"Ball" Boy

Yesterday I thought of two new names for Benjamin. "ball" boy and the human windshield wiper. Let me explain them.

As soon as I put B in his booster for breakfast yesterday, he spotted the easter egg wreath on the wall next to the table. "B-a-a-h-h-l-l-l" he said, pointing to the styrofoam easter eggs.

"Those aren't balls, Benji. Those are Easter eggs," I tried to explain. But all he saw in his little mind were colorful balls, and he wanted them. "B-a-a-h-h-l-l-l," he whined, over and over, growing more and more insistent.

An hour later, we walked through the doors of Albertsons to get a couple food items on sale. I situated the kids in a little kiddie cart, and immediately Benji spotted 3 green balloons tied together, floating near the ceiling. "B-a-a-h-h-l-l-l," he said. Over and over, reaching for them, wanting to hold them.

The same thing happened in Smith's a half hour later. There were balloons tied to some cookies. And then in the produce section. First the tomatoes were balls, and B wanted to hold them. Then the cantelope was a ball, and he cried and cried until I put it in his lap. Then he cried because too heavy to lift out of his lap.

That boy spends his day spotting balls or searching around the house for them. And when he finds them, he says, ""B-a-a-h-h-l-l-l," over and over and over. Sometimes we play a game of throw and catch. I hold my hands out, he throws his ball to me, then smiles at his accomplishment and claps once or twice. Then he holds his hands out, with one on top of the other, and waits for me to throw the ball back.

Or sometimes he stands at the top of the stairs, and rolls his ball down them, watching them bounce on each step, and then slam into the door at the bottom. He gets a kick out of that.  Often he even crawls down after his ball and painstakingly carries it up one stair at a time, back to the top of the stairs. He's fallen down the stairs at least twice while trying to carry a large ball back up!

And then there's the "human windshield wiper." I say this without affection, because when he doesn't feel like eating any more, and sometimes before he's eaten anything, he goes into this crazed spree and swings his upper body back and forth, flinging his arms around like they're dead weights. All food in his path gets pushed off of the table, including his plate. And the worst part is, he does it with the most naughty, mischievous smile on his face, like he knows exactly what he's doing, and he knows that it's wrong.

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