Holt is quite possibly the most complex child we have. Liliputian and Daegan wear their thoughts on their sleeves...Holt, well, he keeps to himself. Perhaps it's a result of his phonological issues, but more than likely it is simply his devious personality. Patrick has endearing nicknames for him: "Satan's Spawn, Serial Killer, etc.," and while I know he's kidding (sort of), Holt is most intriguing to me. I never know what each day will bring with him. Daegan and Lilee in their combined 12 years have never caused the chaos that little Holt Oxford Bennett has.
My running tally of Holt's nuances (if they may so be called) are:
Flooding our bedroom with water from an upstairs sink (nothing like water pouring through the air vent in the ceiling!)
Writing on the leather couch (on more than one occasion)
Getting himself kicked out of day care (an accomplishment he shares with brother Daegan)
Recently trying to choke himself to death at 2AM with a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figure (read in post from September)
Swinging from the bathroom towel bar (the residual hole is big enough to stick his small little fist through, which I'm sure he did with great interest)
Climbing the fence in the back yard (regularly) to escape to the neighbors (I think he believes they will offer him immunity from his crimes)
Pulling art work off the wall above the stairs (damage irreparable)
And most recently his Great Escape:
I came in after work about two weeks ago, set Holt down to eat a snack at the kitchen table, and proceeded to go have mommy time in the bathroom. About 3 or 4 minutes later I came out to find the kitchen table void of Holt and his snack. I assumed (yes, I know what the infamous "they" say about assuming, so, please, no comments from the peanut gallery!) that he took his snack upstairs. I too easily became distracted with picking up or some other such nonsense and about five minutes passed. It was then I realized the house was quiet--impossibly quiet even for sneaky little elf like children. I called Holt's name what must have been four or five times and didn't hear a sound. I looked in the back yard...no Holt, no sound. I came back through the house and went to the front door which I immediately noted was unlocked (we came in the garage door earlier). I still hoped for the best, that he was on the driveway or in the yard eating his chips...
What I was greeted with was a stranger walking my child, whose head hung low and shoulders slumped in obvious guilt, up the driveway, concern written all over her face. I can only imagine the horrible things she thought of me as a mother when she found my
three year old walking down the main street in our neighborhood! This dear, dear woman stopped her car, parked it on the side of the road, and held Holt's hand as he showed her back to "Holtie's House."
Needless to say, I think I was a little more annoyed than relieved (I chalk this up to his repeated offenses) and knelt down in front of him, grabbed both hands, and said, "Holt, where were you going? Mommy was looking everywhere for you!" To which he responded, "I running away, Mommy." "Where were you running?" "I going to McOnald's."
Let's face it. The kid is a pragmatist; he knows what he wants and the only way he was going to get what he wanted that day was to walk. Holt Oxford Bennett is proof that you really can love the devil, especially when the devil says, "I yuv you, too, Mommy."
