Toddler Takeover

Kyle was determined to "own" story time from the moment we arrived.  We were ten minutes late, and the leader was halfway through the first story by the time we walked into the small room in the back of a local coffee shop.  We probably would have arrived there earlier had this not been a last-minute plan of desperation.  Yesterday's weather was gloomy, the playground likely was washed out, and the gym was not open at the YMCA.  Kyle had woken up long before the sun, and Jennifer had another early morning at work.  That meant the little guy was stuck with me alone for a bit longer than usual, and he was quickly running out of ways to test my patience.  With Kyle just minutes away from spray painting the refrigerator, I had to come up with something fast, and that's when I found a card in the office with the story time hours.  I had been mildly curious about it, so I figured we might as well check it out.  No doubt it would be better than staying at home and dousing fires.

Kyle and I quickly scoped out the place when we walked in.  There were about twenty people there, half of them less than three feet tall.  I had to watch my step.  All the adults were either moms or nannies, making me the only dad in the room.   I felt a little awkward, like Ronald McDonald at a PETA meeting, but as a stay-at-home dad, I've become used to being the lone man.  I quietly took a seat along the wall.  Kyle, meanwhile, went straight into action.  He's at a stage where he doesn't follow anybody, and he was ready to undermine the woman who was leading the story time.

"Mommy, Daddy and KYLE!" he shouted at her.  It was his way of introducing himself, as he has yet to figure out how to say, "My name is Kyle and you shall bow to me."  The leader said "hello" back, and then the niceties were over.  It was time for rebellion.  The little guy struck first at the seats.  About ten pillows of all colors were spread out on the floor for toddlers to sit on.  Kyle wanted them gone.  He immediately started collecting the seats, apparently in an attempt to steal the leader's audience.  He picked up two or three at a time and stacked them in a pile next to me.  Soon other toddlers joined in the fight, and within minutes, all the seats were gone, replaced with a handful of kids wandering aimlessly with their pillows, not listening to any stories and blocking the view of those who were.  Kyle's plan was working.

The little guy's next operation was aimed at the books themselves.  Either he did not like what the leader was reading, or he wanted to read the picture books himself.  Personally, I didn't mind the stories, except maybe for the one about the crack-dealing homicidal pyromaniacs.  Kyle, though, was determined to get new books.  With the seats now gone, he easily ran to the other side of the room, and squeezed himself between a chair and a table blocking a bookshelf. 

"Book!  Book!" he said loudly in my direction.  The leader pretended not to hear and kept reading.  I ignored him, too, and pretended some other kid sitting in the back was my child.  I had hoped that the lack of attention would convince Kyle to do the reasonable thing and sit down.  Instead, he kept calling to me as he attempted to climb onto the table.  Even though Kyle has spent a lot of time at the gym, he doesn't have a good set of guns just yet, so he managed to only get his chin above the table.  At this point, his rag-tag team of followers was quickly dissipating.  They were apparently embarrassed by the head of the rebellion, who  dangled by his chin on the table, looked weaker as slipped down.  Also, the leader of story time had just begun a monster tale, and it's hard to be the enemy of someone reading a monster tale.  Even Kyle was half-interested, and he paused a moment to listen.  That's when I took the opportunity to get up and carry him back to my seat.

Once the leader finished the monster story, she encouraged the kids to take part in an activity.  She passed around sheets of paper with big green circles on them, and told the kids to turn the circle into a face.  She then gave each kid a bowl filled with eye, ear, nose, and mouth stickers.  Kyle wanted to make a demonstration out of this silly game, to embarrass the leader into submission.  While other kids were having fun creating images, Kyle spent his time pulling out the stickers one-by-one and placing them on the paper without even peeling the backs off to make them stick.  Once the bowl was empty, Kyle stepped backwards, into the middle of the room, and clapped.  Mission accomplished!  But, by now, the rebellion was over, as Kyle was all alone in his quest.  I helped him put the stickers back into the bowl, and he humbly handed them over to the victorious leader, who all along seemed oblivious to his attempts to overthrow her.  She gave him a small bag of "Veggie Booty" and thanked him for coming, saying she hoped to see him again soon.  Once we were outside, Kyle threw the snack to the floor in disgust.  He demanded that we quickly went home.  For my son, an hour without being in total control was simply too much to bear.

Free Fallin'

Nearly three years ago, back when Jennifer and I were able to go places without an extensive checklist and spare set of clothes, we had dinner with some friends in North Carolina.  As we ate, their first child, who was just two at the time, decided to turn their china cabinet into his very own rock wall.  Before reaching the summit, he ran into a little trouble with gravity.

Bump-bump-THUD!!

After a brief moment of silence, the two-year-old, now face-down on the floor, started crying.  His parents tended to him quickly, lifting him up, giving him a hug, and then placing some ice, wrapped in a towel, on his bruised forehead.

"No," said the kid, to our surprise.  "The other kind."

"Oh," said the dad, as he rose from his seat, taking the ice with him.  He walked to the kitchen and quickly returned with the ice, this time wrapped in a surgical glove.  The boy smiled and took it from him, pressing it to his head.  That's when it hit us: this is our future.  This is what life is like with a little boy.  The fall didn't jolt me.  Neither did the cry.  No, my rude awakening was the realization that the boy had done this sort of thing so often, he already had a preference for the way he receives his ice.

Kyle is now just a couple months younger than that boy was when he took that spill.  He has yet to fall off our own china cabinet, but I really think that's simply because we don't have a chair near there to help him up.  If we did, there's a good chance Kyle would try to climb as recklessly as possible.  That's because Kyle loves to fall.  


(Above: Kyle "falls" at the YMCA.
As you can see, he is in much pain.)

Falling is Kyle's new hobby.  Just as other kids learn to play catch, sing songs or build things, our son has taken to tumbling to the ground and saying "uh-oh" as if he did it by accident.  He trips over things that aren't there.  He falls off the couch.  He turns church pews into professional wrestling rings.  So far, he hasn't been seriously hurt, though if you do happen to respond to Kyle's "uh-oh," he will follow it up by saying "boo-boo" and pointing to a part of his body he supposedly hurt, even if he fell onto a pillow.  Anything for a little sympathy, or a cookie.

I did stress the word "seriously" in the last paragraph because I would be lying if I said Kyle never hurt himself.  Sometimes certain things get in the way of his act, like crib rails.  On more than one occasion, during a fall or a wild jump, Kyle has smacked his jaw into his crib, cutting his lip.  And, wow, do lips bleed.  Normally this sort of thing happens at bedtime, so, instead of softly putting him to bed with his blankets by his side, I am rushing him to the kitchen sink, his face wrinkled more than a pug's as he's breaking new decibel levels, with a red river flowing over his mouth, teeth, tongue, and chin.  After I go through a dozen or so napkins, tossing them to the floor looking like they mopped up a surgery, Kyle's lips heal, and I put him back to the crib... where he pretends to fall again.  He has yet to master the concept of "cause and effect."

So, my hopes and dreams for the little guy are changing again.  Instead of becoming a professional athlete/President who wins a Nobel Prize in physics while his paintings and sculptures are on display at the Louvre, Kyle might become a stuntman instead.  I think I will be able to accept that.  There are worse professions.  At least he hasn't taken an interest in journalism.  Still, I'm holding out hope that all this falling is, like many other things, just a passing phase.  It has to be, for my own sake.  The thing that Kyle loves most of all is falling on me, especially after 9:30 am, when all the energy I had for the day is used up.  I often have to absorb, without warning, a fast-moving head to the gut, shoulder, or chin.  A successful block will only lead to another try.  If it continues this way for much longer, I will be the one requesting a favorite type of ice pack.

Taking Candy from Strangers

On Sunday, Kyle trick-or-treated for the first time.  This was a momentous occasion for us.  Sure, the little guy did go outside in costume for his previous two Halloweens, but to say he actually trick-or-treated is the same as saying that someone who put on a pro football jersey and attended a game actually played pro football.  I hear from a very reliable source that I look pretty good in my Tom Brady Patriots jersey, but you can't call me a member of the Patriots.  Truth be told, if you put me in as quarterback in a real NFL game, chances are I'd be on the ground in fetal position, wailing for my mom within twenty seconds of game's the first snap.  It takes more than just the costume to be a full participant.

During the past three Halloweens, Kyle's costumes have, unintentionally, reflected his current state of development.  He was a cow at his first Halloween, fitting because, at four months old, he often stayed in one place and pooped a lot.  For his second Halloween, Kyle was a vampire.  Yes, Kyle was very trendy at the time, but the costume mostly reflected his desire to bite people and drink their blood.  This year he was Bamm-Bamm, the club-carrying child of Mr. and Mrs. Barney and Betty Rubble, of the Flintstones TV show.  The resemblance between Bamm-Bamm and our two-year-old son is uncanny.  Both have bright blond hair, both prefer walking without shoes or socks, and both can turn a living room into a disaster zone within a few minutes.  Kyle does know a few more words than Bamm-Bamm, but he uses them with the same eloquence.  For us, there was no other choice for this year's costume.

Armed with a pumpkin bucket and a felt dinosaur bone, our little Bamm-Bamm went outside for our neighborhood's Halloween festival, which is no small event.  As a Halloween costume parade marched down a street not far from our home, Kyle watched all kinds of spooky creatures pass him by, including monsters, witches, zombies, and Senator Chuck Schumer.  The senator was indeed part of the parade, though he chose not to wear a costume.  Perhaps he felt he didn't need to.  After all, for many Americans these days, an incumbent lawmaker, especially a Democratic one, is scary enough as is.  We joined the parade for a block or so before jumping out of it to get some free candy.

It took Kyle some time to get the hang of trick-or-treating.  Thanks to many agonizing weeks of practice, Kyle could say "trick or treat" without a problem... but he did not know what to do after that.  To the confusion of the candy-givers, Kyle would not hold out his pumpkin bucket.  Sometimes he would pull it away or take a few steps back when someone was trying to give him a treat.  At one point, he even tried to give the candy-giver some of his own candy, not quite realizing that trick-or-treating is a one-way transaction.  I think he started to get the hang of things by the end of the night.  He certainly enjoyed the feel of candy falling into his pumpkin bucket, as he often would beam a wide smile or laugh after receiving some.

Once trick-or-treating was over, the three of us went home to inspect Kyle's loot.  Jennifer and I did our parental duty, checking each piece of candy to make sure no wrapper was open, and making sure Kyle did not receive anything dangerous, such as razor blades or political pamphlets.  We also would have let Kyle try some candy, if he seemed at all interested.  But Kyle didn't care about eating his candy; he enjoyed just looking at the wrappers and their many colors.  He also spent a good amount of time emptying his bucket, putting the candy back into it, and then emptying it again.  To him, that was almost as much fun as the trick-or-treating itself.  Even if he didn't eat any candy, Kyle can still be proud of having taken part in a tradition shared by millions of kids throughout our country.  We are certainly proud of him.  And on Sunday I, too, took part in a tradition shared by millions of dads throughout our country: after the little guy went to bed, I dug into his bucket and enjoyed a sample.  I love Halloween.

A Nightmare on Sesame Street

There's nothing more exciting than waiting in line for a ride or a show.  Jennifer and I love it.  That's why we returned to Sesame Place on Saturday.  We had heard that the park will be soon closing for the year, and we did not want to miss out on another good dose of standing on our feet for hours.  Also, since the tickets we purchased in July covered an extra admission, the price was right, too.  Nothing like free waiting.

This trip was remarkably different than our summer trip.  First of all, having settled my issues with Cookie Monster, I was able to go unarmed.  Second, the water park was not as much fun this time around, as all the pools and rivers were drained.  In July, when Kyle refused to try any rides, the pool was the one thing that made visiting the park worth it.  This time around, I couldn't even get him to go in it.  He's so finicky.  

The whole park was decorated for Halloween.  Banners of the Sesame Street characters now featured them in costume.  Floral arrangements were turned into pumpkin patches.  There were even "Trick or Treat" stands for the kids.  Overall, though, the park was not very scary, and that was a bit disappointing.  They certainly could have done more.  Maybe they could have put a jar of live tarantulas next to the scary-looking pizzas in the cafeteria... or, better yet, have a mechanical severed head of Snuffaluffagus on a pole outside the entrance of the restrooms, quietly welcoming patrons with a "Heeeeey, Biiiirrrd."  No, the closest thing they had to anything creepy was Elmo's on-stage impersonation of Michael Jackson.  They'll have to do better if they really want to be a Halloween destination.

We did watch a couple of the park's Halloween shows.  Kyle enjoyed seeing his favorite characters, but I don't think he fully appreciated the plots.  When I tried to discuss them with him later, hoping to dissect the allegorical meaning behind the Count's polka dance, my kid merely said, "I had fun with Elmo and Cookie Dah-doo."  We're not quite ready to take him to a Broadway show just yet.  Still, he seemed engrossed by what was going on.  I was impressed that he was able to sit still for a good twenty minutes.  I'm starting to think that I should talk to our pastor about somehow adding Cookie Monster to the family church services.

We also had a minor breakthrough: Kyle enjoyed "Ernie's Bed Bounce," which he shunned the last time we were there, after waiting five hours in line.  Last time Kyle set foot in the bouncy room, he stood at the edge, begging for his mother to take him out.  This time, he immediately ran away and tackled a poor girl at the other end, before running back and tackling another girl.  As I've written before, my son is gifted when it comes to women.  When he was not working his moves, he jumped around, tumbled a few times, and laughed.  He just needed a couple of months to get over his fear of that ride.  Maybe by next summer he will want to go on one of those upside-down roller coasters.  I'm keeping my fingers crossed.  A ride like that certainly would make waiting in line worth it.

Man Vs. Wild

I have squished more than a few bugs in my day, and even conquered the monster cockroach-like water bugs of the South, but I never considered myself much of a exterminator, or even a hunter of beasts.  For years, I had no reason to combat the wild, as I, like most of you, do not have to kill to obtain shelter and food, unless the supermarket is unnaturally crowded with idiots.  Rarely do I test wits with a creature from the outside, but I found myself doing just that last week, when a mouse chose to camp in our apartment.


(Above: A reenactment of the mouse's first visit)

Contrary to popular belief, not all New York City apartments are crawling with mice, rats, roaches, or obnoxious sports fans.  Believe it or not, this mouse that first visited us a couple months ago was the first one we faced since moving to the city in 2004.  We were stunned when we saw it scurry across our dining room and into a closet.  At first we thought our eyes were playing tricks on us, but as we opened the closet door, we saw it sitting in the back, staring at us.  A quivering, scared, defenseless little mouse.  Or so we thought.  Having never dealt with a mouse before, I grabbed a small bucket, thinking I could easily drop it on the thing, much like the way it's done in the board game "Mouse Trap."  I naturally felt that the expertise I received from playing that game when I was ten would help me in real life.  What I was to do once the bucket fell onto the mouse is anybody's guess.  The board game didn't go that far. 

Surprisingly, the plan didn't work.  As the mouse darted out of the closet and over a bunch of boots, I gracefully flung the bucket down sideways and watched it bounce away as the mouse ran freely in the opposite direction... and under Kyle's bedroom door.  We gasped.  This mouse broke a sacred barrier, and it now deserved what was coming to it.  No more sympathy.  We barged into Kyle's room, turned on the lights, and looked in every basket and in every corner for the thing.  Kyle groaned as we clanged around everywhere.  Despite our rigorous search, the mouse somehow escaped, and we were forced to give up.  I did not sleep well that night.  The mouse had won round one.

We were better prepared for its next visit, which happened a couple days later.  The mouse once again scurried across the dining room, and under the closet door.  I pulled out some glue traps we had bought (the humane traps, unfortunately, had attracted ants), and placed them along the door.  We waited on our couch in the next room and watched as the mouse ducked its head out from under the door and sniffed at the bait.  Just as we were about to pop the champagne to toast our victory... the mouse evaded the traps!  It ran back across the dining room and disappeared again, having won round two.

We didn't see our visitor again for a good month after that.  I had hoped it was gone for good, but that was foolish thinking.  It is too hard to resist the free buffet offered each night on the floor of a two-year-old's home, and a little more than a week ago, the mouse came back for more.  Once again, we laid out the traps, and once again it ran off, towards our apartment's hallway.  We assumed it fled out our front door, since there's a hole by the bottom edge of it that leaves us vulnerable to very small crooks.  The mouse had won round three.

I then realized that the mouse had initially entered our home through a quarter-size hole in the dining room wall that had been created by previous tenants.  I clogged it up using aluminum foil and duct tape, the two tools that can be used to combat all kinds of problems, from leaky dams to scalp itch.  Of course, at the time I was not aware that, in blocking the hole, I was trapping the mouse INSIDE our apartment.  Apparently it hadn't left that closet as we had assumed. 

Two days later, as Jennifer was working late, I sat on the couch and spied the mouse running from the hallway and back into the dining room closet.  It then ran from the closet and back toward the now-blocked-hole, pausing once to look at me and blow a raspberry. That finally pushed me off the edge.  I grabbed a broom and stood in the dining room, my mouth foaming and eyes wide, ready to attack it once it crawled past me.  But this mouse was too smart and cocky.  As I stood there, it still managed to run by, and even stop to insult me once again... crawl crawl crawl - PFFFFT!- crawl crawl crawl... before disappearing back into the hallway, perhaps into the pantry there.  I doubled up the useless traps there and waited with the broom.  It did not show its head again, and eventually I put the broom away and went to bed.  For the rest of the week I would plot the mouse's demise.

This past weekend, as the family took a brief trip to Massachusetts, I tried a new scheme using the traps we had.  As I laughed and rubbed my hands together maniacally, I placed the glue traps in new locations.  I also left two humane traps in the hallway, positioned in the most attractive way possible, and away from any location where there were traps before.  Somehow, someway, by some miracle, it worked!  When we came home late Sunday night, one of the humane traps was closed, with the critter inside it.  I was giddy with excitement as I put the trap into a bucket and brought it a few blocks outside so that it could be back with "nature."  Far away from our apartment, next to a tree alongside the road, I opened up the trap and watched the little thing fall to the ground and wiggle around.  I walked away immediately, denying it any chance to mock me again.  This time the last laugh was mine.  HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Okay, maybe my obsession became a bit out of hand, but it paid off at the end.  I fought the beast that had intruded our home, and won.  The mouse is gone, and our child is safe.  You can be sure that mouse won't show its face around here again.  This apartment ain't big enough for the both of us.