When Grace Left the Room…

Carrick's POV…

Oh, man. What am I supposed to do now? He's still grabbing at whatever he can find… This is ridiculous. Sad, but ridiculous. How am I supposed to just read him a book while he eats like this? Not happening.

I don't want to scare him, so I very calmly try to get his attention; "Hey Buddy…." He doesn't even register I'm here. "Whoa there!" Again, nothing. Not even a glance. Then, a bit more firmly, "Stop!"

He freezes in his tracks, on his hands and knees, cheeks bulging with breakfast, and reaching for more eggs. He looks up at me with terror on his face. Oh man, did I just cause that look?…

I calm my voice back down again. "This is not allowed. Food belongs on a plate, the plate belongs on the table and we do not eat with our fingers." Still no movement but very wide, gray eyes. I think he's too afraid to move. "I'm not going to hurt you…" He looks at the eggs he was about to grab, then back up at me. "…And yes, you may have everything here. But you made a mess and it needs to be cleaned up. I will help you."

I take the plate and continue the cleanup job Grace had begun a few moments ago. I think he is still afraid to move. I smile at him, but stay firm with him. "Let's go. You made this mess. I will help you, but you will help too." I point at a ripped piece of pancake.

Either he doesn't think I am serious, or doesn't comprehend what I just said. "Do you understand me? This mess will get cleaned up first, then you may finish your breakfast." I wait. He stares. I stare back. "Can you hear me?" I get a slight copper-colored nod. "Do you understand what I am saying?" Again, a nod. "Then…. pick up that pancake and put it on this plate."

What am I going to do if he refuses? I have no paternal authority here.. yet. And I can't keep him from his breakfast. Gracie practically ordered me to let him eat it. Where is she? He seems to respond much better to her.

As if he can read my mind, he looks pleadingly at the door, and I hear him make a deep throated groan. "Oh, she's coming back, and she's not going to be happy if this bed is still a mess." And we're back to a stare down… I state firmly again, "Clean up this food…" Then to my surprise, his fear is gone and replaced by a look of stubborn frustration, almost like I'm about to witness a 'terrible-twos' temper tantrum. If this was Elliot, I'd play the 'I'm the Dad' card, but what do I do with this little guy? Where is Grace? My only option is to see if I can wait him out.

Finally, but not wanting to take his eyes off me, he reaches for the pancake, picks it up slowly, and puts it on the plate. I pick up some scrambled eggs and add them to the breakfast pile, then he continues without any more coaxing from me. Thank goodness. When we've cleaned up as much as we can, I put the plate on the table. He leans forward and reaches for it.

"Oh no…Not yet… We sit up when we eat. Go on…scoot back and sit up." He's still refusing to take his eyes off me, but is actually doing it. "That's better. Now, no fingers. You're going to use this…"

I hold up the fork. He looks at it questioningly. It dawns on me that he may have no idea what I'm talking about. With the desperate reaction to food we just witnessed, I'm guessing he probably hasn't had much practice with tableware.

"Do you know what this is?" I get another slight nod, but with a wary look. "Do you know how to use it?" This time, I get a sad expression and a slow shake of his head. "Well, today, we'll just go with the basics." I dive it into the breakfast pile. "You poke it into the food like this, and then put it in your mouth."

I hold out the fork full of food for him. He slowly takes it from me and reaches to take the food off the tines. "No. No fingers." He looks directly at me with a nervous, unsure expression. I nod at the fork and he ungracefully manages to get it, and the food, into his mouth.

"There! Much better. Now, you can eat as much as you want." I wheel the table over to him and move around the bed to find the books Gracie brought. I sit in the chair next to the bed and reach down into the bag. I notice that in the breakfast debacle, his blanket had fallen on the floor. Do I interrupt what we've accomplished for this dirty blanket, or leave well enough alone right now? I grab it and decide to let him have it back while he eats. I figure it can't hurt to have a little peace offering between us right now.

"Would you like this?" I ask softly. He lets out a deep breath with a quiet grunt. He reaches out his thin arms to take it from me. "No blanket in the food." He carefully wads it up in a dirty ball and swings it to the side, checking to see that it's not in his eggs. He puts it in his lap, and continues to awkwardly get the fork into the food, and into his mouth.

"Now, let's see what we have here… OK. Here's one of my favorites, Green Eggs and Ham…" I start to read,

"I am Sam…"