Buried Alive...By Pillows

Troy and my wife were home today, even though I had to go back to work. It wasn't an extremely busy day, so I was able to take breaks in between my meetings and play with Troy to give my wife a break. It's not always easy to come up with something new and exciting to keep him entertained, but luckily he uses his imagination to help me out.

Today, he came into my office and threw all the pillows off my couches onto the floor. I proceeded to pick them up and throw them back onto the couch. He, of course, seized the opportunity to "aggravate" me by throwing them on the floor again. Then, he laid down on the couch to prevent me from being able to reposition the pillows again. Little did he know that I didn't care if he was in the way, and I put the pillows on top of him. He was perfectly content with this option, and we immediately had a new game...bury Troy alive with pillows.

Every inch of him was covered except for a very small hole over his face, so he could breathe and wouldn't panic. He loved it. I even took his stuffed snake and acted like he was worming his way through the crevices in the rocks to find shelter. Troy graciously made space for him, and they both laid under the mountain of pillows, "hiding" from me.

Kids Say the Darnedest Things

My mom has these skin-colored moles on her face near her nose and mouth. I don’t think she’s always had them, but they’ve definitely been there for a while now. Most of us don’t really notice or acknowledge them. They’re just a part of mom. But most of us aren’t an uninhibited three-year old who blurts out every thought on his mind. So, Troy was sitting on my mom’s lap this weekend, studying her face, when all of a sudden he says, “You have nipples on your face, Gammy.” My wife and I were both shocked and extremely amused. My mom didn’t know what to say. Kids say the darnedest things!

The Days are Long, but the Years are Short

I was hoping to avoid this, but it appears that we have entered the “trying threes” with a vengeance. Troy has been sporadically and suddenly melting down more and more lately. And it’s for the smallest things.

If he doesn’t get to watch what he wants on the TV within one minute of requesting it. If one of his shoes slips off while he’s running around. If a piece of his pancake falls on the floor. If his shirt slips up in the back while he’s sitting in the car seat. If his blanket gets caught under him when he turns in the bed, and it’s not fully covering him. If I try to help him open his milk cup, because he’s struggling with it. If he’s watching something on the phone and the orientation changes from landscape to portrait, and it’s no longer full screen.

We try to ignore it, but it’s hard. He’s loud, he’s disruptive, and now if we don’t respond, he’s destructive. We also don’t always know what’s going on with the other person or the details of the situation, so he will go from one to the other to play us off each other. My wife had to deal with a series of these fits while taking Troy to school the other morning. It got so bad, sure had to pull over several times to address his issues. She was so rattled by the time that she dropped him off, that she sat down in the waiting room to collect herself before going to work. The staff were so concerned that they came to check on her.

Someone has to break. It’s either going to be him or us. I just hope we have the strength and fortitude to ride this out.

Love the Ones You Hate

Troy is interesting. When he pushes us so far that one of us yells at him, he will run to the other person for comfort and support. But what he really wants is to hug the person that yelled at him. It’s almost like he wants to make amends with that person, and he can’t really move forward until he does. It’s like that old saying, “Don’t let the sun go down on a fight.” I’m glad he’s like that. It’s healthy. But it’s also hard for us, because we need time to cool down first. We’re having to learn to downshift much quicker and reconnect with him.

The Dallas Zoo

We took Troy to the Dallas Zoo today. Some friends of ours were taking their daughter to see the Dinosaur Safari exhibit, and they had some guest passes. Knowing that Troy loves dinosaurs (and loves hanging out with their daughter), they thought we’d like to go with them.

We went early in the morning to avoid the worst of the heat, but the humidity was still off the charts, so it felt stiflingly hot. The zoo was also packed, but we were able to safely navigate the crowds.

I quickly found out that Misha, our friends’ daughter, has boundless energy like Troy. And both of them are prone to take off without warning, usually together. In fact, they seemed to feed off each other’s energy. So, I spent the entire time chasing them down and making sure they were safe. I didn’t mind. It gave our friends and my wife a break, and I love acting younger anyway. Both Misha and Troy loved playing with me, so it worked out.

We toured the Dinosaur Safari, which consisted of getting on a tram with a tour guide and riding through the exhibit while she told us facts about the dinosaurs. I won brownie points as the only person to ever be able to identify the Quetzalcoatlus dinosaur on sight, so I guess all that studying up with Troy finally paid off.

After that, we aimlessly toured around the animals, wherever the kids wanted to go. Honestly, they were enjoying playing together (and running me ragged) more than seeing the animals. The two highlights were when we stopped to feed the giraffe and the hippos.

I didn’t honestly think that Troy would feed the giraffe, but he thoroughly enjoyed sticking his lettuce up and letting the giraffe lick it out of his tiny hand with his huge black tongue. And for some reason, the giraffe was particularly fond of Troy’s batch of lettuce, shunning several other people to come back to his outstretched hand.

Misha was extremely excited to see the hippos, which enjoyed swimming right up to the glass and doing spirals for the kids. Troy and Misha also enjoyed climbing on the bronze hippo statues near the tank.

After that, we ended the day by taking a ride on the carousel (a first for Troy and I both). The kids loved it so much that we had to go three times!

It was getting late, so we decided to have lunch together and then head home to get the kids down for their naps. We went to Zaguan Latin Cafe and had Cachapas, which is a sweet corn turnover filled with meat, cheese, and vegetables. It was excellent! The kids enjoyed a sampler plate together while watching Baboo on the phone. It was the only way to get them to calm down and sit still. Other than the heat and the allergies, it was a fantastic day.

The Brown-Skinned Boy

We were on the way to the zoo today, when Troy looked at me and said, “Dada, I’m turning white.”

I said, “Well, you are white. What else did you expect?”

“I don’t want to be white,” he replied.

“Okay, what color did you want to be?”

“I want to be brown.”

I shrugged. “Sorry, bud. You’re as white as they come. Brown is not in the cards.”

I’m not sure what prompted this, or really what he meant. Maybe it’s because he has Black and Latina teachers. Or maybe it’s because he has several Indian classmates. Whatever the reason, I’m not sure if he believes that being brown is better or what. But we need to work with him to accept himself as he is and see himself as the beautiful creature that God made him...pale and pasty...just like his parents.

The Negotiator

I am trying a new approach to dealing with Troy’s willfulness. If I try to order him to do something, he’ll fight me until one or both of us break down in tears. He will adamantly stand up for “the other thing” even when it’s not really what he wants just because it is merely the opposite of what I want. So, I’ve started negotiating with him. If I do a minor thing that he only sort of wants, then he has to do the thing that I want (which he secretly wants too). In this way, he feels like he’s winning and getting something out of the deal. Like it’s a compromise. Which logically makes sense in his brain, even though illogically, he’s ultimately doing the thing that both of us wanted anyway.

For example, tonight he was sitting on the potty, but he refused to get off and go take a bath. He had long finished peeing, but he wouldn’t budge his tuchus from the seat. My wife tried the hard-nosed, direct get-off-that-seat-right-now-or-else-you’ll-regret-it approach. Seeing her losing her cool, I stepped in to relieve her. I chatted with Troy a few minutes about this and that to diffuse the situation. Then, I simply said that I was going to run his bath. When he refused, I pointed out a spider web on the wall. He asked me to remove it. So, I asked, “If I remove that spider web off the wall, will you get off the potty and take a bath?” He thought about it for a second and then agreed. So, I cleaned off the spider web, and he got up and flushed the toilet. Ultimately, I believe that his bottom was starting to hurt from the toilet seat, but he was all-in on staying put to prove a point.

After his bath, he once again dug in and refused to stand up and let me dry him off. No amount of coaxing would get him out. As I stood there holding out the towel, he noticed that it had a wayward string dangling from the bottom. He said, “Dada, that towel has a string. You need to remove it.” So, I asked, “If I cut the string off this towel, will you stand up and get out of the tub?” He once again thought about it and agreed. Again, I believe he truly wanted to get out of the tub anyway, because he was cold and bored, but he was going to be stubborn until the very end. I don’t mind giving in on a small thing to get a larger, richer prize.

Flashback

This morning, Troy wouldn’t stop talking while we were trying to watch church on the TV. To be honest, I think he was just trying to get my wife’s attention. He understandably had no interest in the sermon, and since he couldn’t watch what he wanted, he decided to talk to us instead. My wife lost it. She told Troy to be quiet and stop talking, because she was trying to watch church. She then got up and left him at the table alone. I was washing dishes, and I saw his little face get dejected and sad. He became unusually quiet. He looked over at me, and I gave him a reassuring smile. I stopped washing the dishes, and I took him in the other room and played with him. He was fine after that. That’s all he wanted; someone to give him some attention and show him that he mattered. I know it can’t always be about him, but today he was being very good, and I didn’t think it was fair to reward that by getting on to him for being…well, three years old.

It’s so easy to get hung up on the words and lose sight of the meaning. What’s the point of it all, if we don’t spend time with the ones that matter most? And the saddest part is that she could have done both. She could have easily watched the sermon later when Troy was napping and spent time with him in that moment, like I did. And it’s naive to think that Troy doesn’t notice. When we were in the other room playing, he stopped, gave me a hug, and said, “I love you, dada.” I knew what that meant. He was saying that he was grateful for me making him a priority…for me always making him a priority. But it was also a statement that his mother did not. He noticed, and it hurt him.

But what bothered me the most was the way that she told him to stop talking and be quiet. I immediately had a flashback of my own childhood. I don’t remember exactly how old I was, but I’d guess around five or six. I remember that my father was trying to have a conversation with my stepmother about something, and I was trying to get his attention. The details are fuzzy, but the one thing that’s still perfectly clear after all these years is my father telling me to be quiet and stop talking. I was so hurt and shocked by that that I immediately got quiet…just like Troy did. And just like my wife, my father never acknowledged the hurtfulness of his actions. He never apologized or made amends. And because of that, something inside of me broke. I didn’t talk much after that, especially to my father. Later on, people would tell me that I was a great listener, having no clue that that wasn’t always the case. My father’s insensitive words changed my life, and I didn’t want that to happen to Troy. I love his talking. He’s very interesting, and he has a wonderful imagination and perspective on life. I don't ever want him to lose that.

So, I did what nobody did for me. I swooped in, and I made him a priority at the exact moment that he was the lowest. I turned around the situation, and I told him how proud I was of him. I let him chatter on about whatever was on his mind, and I engaged him and asked him questions about it. I was genuinely interested in what he had to say. Only time will tell if these hurtful moments will have a lasting impact on his personality, but hopefully I can salvage the damage now so it doesn’t. I don’t want Troy to be like me, one day having flashbacks of his own.

Gipsy Baby - Part 2

My wife has been complaining for some time that the high chair that we had for chair wasn’t adequate anymore. His chair sits on top of our table chairs, but because he’s gotten so tall, he has a hard time getting his legs under the table. So, we can’t push him all the way up to the table, and he ends up leaning over to get his food. He sits back to eat it, and he gets food all over himself and the floor. So, my wife ordered a new contraption that goes under the table chair legs and lifts the entire chair up.

Troy and I immediately said that it looked like a robot was under the chair. He didn’t want to go near it until he’d determined if the robot was good or evil. Since I have recently been rewatching The Matrix, I had to agree with his assessment. So, we poked the “robot” with the broom, pushed a toy car into it, and hit it with a shoe. When the robot didn’t move or react in any way, we cautiously approached it. As we got closer, I pushed Troy in front of me, and he bravely got down at eye level with the robot and said, “Robot, are you good or bad? Are you going to eat me? Why do you only have one eye?” Turning back to me, “Look, dada, he only has one eye!”

The new contraption reminded me of his first high chair that looked like one of those Jaeggar robots from Pacific Rim. I guess this is the evolution, but I still feel like robots are trying to slowly, slowly take over.

The Other Right Foot

Troy has a pair of dinosaur house shoes that he likes to wear all the time. He has no issues getting them and putting them on his feet himself. What he does have an issue with is putting them on the correct feet. I’ve always wondered why all kids will inevitably put their shoes on the wrong feet.

Parents and experts agree (without any scientific facts to back it up) that it comes down to a few possible reasons. A child is still learning about left and right…and wrong and right. To a child, they are just shoes; they have no “direction.” They simply pick up a shoe and put it on a foot. Someone once said that if there’s a 50/50 chance involved, a child will pick the wrong choice 90% of the time. If we go by that logic, then it makes complete sense. To add a little physiology to the mix, a child’s foot is still developing and forming an arch. So, technically their feet are flatter and straighter than an adult’s, and they simply don’t feel the discomfort that we’d feel.

A child also has no frame of reference as to what is the correct foot for that shoe, unless we tell them. Left and right are not innate or intuitive concepts. They are knowledge. Just like a child had to learn language by hearing and observing, or learn to recognize numbers and colors, or learn how to understand and navigate the world around them by being guided; so too must they learn the knowledge of left and right…both for feet and shoes. It’s funny how we will go to great lengths and repetition to teach them some things, but take for granted others. Putting the correct shoe on the correct foot is so subconscious for most of us that we don’t even think about it anymore. It’s like breathing. And we just assume that it will be that way for our kid too.

So, to help Troy have a visual concept to go by, I told him that the dinosaurs should be facing each other, so that they could say “Hello” to one another. This seemed to help put the pieces together for him. That is unless the dinosaurs have a falling out, get angry, and aren’t talking to each other that day (true story). Or until my wife buys new shoes that don’t have characters on them for Troy to use to make the visual connection.

Slowly, slowly

Troy loves chocolate milk. He likes to have a glass with his dinner every night. Unfortunately, if we give him the entire glass at once, he’ll gulp it down in one breath, and he’ll be too full to eat his food. So, my wife has taken to making the milk, a combination of chocolate Pediasure powder and white milk, in a separate container and then pouring a little at a time into Troy’s glass. The mixture requires her to shake the bottle to mix up the powder and the milk.

She’s quite vigorous with her shaking, and Troy will break eye contact with the TV, look over at her, hold up his hand, and say, “Slowly, slowly.” My wife will laugh and slow down the shaking. And then Troy will say, “Faster, faster!” So, my wife will shake it aggressively again. “Now, slowly, slowly.” Shake…shake…shake. “Now, faster, faster!” ShakeShakeShake. Back and forth like this until the mixture is complete. He’s so funny. Where does he come up with these things?!

UPDATE:  We were riding in the car today, and my wife got stuck behind someone who either didn't understand the concept of a gas pedal or just had no intention of using it. In her frustration, she whipped into the other lane, stepped on the gas, and passed him. From the back seat, Troy immediately said, "Be careful, mama. Slowly, slowly." So, I guess he has more than one applicable use for this phrase. I laughed, because it reminded me of my own mother telling me not to speed whenever I was leaving and heading back to college.

Splash Park

Troy wanted to get out of the house today, but when we arrived at the park, it was very uncomfortable outside. He gave it his best effort, but the heat and humidity were wearing him down quickly. (I dropped on the playground three minutes after we arrived. My wife made it two steps outside the car door.)

Luckily, the water park at the playground was open, so we headed over there instead. Dozens of kids were taking advantage of the reprieve, splashing and running through the squirting fountains and gushing waterfalls. We didn’t have Troy’s swimsuit, so we stripped off his shirt and shoes and let him go in his shorts. At one point, we had to remove his diaper which absorbed half the splash park before sliding down his legs. So, he spent the rest of the time going commando.

He found a discarded cup and filled it up to throw water at us. Many of the kids had similar objects to drench their waiting parents. We didn’t get much reprieve from the heat, but Troy had an absolute blast. We had a hard time getting him to leave.

Mother's Day - Part 4

To be perfectly honest, Mother’s Day snuck up on me this year. It has been a hectic and busy few weeks, and I didn’t have my usual time to plan and prepare like I like to. I wanted to keep up my tradition of alternating Troy’s footprints and handprints, but I struggled with a meaningful way to do that. In fact, I was getting so stressed out and anxious just thinking about it that I felt like I needed massage to relax! And that’s when it hit me.

My wife had also been having a rough couple of weeks, and she was probably feeling the same way. So, I got her a gift card to the nail salon to treat herself to a pedicure (maybe she’ll take me with her). I tucked it into a card that read, “You really deserve a day off to relax. I’m not saying you’re going to get one, but you deserve it.” I covered Troy’s hand with red ink from his stamp pad and had him press it to the outside of the envelope.

That coupled with the various flowers that Troy had made her in daycare were what we gave her to celebrate her special day. And then to make it extra special, we had her make us breakfast.

Djibouti

I came up with a new move when wrestling with Troy. I call it the “Djibouti.” Basically, I get down on all fours, so I can be closer to his level, and when he tries to tackle me to the floor, I spin so my backside is toward him. While he struggles to get to my head, I keep turning. When I get him behind me, I start backing up and bumping him with my bum! If he tries to move right or left to get around it, I swing my hips the same direction, all the while backing up and attacking with my backside. It’s like a deranged display of twerking coupled with wrestling.

Back in 2012, I was living in my friend’s basement. I had become quite close to him and his family. One night, my friend, his son, and I were watching the opening ceremonies of the Olympics. As the various countries paraded around the arena with their flags, one name in particular stuck out to us…the country of Djibouti. My friend’s immature nine-year old son started laughing and saying, “Djibouti…like…the booty!” Then, apparently assuming that we needed a visual demonstration to understand, he leaped from his chair, got down on all fours in the midd of the room and started gyrating his backside at us, while we watched in amused appallment. My friend laughed in awkward embarrassment while his son twerked, yelling, “Djibouti! Djibouti!”

Now, almost ten years later, I’m the one awkwardly twerking on all fours on the floor, gyrating my backside at my son, yelling, “Djibouti! Djibouti!” But to my credit…and shame…I have managed to pull out a wrestling move that Troy either can’t or doesn’t want to deal with. He giggles, but I imagine it’s in pity and embarrassment for his father making a complete fool of himself. I don’t care. All’s fair in love and war!

Take Care of Business

CC was talking to some parents after school, when one of the kids started pushing and messing with the other kid. When CC asked then if they were going to do anything, the bully’s parents just chuckled and said, “Boys will be boys.” When the behavior persisted, they repeated their statement. Seeing that they weren’t going to take action, the father of the boy being pushed quietly said, “Son. Take care of business.” A transformation came over the seemingly timid kid, and he came alive. He easily stopped the bully’s next aggressive act, picked the kid up, and threw him to the ground. He sat down on top of him and shoved his face into the dirt, holding him there with ease, while the bully struggled to get up. The boy’s father looked that the bully’s parents, who stood aghast with shock, and said, “Boys will be boys.”

Picture Day

Today was picture day at Troy’s daycare, so we dressed him up in a collared shirt and nice slacks. I had cut his hair last night, so he was looking pretty fly when he left. I tried to get a picture of my own, but he was being coy. So, I can only hope the professional has better luck.

UPDATE:  The photographer was able to get a good picture of Troy...several, in fact. I guess he just messes with me. Not too keen on the background they chose, but the subject is cute as all that!

The Lost Boy

Sometimes I look at Troy, and I swear I see Peter Pan. Not just that he looks like what I imagine Peter Pan looks like, but he embraces the adventurous, untamed spirit of a Lost Boy. He's fearless, and I don't believe his mind believes that anything is impossible. The only limitation to your ability to have fun is the extent of your creativity and imagination. And Troy's imagination is wonderfully strange and deep. On top of that, he also loves to laugh, play tricks on me, and likes to fight. With a little fairy dust, I believe he could fly too!

Part of me would love to keep him my little Lost Boy forever. I love his innocence, curiosity, and enjoyment of life. He is content and enamored with the small things, and the most precious thing to him is your time. I love his adventurous and fearless spirit, and I love that he loves playing with his old man. But I can't keep him a little boy forever...eventually he'll grow up. In fact, he seems to be aging out of control already. How did that little dude that I could hold on one forearm turn into the amazing not-so-little dude that now tackles me to the floor? I know that the most precious commodity that we have in this life is time, but there never seems enough of it to spend with my son.

You Mess with the Bull...

Troy is so stubborn and headstrong. At times, he frustrates me to no end. Like today when I was trying to get him through lunch and put him down for a nap. To prolong his ability to stay up and watch his TV show, he was chewing one piece of chicken for half an hour. It was like mush in his mouth, but he refused to swallow. When I finally managed to get him to choke it down, he didn’t want to sleep and insisted on reading a book first. I lost it, and my wife had to take over. It’s like a bull fight for control.