But We Haven't Hit 16 Months Yet

My mother, formerly known as Pure Light and now affectionately referred to as Gumma in our house, once told me that while people often talk about the Terrible Twos, in her extensive experience, 16 months was harder. Well, I think I'm beginning to see what she's talking about. Thumper has entered into a period in his life when he has discovered the intoxicating joy of seeing one's parents completely lose their shit.

He hits and pinches Aerie's face and laughs out loud if she flinches. He knocks my glasses off. He stands on the furniture. He goes after the TV, the stereo, the books, the CD's, the computer, the files, and absolutely anything else he can reach, and as tall as he is, that's a lot. And what's worse, what really just makes my blood boil, is that he does it all with an evil little smirk on his face. If I can, I'll try to take a picture of it some time, but I'm usually too busy trying to keep my cool to think of the camera. His devious smile looks a lot like this kid's, though.

I start out calm. I tell him no. I remove him from whatever it is. I hold him still and make him look right into my face for several uncomfortable seconds while I tell him no and no and no and why no. But he keeps at it and at it until I'm yelling at him and removing him rather roughly. I don't hit him. I don't shake him. But sometimes I think I'm getting close to it. I don't want to yell, because he's demonstrated just how ineffective it is. I have to get louder and louder each time for it to have the same effect, and eventually, even at top volume, it doesn't phase him at all.

Aerie was the calm one, talking me down, but now she's kind of starting to lose it, too. I know intellectually that it's not that he's in a power struggle with me or that he's laughing at my frustration. It's not that he's sophisticated enough to think it through to the conclusion that he can do whatever he wants, and we're not going to hurt him. It's just that he is revelling in his ability to have an impact on his world. He's destructive not because he's demonic, but because his fine motor skills aren't developed enough for him to be constructive. He likes to watch us lose our shit because it's a pretty good bang for his buck.

So Aerie suggested that maybe it's time for time out. I don't think he'll get the concept yet, but at least it will be a negative consequence for him to begin to associate with his defiance of the No. I don't have any illusions that he'll just sit in one place until we tell him he's done serving his time. Aerie tried the high chair once, but we don't want him to associate it with punishment. Ditto the crib. So I think I'm going to keep an eye out on our Goodwill trips for a small, preferably tip-proof, chair. And maybe I can add a seat belt to it if it doesn't already have one.

Really, all of that was just to get to this: what do you experienced folks think? Is 15 months too early for time out? Do you have any other suggestions for us, short of locking him in his closet?

Lectured by Lito

Thumper had a fabulous time playing with two girls, about five and three, at the playground today. They were there with "Lito" and "Lita," which I'm guessing to be Spanish nicknames for Grandpa and Grandma. Perhaps a shortening of "abuelito" and "abuelita," which are, again perhaps, affectionate versions of "abuelo" and "abuela?" This is all conjecture based on my extensive ignorance of Spanish.

Anyhoo, he had a fabulous time. But Lito's extreme concern for Thumper's welfare was starting to make me nervous. He stopped the swing when Thumper was still 20 feet away. He gasped and sighed and jumped every time Thumper so much as wobbled a little. He kept instructing the little girls to take care of him. I began to take it personally. I wondered silently if he would show such concern if I were female, and then wondered if I would be so cavalier about Thumper's safety if I were female. I let him climb on his own. I even let him fall sometimes, but nothing serious, like a four-foot dive off the playground equipment. I let him approach the swings without yelling at him, but I wouldn't have let him walk right into them. I don't think I let him get into dangerous situations, but then I thought about the various scratches and abrasions on his left cheek, his elbow, his knees, his shin, etc., and I thought to a stranger, it might look bad.

Then a dog showed up. On a leash, with an owner. I don't know dog breeds, but the top of its head came to about Thumper's chin. Thumper yelled "Doggie! Doggie! Woowoowoowoowoowoo! Doggie!" and headed in that direction. Usually Thumper approaches dogs but doesn't get closer than 4 or 5 feet. I followed close behind. The dog seemed much calmer than most. I asked its owner if it was OK if Thumper got closer, and she said, "Yes. Roxie's a good girl." Roxie didn't seem at all excited, which I suppose explains why Thumper got closer than usual. The owner asked, "Do you want to pet her?" and patted the dog's side. Thumper patted her gently, and I said, "Good job. Do nice to the doggie." Then he smacked her a good one, and I picked him up, carried him away, and said, "No, do nice to the doggie. No hitting."

That was it. The dog didn't react to Thumper's hit at all. The interaction lasted no more than a few seconds. But as I walked away, Lito came up to me and lectured me, though in a very friendly and smiling sort of way. He told me I should be more careful with the boy, especially with dogs. The dog respects me because I'm so big, but because Thumper's right at eye level, that dog has no respect for him, and bad things can happen. He knows because he used to be an emergency room surgeon.

"Ah!" I thought. "That explains a lot." I thanked him, and we walked back to the car. I struggled with some resentment. Did he think he needed to warn me because I'm the dad and am probably just filling in for the mom for the afternoon? Would he have said something to a woman? Was he right?

I don't like to think I put the boy in danger. I like to think that I let him explore and discover things for himself. I like to think that I'm helping him not to be afraid of the world around him. I see kids at the playground all the time that fall apart at the slightest injury or who don't want to be pushed too high on the swings or who don't want to climb too high or get too dirty, and I think it's because they have protectors who follow them around telling them how dangerous everything is.

But then again, maybe I'm really going to regret it when he cracks his skull open or gets suddenly mauled by a dog that seemed quite calm a moment before.

Fetch. Also, Noisy.

I tried to teach the boy a scaled-down version of catch this afternoon. I rolled him the ball. "Roll the ball!" I said. When it gently nudged his foot, I said, "OK, now roll me the ball! Roll it! Roll me the ball!" while making various gestures indicating motion in my general direction. He looked at me. He looked at the ball. He looked at me. "Roll me the ball!" I encouraged.

"Ball?" he asked?

"Yes, ball. Roll me the ball!"

"Danku!" he said, picking up the ball and carrying it over to me.

"Thank you!" I said. "OK, I'll roll you the ball!" And so forth, and so on. I affected my most enthusiastic tone. I rolled. I encouraged rolling. When he accidentally dropped it, I praised him shamelessly. "Yay! Good roll!" To no avail. My first game of catch was really a game of fetch.

"Danku!"





I vacuumed today. The boy lost his mind. I guess that's testament to how rarely I vacuum. I think the last time I did so, his grandmother (affectionately referred to by the boy as "Mungo") was here, and she took him for a walk outside while I cleaned. That may have been as much as 6 weeks ago. It's amazing how much stuff he finds to eat on the carpet.

So I vacuumed. He freaked out. I only did one room. I stopped frequently to reassure him. "It's OK. It won't hurt you. It's OK. It's just noisy. It's not going to hurt you." And then I vacuumed again.

By the time I finished the one room, he was sobbing. And shaking. Seriously. Visibly trembling. I reassured him again. And for some reason, of all the words I used, he latched on to "noisy."

"Nosy?"

"Yes, it was just noisy. It's not going to hurt you. And it's all done."

"All done?"

"Yes, all done."

Etc., etc. So for the rest of the day, he's periodically looked toward the closet where the vacuum is stored. "Nosy? All done?" He said it for Aerie when she got home, too, and it seemed apparent that "Nosy?" is about the cutest damn word he's ever squeaked out. I think I'll torment him again tomorrow with another room. I'll tell myself I want to desensitize him to the vacuum so that it doesn't traumatize him so much, but really, I just want to talk about the Nosy some more.

All done!

Maybe I Need a Chief of Staff to Keep Me Focused

Thank you, Lisa L, for the congratulations on my weight loss so far. As I may have mentioned, I'm a bit of an attention whore, and that kind of positive feedback might really help me right now. I'm at a point that I have reached in previous weight loss attempts, the point where I'm losing motivation and on the verge of chucking it all in.

I'm sick to death of my workout routine, and I dread getting out there and doing it. And it's been much harder lately, because I've had some on-going respiratory difficulties ever since my pneumonia incident in September. My knees ache, my back hurts, and I just don't want to jog. Good thing Thumper asks me most mornings: "Dog?" To the untrained ear, that may sound like he wants a puppy just like Sasha and Malia, but really, he's asking to get out into the world and see a few cordles (squirrels), dogs, carsh, tucks, bushes, and mosiles (motorcycles).

I'm sick to death of counting points, too. I think I'm done with that. I'm glad I did it, though, because it was kind of a shocker how over the top my portion sizes were before. I have a better sense of mealtime propriety, now. Without counting, and keeping track of every day's point totals, it's a lot easier to tell myself that it's a special occasion or an anomaly when I eat too much. But I'm certainly not going to count points the rest of my life, and overcoming that little voice in my head that says, "Go ahead, it's just this once," is part of winning the battle that will let me keep a reasonable weight. It's a lesson I'll have to learn eventually.

So, solutions? I'm thinking of getting a bike trailer to strap the boy into so that I can mix up my jogging with some bike riding. The best thing about jogging is that, with the jogging stroller, I can include Thumper in my workout, so that when he's napping, I can use that time for other pursuits. And I like to think that I'm providing him with a good model for physical activity by including him in my exercise routine. Aerie has expressed misgivings about strapping the boy into a bike seat because I have been known to wipe out on my bike now and again. Like the time that I broke my wrist. She feels like a bike trailer might be a little safer, and she may have a point.

As for diet, I don't know. Just keep slogging through, I guess. With the exception of some Tootsie Rolls and Tootsie Pops around Halloween, I really have done a pretty good job at eliminating chocolate candy from my diet. I love M&M's, so this is no small feat. Weight Watchers did show me what a waste it is, when you have only so many calories per day, to commit such a high percentage of them to a nutritionally void treat that will not leave you feeling fuller or more satisfied. And I've demonstrated in the past my inability to engage in moderation when it comes to M&M's, Special Dark, Twix, Kit Kat, Reese's, Watchamacallit, Butterfingers, Milky Way, etc. etc. etc., so succeeding in stopping myself when I pass them in the grocery store is a dietary success. I just need to keep working on saying no when I want to eat that bag of popcorn at 9:30 at night, or to eat a small bowl of pretzels instead of half a bag. I also need to find more creative recipes instead of eating big bowls of pasta because I'm sick of raw sticks of celery and peppers and zucchini and cucumber.

So, onward ho! If I don't go completely off the tracks, and remember the success that I've had and how I did it, maybe I can weather the slump and come out the other side with a renewed sense of motivation. And stop thinking things like, "Only 50 more pounds to go!"

My Favorite Post of the Week

This might be my favorite blog post of the week. I'm such an attention whore.

Thanks, Ms. McQ!

My Belief Is a Delicate Flower; Please Be Gentle With It

I haven't been, as so many of the bloggers that I follow have, as desolate and as despairing in my perception of the Bush administration, its goals, or the results of its pursuit of those goals. I've talked a little bit here about why I became more politically conservative, why I was disappointed in the Bush administration and its abandonment of most truly conservative ideals, and how I was, through my little glimmer of hope that Barack Obama really is who he seems to be, ready to believe that the coercive power of government, and the forced redistribution of wealth, may actually be the best conduit for justice, charity, equality, and sustainability.

Consequently, I wasn't as enthusiastic in my support of Obama as some. I voted for him, but I didn't donate to his campaign. I didn't proselytize. But now that it's here, the moment that could mean so much on so many levels for this nation and its people, I want to rejoice. I want to feel, like so many do, that this is morning in America, that all things are possible again.

Please, sir. Please, Mr. President-Elect. I don't see how you can possibly live up to all of the expectations that are placed at your feet, but please, just be a decent man. Act in good faith and in good conscience. Continue to talk to us as though you believe in us as much as many believe in you. Keep using your position to keep us focused. Remember what you've told us about sensible energy policy, about sensible taxation. Remember equality of opportunity. Remember love and pride and hope. You can't fix everything, but you can continue to inspire. And when the news media turns on you, as it eventually will, remember that you can talk to us without them. You did it in unprecedented ways through the election. Don't forget us out here. We're still watching. We're still listening. We're still hoping.

Oh yeah, and don't fuck the interns. Please.

We Should Do This Every Night!

Hope your night was as fun as ours!