Madeline and I reach a truce.

So we've had this problem in our kitchen. It can pretty much be summed up by these two words: moveable chairs. Well, and maybe throw in one more word to make the problem absolutely clear: Madeline. Ever since she figured out how to push chairs around, our kitchen has been a disaster zone. She climbs onto counters to get at the bubbles in the highest cupboard. She tries to get down her own food. She hid the food coloring from me. I only knew she hid it because she came to me with bright blue lips. It took several hours before she would show me where she hid the bottle. She gives her doll baths in the sink and tries to make phone calls on my digital thermometer. She bunches up the rug and goes through the mail on the counter.

I thought about screwing the chairs into the floor. The cost, the damage to the floor, and the obvious inconvenience and impracticality of not being able to move our chairs won out. But I was sorely tempted. I thought about getting an Asian style table and sitting on mats. But I'm pretty sure that would get old pretty fast.

So. We have been dealing with it. But today I am hopeful. I think all the timeouts might be having an effect. Madeline seems ready to make a compromise. This is our deal: If she keeps the chair out of the pantry, doesn't wash things in the sink, and doesn't climb on the counters, everything else is fair game. Unlimited digital thermometer minutes. All the bowls she can drum on. Free bananas. And limited access to harmless projects on the counter while Mom is cooking dinner. People told me marriage was all about compromise. They didn't mention that husbands are much easier to trick into favorable compromises than toddlers.