Wes kinda freaked out tonight while we were out for dinner with friends. We were at a restaurant that features picnic tables surrounding a sandbox and playscape with a fence around the whole thing so parents can drink beer and relax and kids can play and no one can escape into the parking lot. My kids always come out of there with their faces and limbs covered in dirt like little Dickensian chimney sweep boys. It makes me feel good that they eat like that.
It was an absolutely beautiful day and I finally had managed to organize a get together with a friend and her family after six months of trying. We sat with the babies while the kids played and talked. It was relaxing and lovely.
Until we heard screaming and looked up to see Wes standing at the top of the playground, looking down menacingly at a TODDLER standing on a ladder whose FINGERS WES WAS STANDING ON (or possibly just NEAR as Wes denies actually standing ON the kids' hands. Either way he was being a giant bully and not letting the kid get all the way up the ladder).
Ryan and I (and Mary) all ran over there apologizing profusely and gathered our grubby-faced street urchin off the playground to his exile at the table. He started to eat his mac and cheese leftovers and Ryan ripped the spoon out of his hand before very seriously getting in his face and asking him just what in the damn hell his problem was.
It was serendipitous that we had joked about not disciplining our children not twenty minutes prior.
While Ryan talked to Wes James came over to me and told me he had to go potty again. He had just been ten minutes before that so I told him the potty was closed go play. He ran off to the playground.
I spent the next five or ten minutes talking to my much more normal friend and her much more normal family when the chorus of whining coming from Wes became so loud that I could not help but be distracted.
I turned around and leveled my gaze "You may not pick on toddlers. You SIT there and you be QUIET."
It was clearly time to get the heck out of there. But then another wonderful friend happened into the restaurant. Ryan turned to take Wes and Mary to the car (because Wes was freaking the freak out by this point. NO RELAXING LINGERING OVER BEERS IN THE MID-FEBRUARY SUNSHINE FOR YOU ) and I chatted with both of my friends for a few moments. James ran up to my friend's son and gave him a sweet hug hello. We were musing about how adorable that was when James turned around and began removing his pants while yelling "I HAFFA GO POTTY!!!"
After hasty goodbyes we headed for the bathroom (which was no longer closed).
MEANWHILE, Ryan was attempting to get Mary and Wes to the car while Wes had turned into a coyote. He attempted to escape from Ryan in the parking lot (to where, I am uncertain) but Ryan caught him by one arm. Wes swung around, hanging from his arm and tried to BITE RYAN.
I'm not sure, but this may have been the time Ryan began to lose his cool.
By the time I got there Wes and Mary were both buckled in, Wes was sulking, and Ryan was gripping the steering wheel so hard I feared it would melt in his hands.
Once home I deposited a limp, unwilling Wes into the shower and hosed him off with the hand sprayer before forcibly dressing him in pajamas and tucking him into bed where he was asleep by 6:20. Which explains everything.