The face (and laughter) of compassion

It is no secret that I'm completely smitten with a one Master Henry Marshall Phillips. But sometimes, I'm so overcome with with love for him that I can't help but smile. Particularly when I get glimpses into the man he will become. From what I've seen today, he will be funny and he will be a good friend. (Not unlike his father.)

This morning, Henry "told" his first joke. Every morning when we walk down the stairs, I ask him to point to various people in the pictures on the wall, and he lovingly obliges. On several occasions, when asked to point to Mommy or Henry, he's pointed directly at me or himself, respectively. To which I always chuckle and say, "Well, yes, but where is Mommy in the picture?" This morning, we were putting away his trains into their Tupperware containers. (I've had to 'box' up all his toys in an effort to encourage him to ask for help. Despite having bought the most complicated and child proofed bins, it took all of 20 minutes for him to figure these out. He's also learned how to unzip the laundry bags the toys are in. And oh yeah, he even knows how to pull a stool up from the island, climb up it, undo the safety latch on the pantry doors, climb back down, move the stool, open the pantry door, and then climb back up the stool to fetch the goldfish box. Where am I during this? Usually just standing in awe at my boyish son, watching him sit elbow deep in the box of goldfish, thinking, "Why does he need to ask for help when he so obviously does not need it?" But his speech therapist says that asking for help is her goal for him, so I'm trying to raise the first man who will ask for help.)
Okay, so back to putting the trains in their containers and his joke. I'm naming all the trains and saying, "Bring me Toby. Put Toby in the box." And he brings me Toby and places him the box. "Okay, bring me Henry. Put Henry in the box." And the boy grabs the Henry train and his tender and then proceeds to jump into the box himself. Then he says, "No no!", throws his head back and just laughs and laughs. Then he steps out of the box, and through his laughter says, "Choo choo!" and then places the Henry train in the box. I gotta tell you, his first "joke" was a hit. He had the whole audience laughing. (And by whole audience, I mean me.)

Also this morning we went over to watch his BFF Nathan and Nathan's sister Anna. Nathan is 5 months older than Henry and Anna is 4. Nathan was playing with his dad's recliner and popped open the footrest, which he knows he is not supposed to do because it is a finger chomper. So I made Nathan set the recliner aright, and then we went into the dining room for a little refresher on recliner protocol. And then I made him put his nose on the wall and wait until he could play again. (Yes, I know this is a bit school marmish. But I've found that having to take a breather while watching others play is a bit much for a 2 year old boy to handle, so making him face the wall is actually me showing grace to him. And making him concentrate on keeping his nose to the wall is the only way I've found to keep a toddler occupied and actually turned in one direction.)
Well, Henry began to look for Nathan. "Nay-no? Nay-no?" To which, Nathan responded, "In here, Hen-hee. I rouble."
Henry proceeded to go into the dining room and join Nathan. He pressed his nose up to the wall beside Nathan, and put his hand on Nathan's back. This was a point of conflict for the older sister. "You are supposed to be alone when you are in time out." But I looked at her, coloring in the kitchen, and then looked at these two friends bearing one another's burdens, and told her, "You know, Anna. I know Nathan is supposed to be by himself during time out. But Henry is being compassionate. He is being a good friend." To which Anna responded, "Well, then I guess it's okay." "Yeah, Anna, " I said, "I guess it's okay too."
And the two boys stayed there, with their noses mashed against the wall, for probably another 30 seconds, until I said, "Okay, Nathan. Time's up." And then they went back to playing, fighting over Thomas, because while Henry can bear his friend's burden and be with him in his distress, he cannot seem to part with either of the blue engines.