Those Boys...

I. Forkules
Somewhere along the way we thought it would be a Wise Parenting Decision to introduce Owen to the subtle arts of using silverware in the hopes that someday, maybe, we might be able to eat with him in public. So instead of dumping out a pile of food in front of him on his tray and letting him mash oozing handfuls of it into his mouth use his fingers to feed himself we recently set a fork and spoon down in front of him and a small red plate. He did what every first time utensil-using boy does, of course--he turned the fork and spoon into drumsticks. But then, after watching J demonstrate exactly how to use the fork to scoop up a morsel of delicious casserole, he took a big step forward. He picked up a bite of food with his right hand, and put it onto the fork in his left. He then brought the fork up to his mouth and in doing so knocked the bite of food off, which he promptly picked up with his right hand and mashed back into his mouth.

Dealing with the silverware experiment wouldn't be so bad except that James eats at a pace which can be measured in geological time, so all of the rest of us have finished our dinners before he has even considered taking a first bite of whatever lukewarm residue he's been sizing up for the last twenty minutes. Owen doesn't handle the wait time after dinner particularly well. Neither do his parents, actually, but that's a separate story. Sometimes the wait time ends with Owen throwing his utensils overboard ("Uh.....oh.") but more often than not it turns into obstreperous banging of anything within his reach--table, chair, plate, sippy-cup, parent.

As he was banging away at his plate this evening the noise suddenly stopped. We've all learned by now that a silent Owen is a dangerous Owen. The musical sound of his peering out the window and making inquisitive noises in his ongoing search for dogs is safety, but if you can't hear him anywhere, it probably means that he's upstairs trying to turn on his space heater again. Sure enough, J poked her head in from the kitchen, and both James (over his plate of untouched food) and Owen were staring open-mouthed at what Owen had done. He finally broke a plate. I don't know whether he's extraordinarily strong or whether the plate had become structurally unsound due to his repeated banging or whether he is just particularly aptly named "Smith," but he shattered a stoneware dinner plate into three pieces.

I should have told James that I was going to let Owen bang on him next unless he finished his dinner.

II. Getting Out the Door
It was library night, which ended in a librarian flagging us down because James had dropped one of our personal books into the drop slot and Owen hiding behind plants in the atrium to fill his diaper, but the hardest part was getting out the door.

I had to load car seats into my car, which is always a bit of a wrestling match with the backseats, front seats, and seat belts. Inevitably it's raining while I attempt this, and tonight was no exception. The boys were excited to go, and James was downright nervous. (I finally convinced him to finish his dinner on the threat that the library might close before we arrived if he didn't get a move on with his macaroni and cheese.)

"Your job," I told him as I prepared to go out to load car seats "is to find your shoes and Owen's shoes before I come back in. Then we can get going to the library."
"And we can get there before it closes?"
"Yes, we'll get there before it closes."
"Okay, I'll go as quick as I can!"

I stepped out into the garage to grab car seats and shut the door behind me. I noticed that James' shoes were in the garage and made a mental note to grab them on the way back in. It was sleeting out, and the wind was blowing hard too. James' seat went in without a problem. I was wrestling with the buckle on Owen's when my parent sense tingled...I looked behind me.

Sure enough, having wandered into the garage when James opened the door to look for his shoes and then out the open garage door into the cold soaking driveway without a coat and only in his socks, was Owen.

"Owen, go inside!"
<shakes head no, points to opposite sidewalk>
"What, are you looking for dogs?"
<nods head vigorously, cranes neck up and down the street in both directions>