Three scenes

Scene A:

Owen and James are in the tub. It’s Owen’s first bubble bath and, shocker, he is pleased about it. He sits in the warm water with an expression of utter delight and reaches for an armload of soapy foam. He immediately shoves it into his mouth, wrinkles his nose for just a split second, then bursts into an enraptured smile and faceplants into the water to eat it all.

“Owen, don’t eat the soap.”

<me, trying not to laugh> “OWEN…please don’t eat the soap.”

James, “O-WEN!!! Don’t eat the SOAP!”

Owen and James splash around with bubbles and bath toys for a while. Owen eats more foam and I give up trying to make him stop, hoping that maybe it will help him poop. (Does this qualify me as a terrible mother?) Owen tries to get me to chew on a foam letter P while he shakes his head back and forth with a B hanging out of his mouth. He looks like a puppy with a white beard.

“Owen, no standing in the tub.”

“Owen, NO standing in the tub.”

James, “O-WEN!! No standing in the TUH-UB!”

Repeat twenty times.

Scene B:

Roy takes James outside to play hockey across the street. James sets George and Steven very carefully on top of the toy “cube” in the living room. Roy watches James look warily at Owen as he places them high out of reach. “Take some photos of Owen with George and Steven once we’re gone,” he whispers as they exit.

 

Two seconds later...

"At last, we meet."

Upon offering him his own George.

A little relieved that we have a clear preference.

Scene C:

James and I are on the floor reading Berenstein Bear books. It was library day so there are a dozen new ones. Owen is doing a decent job pushing around a walking toy and amusing himself. But James has no limit to his capacity for story time and Owen starts getting bored.

“So Papa and Mama made up a chore chart for taking care of the new puppy…Owen, you want your shoes on?”

 

He hid them in the bottom drawer of the oven apparently.

“Where were we James? OK, so they made a chore chart for the puppy. A few weeks passed and it was time to bring their new puppy home…Owen, stop bopping James on the head.”

“Owen, (don’t laugh Julie) please don’t whack James on the head.”

James stares at the book intently without blinking or seemingly noticing that his noggin is being used for target practice.

 

"This is my reading face."

“Owen, PLEASE don’t hit James on the head.”

“OK boys, I need to take a quick potty break. We’ll finish this book in a minute.”

Owen throws himself down on the ground dramatically and starts howling indignantly, kicking his little legs and shaking his head back and forth. I enter the bathroom, ignoring his vehement protests, which suddenly cease after about thirty seconds. I quickly wash my hands and slowly open the door, just in case he’s standing up against it.

He’s sitting on the floor, gnawing on my cell phone. Upon noticing my return he holds it up, waving it triumphantly in the air and smiles so big I think his face might split in two. “Lookie what you forgot Mom! Hah!”

"A boy's story is the best that is ever told." -Charles Dickens

Today's 1%: I chose to blog tonight, fighting our stubborn laptop computer for the right to upload pictures, when what I initially wanted to do was curl up with Harry Potter. Turns out, blogging was the better, and more entertaining, choice.