havoc and unrest I told Will maybe we should invest in retinal scans for all of the doors and then she wouldn't be able to enter areas she shouldn't be.  We spent the day putting the heads back on his action figures because Gigi the Executioner had been in his toys.  She had also gotten into his closet and his drawers so we had to put everything back.  Will was frustrated with "Hurricane Reagan" by the time Chris arrived home.

"Dad," Will said seriously over his spaghetti, "we need to get some security system so Gigi can't get into my room."

"What do you suggest?"  Chris asked.

Will winked at me and said "Rectal scans."

"RET-INAL scan,  not REC-TAL."  I corrected him as Chris attempted to clean up the spaghetti he'd spit out all over the table.