What Made Me Laugh

Owen has a tendency to knock down, slide against, run into, fidget with, pull apart and otherwise dismember anything that he comes in to contact with while he is waiting in line. While the underpaid, slightly perspiring transit authority worker at DIA is comparing the photos on our drivers' licenses to the names on our airline tickets and deciding whether or not we'll need a pat down, Owen has found the release latches on the portable posts the corden  the  hundreds of weary Christmas --oops I mean Holiday--- travelers into a giant maze of right angles. He hasn't just found the latches, he's released them and the black straps snap back into the posts with an alarming force. People around us look annoyed.

Owen realized that was some good stuff, that discovery. He releases the latches to those people corrals at the bank, at Kaiser in the pharmacy, going through Customs in Canada.  It's always when I am in the middle of a transaction, when I have to release my grip on his hand to swipe my card.

He can't pick up a box juice or Organic Horizon Milk from the refrigerator at Starbucks without ripping off the straw.

The therapist I went to (briefly) about the "dysphoria" I felt anytime I walked in to some establishment with my fearless and obsessively tactile child suggested I role play getting a coffee at Starbucks beforehand.  The problem with that was I needed the coffee before I could begin the role play.

So here we are in line for a coffee at a local coffee house.We have talked about keeping our hands to ourselves while in line. I've done a little half hearted role play that neither of us really got in to. It's our turn to order. Thank you, Jesus. The straws are just so tempting. I step up to the counter and Owen sidesteps away from me.  He is being pulled by the force of the Caution, Slippery Floor yellow sign that is straddling a recently mopped spill. You know the sign, the plastic a-frame that comes with the mop and bucket, and has a picture of a stick figure man falling backwards and there is a big circle and slash around him.

 As I swipe my card and feel a breeze at my side where I am supposed to feel a three year old. I hear the clatter and then the crash. I don't need to turn around to know that Owen has knocked over the sign. Joyfully.  It never occurs to me that Owen might haven fallen on the slippery tile. It didn't need to.

I walk firmly to Owen, get at his level, hold his eyes with mine, and say, although it's more of a hiss ,"Owen, we have just finished talking about keeping our hands to ourselves. I let go of your hand for two seconds, and look what happens." I point to the sign that has now collapsed on the floor.

"What is wrong with this picture?"  I shrill.

Nonplussed, Owen bends down to get a closer look at the sign.  "Well, there is a man and he is falling backward onto the floor because it's wet."