Art Party

Today is Troy’s third birthday. It just so happened to fall on a Saturday this year, so we were able to throw him a party on the actual day. As in the past, we picked a theme for the party, and this year it was Art. We decorated with colorful, paint-splotchy and tie-dye balloons, table cloths, and wall coverings. And as an added touch, I hung some of Troy’s personal artwork on the walls to tie it altogether.

We invited the other kids from his daycare class, their parents, and our parents. All told we had eight kids running around in absolute chaos. My dad and I had built some short wooden tables for the kids to do arts and crafts at, but we underestimated how hard it is to wrangle that many young kids together and focus them all on the same activity. 

Eventually, we got them together to paint on these mini canvases and easels that my wife had found. But after ten minutes, they were ripping off their smocks and racing around out of control again! The funniest part was when I went downstairs to find Troy all alone, playing with his dinosaurs. Apparently, he didn’t like the going-ons upstairs either and left to take a break.

We finished the evening with catered BBQ and a neat rainbow cake my wife had ordered. Each layer had multi-colored frosting in between it. We gave the kids a bag filled with party favors, DIY craft projects, and some crafts we had done for them out of toilet paper rolls, pipe cleaners, and googly eyes. It was fun but extremely exhausting. And we definitely over-planned it!

You Don't Talk about...Daycare Fight Club

Troy has had a rough couple of weeks, if the bruises on his forehead, arms, and legs are any indication. He lives life hard, and sometimes that wild abandon is followed by green remnants of past adventure. This evening, when I was changing his clothes after his bath, I asked him how he got some new bruise on his cheek. He replied, “I don’t know.” Repeated questions about other bruises were met with the same response.

His evasiveness immediately made me think that he was covering up something. Like maybe he’d made a pact not to talk about whatever it was. And I started wondering if the daycare was running an illegal underground fight club on the playground. It would explain why Troy has had so many bruises over the last couple of years. And the fact that he has not sustained serious injuries must mean that he’s winning. That’s my boy!

Play Date

This afternoon, we had one of the little girls from Troy’s daycare over for a play date. Troy enjoyed showing Misha all his toys, books, and stuffed animals. Misha enjoyed the freedom to run around in the open space upstairs, play in the tunnels and ball pit, and follow Troy around in whatever he was doing. They had a good time together, and you see Troy open up in these one-on-one situations unlike when he’s in larger groups.

My wife and I enjoyed having some other parents around to talk to and compare our kids…who’s bigger, who’s started potty training, who eats and who doesn’t. You get reassurance (on both sides) that you’re doing okay and that your kid is just fine compared to other kids. Even though we’ve waited a long time to even begin thinking about potty training with Troy, compared to Misha who’s already well into the process, you find out that it’s about when they’re ready. Every kid is different, and these things shouldn’t be rushed.

We ended the evening with dinner, putting Misha and Troy at his little table next to our big table. Of course the eating portion of their meal only lasted a few minutes before they were both ready to go play again. They’ll have other opportunities to eat, but play times with your friends are few and far between.

Sweeter

This morning, I gave Troy some chocolate donuts for breakfast. I had originally bought the box with the intention of sharing them with him, but he was being particularly possessive of them. After repeated attempts to “thieve” one for myself, I finally just asked him if I could have one. He thought about it for a second, staring at the donuts, I’d like to think in an attempt to pick just the right one. Then, he reached into the box, pulled one out, kissed it, and handed it to me. I took the donut, smiled, and said, “Well, now it’s even sweeter!”

Angry!

Today, we received an incident report that Troy had been bitten on the hand by his best friend, Misha…of all people! The daycare teacher said she couldn’t believe it, because Troy and Misha are inseparable. He apparently had cried quite a lot, and her razor-sharp choppers had drawn blood.

When I asked him this evening about it, he confirmed that Misha had, in fact, bitten him, and he showed me the red, inflamed bite mark on his thumb. When I asked him why she’d done it, he said, “Because she’s mean.” I said, “I don’t believe that. Misha is not mean, she’s sweet.” “She’s not sweet! She’s so…ANGRY!!!” he screamed in response. “She bit me!” he added, showing me the bite mark again. “Well, what did you do to make her angry?” “I don’t know, nothing.”

I had to laugh at how much this sounded like conversations I’ve had with grown men when they have a confrontation with their wives. “I didn’t do anything! She just went off on me! There’s something wrong with that woman, she’s so angry!”

Love Triangle

My wife sent me a picture yesterday of Troy playing on the playground with two little girls. Troy is chasing one of the little girls, and the other little girl is chasing Troy. It looked like a love triangle that can only end badly for the girl in the back. My son can typically be found in pictures with these two little girls. Like father, like son, I guess.

My one memory of when I was four years old is of being at daycare sliding down the slide. I was waiting my turn to climb up the ladder when two little girls, Tara and Holly, approached me and blocked my way. They asked, “Which of us do you like better?” Honestly, I didn’t care either way, and I said as much. I just wanted to slide. But they would get out of my way until I picked one of them, so I said, “Holly.” At the time, I had no idea the issues that answer was going to cause.

Holly left the school after that year, but I was stuck with Tara for the next nine years of my life. Two years after my poor decision by the slide, I actually developed a crush on Tara, and I told her so. She slapped me across the cheek, and said, “Then you should have picked me, not Holly.” Elementary school and junior high dragged along after that.

Stunt Fighting

JR got the opportunity to take a stunt fighting workshop from real movie stunt coordinators. He loved it, but he said it challenged him too. After he told me about this, I asked him how he was practically using this in his everyday life. He laughed and said he wasn’t sure yet.

I told him that I could see him changing Jayce’s poopie diapers all on his own now without having to have a stunt double step in at that crucial moment and deal with the heavy lifting. Being the great guy that he is, he humored my crazy imagination and joined me in my fantasy scenario. “No, no, thank you. I’m going to do the stunt myself this time. I can handle this diaper. I took a stunt fighting workshop!”

I can see this turning into a thing now, like the “I stayed in a Holiday Inn Express” hotel campaign.

Frustration

I read some literature last night that suggested a calmer approach to dealing with the hitting. It suggests taking Troy out of the situation and into a private room away from everyone, and explaining to him that his actions are not okay. Then, it suggests to give him an alternative to express himself. It said to be consistent and do it immediately, because toddlers have a very short attention span.

So, this morning Troy hit me, and I immediately took him away to my wife’s office and told him that that was not okay. It hurt me, and I didn’t like it. I told him that he couldn’t do that anymore, and if he needed a way to express his frustration, then he could just tell me that he was unhappy. Later on at lunch, he hit my wife. I immediately took him into our bedroom, and I repeated what I’d said earlier.

When my wife took him to lay down for his nap, Troy said to her, “I hit you, mama.” “Yes, you did, and it hurt.” “Yeah, dada talked to me about it.” I guess I’m getting through to him already. It’s amazing how perceptive and understanding his brain is, even when he doesn’t seem to be paying attention.

Time Out

Tonight, Troy got frustrated and hauled off and clocked me in the side of the face with his fist. I was focused on something else, and I didn’t see it coming. I have to say that he delivered it perfectly and with a legitimate amount of force. He’s been hitting us a lot lately, usually when he doesn’t get his way, so in order to address it, I took him in the other room and put him in time-out. He immediately dissolved into a crying fit at the injustice of my actions.

I left him in there for five minutes or so until he finally stopped crying. I then asked him if he was ready to rejoin the family, and he replied in the affirmative. After he was back in the den, he got a book, brought it over to me, stopped in front of me, and then hauled off and hit me again.

So, the time-out was a useless way to deal with this behavior. I’m going to have to find another way. We need to address it before it gets worse.

Pull My Finger

Trying to satisfactorily fulfill my duties as a father, today I introduced Troy to the “pull my finger” gag. It was just him and me in the room, playing, so I held out my finger and told him to pull it. With the gullibility of an almost three-year old, he did. And I tooted…loudly. He immediately erupted into a fit of laughter, which made me laugh too. Then, he stopped laughing, and gasped. “Uck, dada! That really stinks!” “It really does,” I replied, suddenly become nauseous as the wave of putrid odor washed over us. We both decided that it would be best to vacate his room and leave his stuffed animals to fend for themselves.

The Banshee

Lately, Troy has been screeching like a banshee when he doesn’t get his way or like what you have to say. It’s shrill, it’s high, and it’s obnoxious. I’m not sure where he learned it or why he thinks that’s effective, but it’s not. It makes us want to acquiesce to his demands even less. Sometimes he’ll start doing it, and if you try to talk to him or get him to stop, he’ll start doing it with every word you say. And if you’re unlucky enough to be too close, he’ll slap you as well for good measure. I’m really loving this age…time period…whatever.