In two weeks he will turn three. He seems to be, out of all of my children (and I count The Daddy and the cat here too), the most normal.  He does normal pre-schooler things. He reacts as an almost-three-year-old should to new challenges, routines, stimulus. He sits when he is asked to sit. He fingerpaints when he is asked to fingerpaint. He takes pride in going potty. Sometimes he refuses to do these things and throws himself on the floor wailing and thrashing in a Terrible Threes tantrum. But only at home. Nobody looks at The Wictor and passes judgement. He is a normal little boy, doing normal little boy things.

And yet, he is scarily switched on. “Mommy,” he told me one day, in that matter of fact way of his, “ice is like water”. He notices supermarket signs on the horizon, tiny caterpillars on leaves. He is observant. More than other children his age? I don’t know.  But he certainly can articulate what he sees.

Last week, he passed another Normal Little Boy milestone. I was out with Baby Sister running some errands, when there was a knock on the front door. The Daddy answered it and found the neighbor standing there. She and the Daddy had a very short conversation and then she pointed to our youngest son. The Daddy stepped out into the front yard and squinted at The Wictor. He looked something like this:

;

I didn’t forget to insert a photo. That is, in fact, how The Wictor looked to The Daddy from his vantage point on the front doorstep.

So The Daddy took himself off down the street to where The Wictor stood in someone’s front yard. When he reached him, he asked him sternly what he was doing and told him he wasn’t supposed to be out on the road.

“But, Daddy”, said The Wictor calmly, ” I am looking for Mommy”.

Which was The Daddy’s cue to launch into a lecture on safety. In our neighborhood there are no sidewalks.

(We are too tough for sidewalks, out here in the Houston suburbs, where The Car is King The Truck is King).

“But Daddy”, said The Wictor patiently, “I walked on the lawns”.

Later it all came out, the details of our youngest’s daring escape.

“The two boys playing Kick the Ball!”

“The Big Boy said “Go back! Go back inside your house!” ”

Thank goodness for the neighbors.

We get a lot of Lost Dog signs up in our neighborhood. People are very careless with their canine friends and the children get very excited when they see another fluffy face posted with a phone number and sometimes even a reward. They run through the possibilities quickly, concisely:  finding the dog, calling the owner, getting the reward, spending the reward, getting the dog home in time for his much needed medication…

Later that night The Daddy solemnly told the assembled family that if it wasn’t for the neighbor we would have had to put a sign up for The Wictor. Lost Wictor. The T-Bot and Baby Sister were excited. They very expertly planned losing The Wictor again, making the signs, putting his little snub nosed face on the paper. Sticking it around the environs. Someone would find the Wictor and bring him home and all would be OK with the world. We would eat ice cream.

Myself? I am putting my faith in a better lock for the back gate.