Patience is a Virtue

Since we were in Milpitas to pick up Jon's truck from the shop, I thought it would be nice to catch an early dinner at one of our fave restaurants that we don't eat at too often. So, we grabbed a table and high chair, ordered a huge meal and while waiting for our Roti Prata to arrive, I distracted Logan with some applesauce and a few snacky foods I happened to have in the diaper bag (we hadn't planned on going anywhere except the dealership when we left the house, so I didn't have much on me).

I think I've previously mentioned Logan's new game of throwing everything he can get his hands on. It's gotten to where any meal is a test of patience with us, since he'll generally take a bite or two before tossing whatever he has in front of him, out onto the floor.

Actually, it's not so much a toss as it is a chuck, an overhand fastball straight at your chest.

And let me tell you, as much as my friend Amanda (Hi Amanda!) says it's fun and his way of learning how gravity works, there comes a point when you start to consider whether his understanding how gravity works is more important than say, his life. Because, there have been a few moments where I want to strangle his cute little neck.

HOW. FUN. INDEED.

So, I suppose it shouldn't come as much surprise that he began throwing anything I set out in front of him at the restaurant. Each time, I'd quietly hiss a firm NO, pick up the scrap or object from the floor and put it on the other side of the table out of arm's reach.

But Mom! This is FUN! Look at how it just falls down to the floor!

He smiled at me and just continued with his little game. Only, when the parents with the two well behaved little girls sitting next to us start giving us the stink eye, it's no longer cute anymore. In fact, he's gotten much worse about ignoring us and doing whatever the hell he wants. And, because he's been praticing, his aim is getting much better too. So guess who was his target tonight? Good ol' Daddy, straight across the table from Logan. He threw a pretzel stick straight at Jon's face, a spoon, some bread, oh - and a couple crayons that almost landed in Jon's drink.

It was all I could do NOT to slap my kid across the face.

When I had finally taken everything away from Logan to stop the throwing, what did he do next? He started yelling and pulling up on the table cloth, shaking it back and forth, tempting the soup bowls full of steaming hot soup to just tip on over into our laps.

We finally decided it wasn't worth it to continue the game. Since we had the two cars, I quickly scooped up my son and stormed out of the restaurant, whispering death threats in his ear "patience is a virtue" to myself, while Jon called the waitress over to pack our food up to-go and pay the check.

I'm starting to think we've hit the "Terrible Twos" just a wee bit early. What do you think?