Potty Training

CC is trying to potty train Declan over the weekend. Apparently, he read a book that said you can achieve success in three days with constant vigilance. They decided to let Declan run around naked, so he’d be more consciously aware that he needed to go to the bathroom. I guess the idea is that when you see them start to pee, you grab them and rush to the toilet, so they learn where to go. Of course, I’m imagining Declan weeing a stream across the room as CC runs with him toward the bathroom.

I’m reminded of that scene from Bruce Almighty, where the dog is constantly peeing on the couch, and Bruce grabs him and rushes outside with the dog peeing the entire time. As soon as he gets to the grass outside, the dog stops. I can see Declan doing the same thing. Peeing until he gets to the toilet, then stopping. I can also see CC putting plastic wrap all over his apartment to keep it dry. Looking like something out of a scene from Dexter. Ought to be a fun three days.

The Buffet

The replacement inflatable dinosaurs finally came in this week.  Troy was over the moon having the whole gang back together.  He'd been playing with the Brachiosaurus and an ever-deflating Pterodactyl for a while now.  After having a WDWF (World Dinosaur Wrestling Federation) Smackdown to determine top dog...Spinosaurus won again, the first thing Troy did was to gather his now four Brachiosauruses and lined them up together.  My wife saw it and said, "Awww, he put the little Brachiosaurus family together."

A few minutes later, Troy drug the T-Rex and Spinosaurus into the room and faced off with the Brachiosaurus family.  I laughed and said, "No, he was lining up the buffet for the carnivores!"

Toilet Paper - Part 2

So, the toilet paper thing backfired a little bit. Troy is still getting some off when he needs it, but he’s also been pulling off long sheets and wearing it as a scarf around the house. I guess the good news is that he can just wipe his nose on his scarf. The bad news is that he tried to fold it and put it into my drawer!

Toilet Paper

Troy hasn’t been feeling well this weekend, and his nose has been running almost constantly. He’s been awesome about telling us that his nose is running, but that also means he’s telling us, “Nose,” every 1-2 minutes. We wanted to encourage him, so we stopped and wiped his nose each time, but it meant we couldn’t get anything else done.

So, I went and got a roll of toilet paper out of the bathroom and set it on the edge of the table. The next time he said, “Nose,” I took him to the roll and told him that he could get some himself. He acted so proud, like he was all grown up and being entrusted with a sacred task. After that, he’d just go to the roll and help himself whenever he needed to wipe his nose.

I’m still working on teaching him how to push the little pedal to open the trash can and throw the dirty tissue away, but baby steps…literally.

Watch It, Mama!

There was a major car accident on the freeway this morning when my wife was heading to work. It had all lanes closed, and traffic was at a standstill for over an hour. When the police finally started redirecting cars onto the shoulder and around the accident, it was very narrow and slow going. As my wife pulled carefully around, Troy said, “Watch it, mama.” I guess he was worried about her, sweet boy that he is. He’s so intuitive about the world. It’s amazing.

The Secret Fist Bump

Troy has completely embraced the fist bumps. In fact, he’s even been initiating them with me in the morning after I strap him into the car. It’s like he’s telling me that I did a great job with the car seat. Or perhaps it’s motivation to go have a great day. Like, “You got this, dada. Go be the Wizard of Oz.” It’s awesome.

I’ve been trying to work in an explosion or something after we bump fists. Just something to jazz it up a little bit. Maybe one day we’ll have an entire routine; fists, elbows, knees, feet, hips. It’ll be like baby and dada’s secret handshake.

Kicking Grass on a Warm Turd

I have noticed lately that if I get onto Troy about his behavior, that he will raise his response to meet my discipline. Then, he will promptly escalate it well beyond it. The more I get onto him, the more he acts out in revolt.

For example, today he was sitting in his bath like normal, and my wife was taking a shower. He asked me if he could get in the shower with her. He sometimes likes to do this to play in the “rain.” Unfortunately, she was almost done and was rushing to go make dinner. So, I told him that he couldn’t do it today. To which he started pouting.

Deciding that he wasn’t enjoying his bath anymore, I started to wash his hair to expedite his removal from the tub. At this point, he started screaming at me and slapping my hands away from his head. I told him that was inappropriate and continued to scrub his head more forcefully. So, he screamed louder and then stood up to get away from me. If I tried to get to him, then he’d run to the other end of the tub. So, I got onto him about running in the tub and how dangerous it was. His scowl deepened.

Having had enough of his attitude and feeling myself well past the “safe” point with my temper, I simply pulled the plug on the tub to let the water drain out. As we both stood there waiting for the water to slowly drain out, we engaged into a stubborn stare off. Me frowning at him, and him glaring at me.

His head was tilted slightly down, so that his icy stare was filtered through his little eyebrows. His arms hanging limply by his sides. His shoulders slumped forward. And then all of a sudden, he just started kicking the water out of the tub at me. It was like watching a baseball player kicking dirt on an umpire. Or perhaps a dog kicking grass on a fresh, warm turd. Either way, it was defiant and calculated. Troy was showing me just what he thought about my authoritarian tactics.

The stupidest part about all of this is that it most likely could have been completely avoided. If I had shown him compassion and patience instead, staying calm and explaining things to him, then he most likely would have had his brief moment and moved on. Perhaps I could have distracted him or made him laugh. But by choosing to get frustrated with him, the situation escalated and then set the tone for the remainder of the night.

I’m not saying that days after this won’t be just as hard, but it was definitely insightful for me. I’d rather laugh and play with my son than have us separated by pillows on the couch, avoiding each other. And it all starts with controlling my own emotions. The good news is that he is incredibly forgiving. And tomorrow, we’ll wake up with a clean slate, having put the past behind us. I’ll kiss him awake and tickle his cheeks with my mustache. He’ll come running into the kitchen, while I’m making breakfast, reach for me again, and ask me, “Doing, dada?” And I’ll thank God that I have another chance to try to be a good father.

Be Careful, Dada!

After we picked up Troy from daycare today, we decided to stop at the pond near the church and see the geese. Not trusting Troy near the water or to not chase the geese, I put him up on my shoulders. He enjoyed bouncing along up there, gripping my neck with one hand and occasionally slapping my head with the other. As we got close to the water I stopped to show Troy the turtles. All of a sudden he gripped my head tightly with both hands and said, “Be careful, dada!” I replied that I was being careful. And he repeated his wisdom to me. “Be careful, dada!” I guess he was afraid that I was going to drop him into the pond…and that was a loooong way down there.

Rear Naked Chokehold

Troy hates me brushing his teeth in the morning. I don’t think he actually hates getting his teeth brushed. I think it’s part of his on-going plan to make my life difficult. He starts screaming the moment he sees the toothbrush in my hand. Then, he flaps his arms around trying to keep me from reaching his mouth. I have to put him in a rear naked chokehold and then shove the toothbrush into his mouth. Then, he usually settles down. 

Cicadas

I took Troy to the park today just to let him get out of the house for a little bit. It was still pretty hot, but at least the park is covered by trees. The shade definitely helped, and God was kind enough to send some cloud cover too. After the perfunctory climb backwards up the slide, Troy started wandering around picking up sticks, looking at ants, and checking on the fake owl that lives on the fence. I happen to notice a discarded cicada skin stuck on a nearby tree. Seeing a teaching opportunity, and hoping that Troy might find it cool, I brought him over and pointed it out to him. 

His first response was to run in terror. But after I pulled it off the tree, and showed him that it meant no harm, he got more curious. First, analyzing it as it rested in the palm of my hand. Then, getting more bold and picking it up. After that, he wanted to run all over the park, finding more and more, peeling them off the trees and carrying them around. It was a pleasant way to spend the afternoon, and Troy was able to overcome another fear and learn something new.

Okay

“Do you want something to eat?”

“Yeah.”

“How about some cheese?”

“No.”

“How about some cookies?”

“No.”

“How about…?”

“No.”

“You need to let me finish. I didn’t even get my question out.”

“Okay.”

“So, how about some chocolate?”

“Okay.”

Skinny Dipping

Troy desperately wanted to go swimming today, but we hadn’t had a chance to wash his swimsuit yet after he wore it at Splash Day on Friday. So my wife was just going to send him into the pool in a onesie sans diaper, but I asked why she was going to bother with the onesie. It’s a private pool, nobody’s going to see him if he swims in the buff. So, Troy had his first skinny dip! He seemed to like the freedom. I’m concerned we may have issues getting him back in a diaper or pants!

He's been a little freaked out by the pool this year for some reason, clinging to me for dear life, like he's going to drown or something. I was having no luck getting him to let loose and float, after all, he has floaties around both arms and his chest...he's not going under even if he tried. Then, I put his feet on the bottom and showed him that he can actually stand without getting his head wet. After that, he was off to explore on his own. So, for an hour, we chased each other around the pool, just dada and a naked baby.

I think I was 11 or 12 before I skinny dipped for the first time, so Troy definitely has a leg up on me. I remember that my grandmother talked my cousin, my brother, and myself into doing a middle-of-the-day-pale-fest at her house. Then, while we were in there, she stole our towels and swimming suits, and she left us outside naked. We were forced to race through the house with a potted plant, a French Poodle, and a beach ball for cover. My grandmother was cackling the whole time. She trixie like that!

Share Me!

“I had it,” Troy cried as dada took one of the forks from him.

“You did have it, but you don’t anymore. Dada needs a fork too, and you took his,” dada replied.

“It’s mine!” Troy complained.

“No, it’s mine, and you were just borrowing it. You need to learn to share. You had two forks, so we each can have one,” dada explained calmly.

“Share me!” Troy exclaimed, switching tacks and reaching out to grab the fork.

“That’s not really how sharing works. We’ll just end up right where we were with you having all the forks and dada having none.”

“Share me!”

“It's not going to happen, so you might as well just be content with the fork you do have.”

[Raspberry]

“What does a llama have to do with this conversation?”

[Giggling]

Doing, mama?

This morning, my wife was making pancakes and I was washing dishes. Troy had climbed up into his chair and clipped himself in, so I drug his chair into the middle of the kitchen. That way, he could see everything and feel like he was a part of the action.

As he sat there watching us, he kept asking, “Doing, mama?” “I’m flipping the pancakes, baby.”

“Doing, dada?” “I’m washing the dishes, baby.”

“Doing, mama?” “I’m cooking eggs, baby.”

And then satisfied that he wasn't being kept out of anything, he said, "Okay," and he started singing.

Little Slash

Ever since Troy saw a guitar at our friend's house, he's been obsessed with wanting to play one. I let him play on mine, but he strummed the strings so hard that I was afraid they'd break. And he had a general lack of respect for the instrument, flinging it around in an attempt to keep it from me. So, I decided that he needed his own guitar.

I found a small, cheap, 4-string ukulele made specifically for children, and I bought it. Troy loves it. Now, he carries it around the house, strumming some discordant tune and singing all of his favorite songs. It's awesome. I guess when he's a little older, we can take guitar lessons together. Since that's on my bucket list anyway, it works out.

The Magic Word

Lately, Troy has been a little demanding with his requests to us. He will get increasingly louder and more manic if we don't comply, sometimes even screeching at us. To acknowledge that we're listening to him and to try to instill more politeness into his demeanor, we have resorted to asking, "What's the magic word?" 

At first, he would just repeat his demand in a more emphatic manner, as if to say, "What are you...stupid? I already told you what I want. I don't need magic, I need you to drop everything, get off your lazy keister, and do my bidding!" But after repeatedly telling him that the magic word is "please," he started to give the appropriate response to our question.

But being too smart for his own good, he's now started to anticipate our question. First, making his demand, and then after a short pause adding, "Please" to the end. And then, just to be cheeky, he also tells himself "Thank you" for using the magic word.

8 Seconds

Troy and I were playing upstairs this afternoon, and he tackled me and jumped on top of me. He wrapped his legs around my waist and his arms around my neck, so I decided to give him the “bucking bronco.” So, I grabbed his arms and started jerking from side to side and bouncing up and down. I assumed he’d be scared and want off. Instead, he started laughing uncontrollably. He never ceases to amaze me what a thrill-seeker he is! And on top of that, he made the whole 8 seconds!

Broken Glass

Today, Troy was having a temper tantrum, because I was trying to get him to go take a nap. He wanted to continue to sit at the table and pick at his food and watch his TV show. In his flailing frenzy, he managed to grab hold of the glass bowl he was eating out of. I saw him grab it. I saw him pull it toward him. I knew he was going to pull it off the table. And I let him. I could have stopped it, but I didn’t. I wanted him to break it. I wanted him to see the negative consequences of his anger.

So, he pulled the bowl off, and I watched it head toward the floor and shatter into a hundred pieces. The deafening crack of the glass hitting the tile scared the bejeezus out of Troy. He stopped his flailing and got very still, staring in shock at the broken pieces of the bowl; covering the dining room, the kitchen, and the den. Then, he started crying. An inconsolable wail as the fear set in. I picked him up to comfort him, but I also told him that that was his fault. That was the consequences of his anger and tantrum.

I don’t know if he’ll get it. But sometimes you sacrifice a bowl to teach a lesson. I could have grabbed that bowl today, but I won’t always be there to do that. He’ll need to learn to control his emotions and express them in a less violent way. And if he doesn’t, there will be consequences. And my consequences for not stopping it? I now get to clean up all the pieces of broken glass.