All of my boys are unique individuals. Ty, my third born, is undoubtedly my quietest child.
Ty behaves like an angel in public. He eats politely at restaurants and doesn't wiggle in his seat. He is slightly built, blonde-haired, porcelain-skinned, blue-eyed and soft-spoken; and he's totally, 100 percent wacky.
You see, his quiet presence is really just a ruse. It's a facade to hide the silliest, goofiest, most off-the-wall little human being ever. But the catch is that you have to know to watch and wait for it.
Ty is a master of the behind-your-back variety of silliness. I took the four youngest boys to the big-box construction store to pick up more paint while my husband was redoing the kitchen. Ty smiled his sweet, semi-toothless grin at the paint counter clerk who promptly complimented him on his cuteness and flawless behavior. As she turned around to mix our paint, Ty dropped onto the floor on all fours and rubbed against Aidan's legs like a cat. Aidan yelped with laughter; but before the clerk could turn around to see what had set him off, Ty was back up on his feet smiling at her with his hands folded at his middle.
Ty doesn't think like other folks. He has invented his own form of logic. We refer to it as "talking Ty."
One day last week, Ty was spinning around and around like a dervish. He was beginning to make me feel green around the gills just watching him so I suggested he stop. I grabbed his arms to keep him from falling over and helped him to sit down on the floor. He looked at me -- or at least he tried to look at me; his eyes were still spinning a mile a minute -- and said, "Whew! Thanks, Mom. Boy am I glad I didn't eat cheese before I did that." Then he popped up and ran off to play with his brothers, leaving me to wonder whether he considered eating cheese before twirling like a top.