Next thing I know, he's standing next to me, bent down, and tapping gently on my head. When he sees I'm awake he asks, "Momma tired?"
"Uhm... yeah. Momma's tired."
"Okay. You sweep. I go downstairs." (Jet still can't say l's, yet)
Next thing I know, he has the little, clear box of all the screwdriver heads and a handle along with an assortment of AA's, AAA's, and 9-volt batteries in his pajamas pocket and he's settling down to unscrew the battery lid to the dead music box. Oh, god, a child of engineers... that screwed down battery door is supposed to keep kids OUT of the battery compartment, and here he is, two-years-old and taking it as a matter-of-fact that that's just what you do to get something to work. Of course, he had to get me to figure out which batteries the thing took... but still...