A Helping Hand

The relationship between Cubby and Charlie is . . . uneven. Sometimes Cubby loves Charlie and croons about how cute he is and gives him kisses. And sometimes he, uh, doesn't.

Okay, MOST of the time he doesn't. Most of the time, if we're to be honest here, there's an ongoing "very bad baby" chant (sometimes he also puts these three words to the tune of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star"--a musical prodigy without doubt), run-by head squeezings, and purposefully knocking Charlie off his wobbly feet.

I think this is pretty normal for brothers, but what do I know? I only had one.

Anyway. The point is that any interaction between the two is apt to become a one-sided brawl within seconds. So I'm always apprehensive when Cubby gets within striking range.

Today when we were playing in the library, I looked over to see this:

Just chillin'. And stuck.

Charlie did not seem unduly concerned about his wedged position in the box. When Cubby noticed our overstuffed box, he ran over, yelling, "I'll help you, baby!"

And miraculously, he did.

HEAVE . . .

Success.

There may have been a tumble against the toy box there immediately following the rescue that resulted in a head-bonk for Charlie, but since he didn't cry and it was an accident, I ignored it.

It almost makes me forget the time yesterday when Cubby poured a rubber boot full of muddy rain water over Charlie's head and then chucked the boot at him.

Almost.