A Pleasant Evening at War

A seismic event happened last night at some friends house, epic barely describes it.  Perhaps my excitement should be tempered but to me this was extraordinary.  It all started when . . . (Que the wavy lines and Predator style music.)

The 5 of us sitting at a table after an excellent soupy meal, simply enjoying each others company.  The smallest, under a year, taking in the depths of what friendship and community is all about with squash and rice cereal smeared all over his face.

The table, black with raised chairs, had not been a friend to the sixth man, my 3 1/2 year old, who wanted to play.  He played with the Charger, following in his fathers footsteps and not realizing it wasn't just a bigger plate, he played with the table cloth, he sat backwards and hung his legs through the rear of the chair.  Perhaps our conversation was a bit over his head.

So after a quick Time-Out, an explanation of disobedience, and 3 quick bites of potatoes and meat, he could get up and play.  The strangest thing I may have ever said was my admonition to him, "Don't break anything!"  Curious, but if you know my son, well, he is like me, his thoughts and actions are like time and space - somehow one is faster than the other.

We continue our romp through the conversational forest as he plays in the other room.  Suddenly, without warning he pops around the corner, bent over, hands directly to his middle, a large pink and blue object under one arm and a small yellow ball in the other, with a look of surprise and terror in his eyes.

I have to insert a caveat here:  He is not in a diaper, and yesterday marks just over a week since he started wearing his Wolverine, Iron Man, and other hero's instead of the absorbent protection formerly covering his midsection.  He has done well, caught himself several times, but has not had a preemptive strike to this point.  His battles have all been a result of his body "sending one over the bow."

I instantly recognized this look of war being raged in my sons eyes and without hesitation leapt from my observatory to engage.  "Drop the balls and lets go!"  I said as a general barking orders in mid-battle to save his battalion.  But he would not leave a man behind, how could he release these play toys to be engulfed by the floor below?  "We will come back for them, let's go, let's go!"  I reassured!

Then he ran, like Gump through the jungle, dipping chairs, dodging tables, hurdling whatever was in the way but he got there.  The battle waged from there, but details will be spared as they are beginning of Saving Private Ryan-esque, but we emerged victorious, with a walk of glory being cheered from all angles and a metal of Reece's Pieces awarded with Pride.

This is the story of the first time my son recognized his need to evacuate liquid and solid from his body, without it striking first.  I basked in his victory, but stand firm that this war will wage on!

Note:  I figure by the time he can read well enough to seek out my blog this will be buried in the classified files so deep it will be almost impossible to embarrass him, but I may be wrong!