He's Got the Idea

Don't come between Henry and his pie! You are likely to get your fingers chomped upon.

The boy loves his pie and ice cream. But who doesn't like pie and ice cream? Even the frozen Mrs. Smith's kind is acceptable, which is what we had tonight. Gimme a break -- I did make homemade corn chowder and crusty bread, thus two-thirds of the dinner was formed by my housewifely hands while Henry, unbeknownst to me, sat in the toilet in the upstairs bathroom.

I mean in the toilet. He had to go, apparently, and he went into the bathroom, and lifted up the lid, and sat on the rim with his legs dangling in the water. By the time I found him, the toilet water had soaked halfway up his pant legs. Into the bath he went.

We did praise him, however, for going into the bathroom at the appropriate time. He just missed a few steps of the process, such as telling me or Jon. And taking down his pants. And taking off his diaper. And going in the toilet.

But it is a start. Henry, you rock.