The Joy of Motherhood

At three years old, Owen is inarguably the messiest child every born! He can make a mess out of anything! Nevermind the fact that instead of drawing with markers Owen would rather bite the end off, take out the ink-filled center, get it all over his hands, and then rub it on the table (the red finger streaks that resemble something out of a horror film remain permanent). That is actually a mild example. You should see him eat a biscuit, or pop-tarts, which have now been ban in our house thanks to Owen. I'm sure some of it has to do with the fact that he has entirely too much freedom within the house, but I really think part of it is just bread into him. I'm certain he gets it from Brant, I might add. So... all of this is leading up to the story of the potatoe soup! We had potatoe soup for dinner. Owen ate potatoe soup. I was proud, he ate pretty good, and did not make an incredibly large mess. That is untill it came time to get down from the table, a which time his hand hit the edge of the plate his bowl of soup was sitting on. I watched helplessly as a wide trail of potatoe soup splattered from the kitchen into the living room, spraying the table, the floor, and the curtain on the back door, not to mention anything else it came in contact with along the way! Messiest child ever born! Ahh...the joy of motherhood!