For all its charm, living in a house built in 1926 has its annoyances. There are many construction quirks that we have learned to live with -- like our mail slot. Rather than having a normal mailbox, we have a slot in the exterior wall that deposits the mail right onto a built-in bookshelf. At which point it usually falls into a pile on the floor. I have no idea why somebody thought this would be a good idea. In addition to this strange arrangement, the person who set it up this way didn't properly finish off the hole through the wall, so there is a small channel that goes straight into the area behind the lath and plaster wall.
BJ knows he's not supposed to play with the mail or with the mail slot. But toddlers will be toddlers. To make a long story short, yesterday BJ decided it would be a good idea to start "mailing" his letters from his alphabet puzzle. Funny as a pun, not so funny in reality.
I was in the next room, taking care of BB, so I didn't catch what was going on. I only discovered the problem when he came and asked for my help finding the letter "G." I asked where it was, he pointed to the mail slot, and my heart just sank.
Turns out he'd somehow crammed it up into this small channel. I squeezed my fingers up inside the wall to try to find it. It was balancing up inside the wall on a small ledge, and just as I brushed it with my fingertips, it fell. It is now inside the wall, and the only way to retrieve it would be to break a hole in the baseboard.
It was all I could do not to yell at him that "G is for Gone! G is for Goodbye!" As it was, I let him know how unhappy I was about this, and he had a total meltdown. "G will show up!" he kept insisting between sobs. "G will show up!!" I just about started crying with him.
I did not, however, get out a prybar and hammer to lift up the baseboard and smash through the plaster. G is still inside the wall. For now at least, it is an object lesson in What Not To Do With Your Letters.