Wanted to do a quick post before work. Wilder still sometimes, though rarely, gets mistaken for a girl. A woman walked by the house a couple weeks ago, smiled at him, stopped and asked: "Is that a girl?" Nope, I assured her, a boy. "He's too pretty to be a boy!" she said.
Perhaps this gave Wilder a complex because, lately, he seems out to prove how tough and rugged he is. His new favorite toys? Cars. You can surround the kid with finger paints, crayons, sidewalk chalk and all manner of other tantalizing kiddie delights and what will he do? Pick up his cars, move the nearest semi-flat surface and start driving away. He's even taken to taking a car to daycare. Much to Jerry's consternation (Papa takes him to daycare in the a.m.), he tries to "drive" it from the front steps to Jerry's car. It can take awhile.
Yesterday, while I spread out butcher paper and got down to the business of painting and drawing on it (hey, someone had to make sure that stuff wasn't wasted -- my kid was into his cars!), Wilder picked up two of his vehicles and, one in each tightly clenched fist, started making his way down the front walk. He slipped, went down on his chest and -- lo and behold! -- we got our first "boo boo." He made a face like, "I'm gonna howl ..." I waited a beat. Two beats. Three beats. "You OK?" I asked non-chalantly. No crying. See ... tough, rugged Wilder. Pretty boy his big Fred-Flinstonesque foot! Here's a photo of the scrape.
He also did get into the paints for awhile, as the photos below attest to. But, rather than delicately spread them around, he went nuts, not only painting with his hands, but walking through the paint. Crawling through it. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd performed a Jet-Lee style martial arts roll through it. Alas, he can't even skip yet (I've been trying to teach him and a it's hilarious to watch him try).
One more story. This morning, I awoke and decided to make an effort with my work appearance. Normally, I'm all jeans and, on a good day, a button-down shirt. Today I put on a black dress, makeup, made my hair look like I put some effort into it. I emerged from this business to Wilder eating breakfast. I didn't warrant a glance for quite some time. But, as I picked him up so his Pop could put a new bandaid on his elbow, I looked over to my left to hold his arm steady. And what should I find nestled delicately on my shoulder? A Wilder booger. Yep, on the one day I decide to look like anything but a haggard mother of a toddler, that little turd decides to booger me up.
He might be all rough & tumble these days, but he's proven to have an excellent sense of humor as well.
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