Home invasion

It's not looking good for the homeland. When Jennifer and I took control of our apartment just one year ago, we were able to lay claim to the whole territory. Today, our forces are rapidly retreating, and our empire is half the size it once was, if not less.

Last week came the final blow to any hope of holding onto our living room. Kyle's forces seized a vast sward between our television and coffee table. King Kyle celebrated his victory in his new fort, holding onto its edge as he danced, laughed, and taunted us by blowing raspberries. He then bombed us with the mother of all diapers.

Once upon a time, before last June, I had believed that there was a good chance we'd be able to keep Kyle's things in his room. Sure, we knew the little guy would have to spread out during the day, but by the evening he'd go to his crib, all his stuff would be put in his room with him, and we adults would have our apartment back, allowing us to do exciting adult things like playing with knives, taking out the trash, and falling asleep while trying to watch TV.

That plan seemed to work well early on, when we could just plop Kyle down somewhere and not worry that he would wiggle away. But soon things changed. First, a basket of toys snuck into our living room. Then, a decorative baby wagon found a "temporary" home in the dining room to hide an ugly corner of the apartment. Not only is it still there, it has brought along a friend - the high chair. And with the high chair came demands from Kyle, who insisted on having something to throw on the floor. That's how a set of stacking rings ended up on the dining room table. It's the flag of Kyle Country, staking claim on territory once belonging to Mom & Dad.

A week ago the living room was lost as we set up Kyle's playpen. Kyle had long wanted a spot in that room all to his own, and through his battle cries he made clear that he could take only so much time in exersaucer. He also did his best Houdini impression and nearly escaped from the bouncy seat. We were quickly realizing that, without a playpen, Kyle was not going to let us do anything in that room that didn't involve scrambling around to protect him from hitting his head on the coffee table, bookshelf, or scalding-hot radiator (lucky us - we have six of these in our apartment!). We were growing tired in the room meant for relaxing, so we gave up, set up the playpen, and pulled back our forces.

(Above: Kyle celebrates his victory by laughing at those he crushed)

Now the only major rooms we can lay claim to are the kitchen and our own bedroom, which are separated by the living and dining rooms. Kyle is obviously working a "divide and conquer" strategy. In recent days he's been crawling into our bedroom, and just this morning he found his way into our kitchen. He's obviously scouting them out, looking for weaknesses, and preparing his forces for the next strike. I suppose then we'll just have to move out to the hallway.