Everybody loves Plinko

On my bedside table sits a change jar.  The jar contains all of the change collected during my married life, perhaps $30.  

Every morning when I shower, Kathleen gets shut up in my room, free to roam and explore with some restrictions that change as she discovers new places to pillage that she hadn't discovered previously.  Don't touch the CD's.  Anything that comes out of the bedside table drawers goes back in.  Leave my clothes in the drawer.  Don't pull the painting supplies off the shelf.  She is very obedient and leaves things alone after they have been specifically outlawed.  

And of course, that's the problem - specifically - because a two year-old has no common sense.  Common sense is gained when fingers are burned, dishes are broken, and time-out is served for improvised murals.  

Yesterday morning Brandon discovered the change jar disgorged of most of its contents.  And the change?  Underneath our bed, having been tossed behind the headboard, most likely for the wonderful noise that it makes.  She has yet to see The Price is Right, but I think I know which game will be her favorite.