Fairly recently we started using the time-out method for Liam when he’s refusing to follow directions. Usually this occurs after we ask him to do something that he’s done a thousand times before and he completely refuses to comply after being asked multiple times. It consists of putting him on the floor in his room and closing the door for around 60 seconds, during which time he sobs and screams, followed by a hug and very simply telling him why he was there. Lately, just the threat of a time out is enough to help him along in the following-directions arena. This has coincided with his ability to reach and turn doorknobs (which seems unrelated, but bear with me). He can close them nicely, but still has trouble with the opening (which is exacerbated by the child-safety doorknob covers I have on certain doors that I’d rather he not be able to open at all right now, including the inside of his bedroom door). Last night while Matt was on the phone, Liam was playing a game of hide-and-seek with Matt from behind his bedroom door. The difference in this game from all the other times was that Liam (laughing heartily) would pull his door closed — but the second that it shut he began sobbing. The first time Matt opened the door really quickly, thinking that he might have hurt himself in some way. But as soon as Liam realized that the door was open he stopped crying and began laughing. The problem was that he then repeatedly shut the door (while laughing) and promptly began sobbing as soon as it was shut. Matt opened the door for him at least five times before he finally removed the kid from his room beacause the bawling was such that he wasn’t easily calmed. My theory is that in his mind he was putting himself in time-out. Being a toddler can be so confusing!
Category: News
Losing It: Viewer Mail
I think that this confirms a nationwide epidemic:
Thanks to our reader Nicholas who sent this to us all the way from a restaurant lobby in New Jersey.
Potty Time
Liam is fascinated with potty time. Unfortunately he’s not at all fascinated with his own (at this point purely imaginary) potty time. If you tell him that you need to go to the potty he’s either very upset that you’re making the extraordinarily selfish decision to do this by yourself or he’s absolutely elated that you allow him to go into the bathroom with you. Last night he was in the bathroom with Matt when I heard shrieking (Liam) followed by screaming (Matt). A few minutes later I heard Matt frantically yelling at Liam not to touch anything. I ran in there after the second set of yells because I knew Liam must have pee somewhere on his body. Unfortunately I was right and it took two of us to scrub him with soap (I did the scrubbing while Matt held a thrashing Liam as he soaked as many body parts and as much clothing in the sink as was possible). Apparently Liam stuck his hand into the toilet after Matt finished his business but before he could get the lid down. As if that wasn’t disgusting enough — later on in the evening Matt explained the first set of screams. Apparently Liam ran in there (excited because he was allowed in the bathroom) while Matt was doing his business and before Matt could do anything to stop it he realized that Liam’s head was going for spray through the uprights, so to speak. Somehow I’m getting the impression that potty training this particular little boy isn’t going to be the most sanitary thing I’ve ever done…
Scratch
I love having my back scratched. I think it’s hereditary because I know of several members of my family who also love to have their backs scratched. I don’t think that this is an uncommon trait out there in the world, but I love it to the point that it’s noted and recognized in our house. Last night I asked Matt to scratch my back (which is particularly nice lately because he’s apparently been chewing his nails and ragged nails make for a great back scratch) and he told me the following story:
Yesterday morning Matt was changing Liam’s diaper. Liam appeared to be fiddling with his hip/haunch area and it looked to Matt like it might itch. Matt scratched it for him. Apparently Liam’s reaction was to stop everything and lie there in what looked like a trance. Matt said it was clear by the look on Liam’s face that this might have been the first time Liam had enjoyed a good itch scratching. He also said that it was clear that Liam is my son.
Goals
Liam has been trained by Matt to such an extent that now, whenever he does anything on purpose, he looks at me and with a great amount of conviction says “GOOOAAAALLLL!”
Oh, dear.
Cardinal Rule
Matt’s cardinal rule of home improvement is that everything takes five times longer than you think it will (you know, if you’re lucky). Today I made a grave error in judgement by ignoring this rule. It started simply enough: I was going to stain the handrail and newel post on the banister we had installed a couple of months ago. This part did not cause me a bit of trouble. The trouble came when I realized (for the first time with absolute certainty, although I had many a prior inkling) that natural oak is not a wood color that I wish to have in my home. I can certainly live with the natural oak stain on the floors in the main living area and just knowing that I plan to have the kitchen table and chairs refinished at some point in the future calms me considerably. I can even live with the unfinished pine hutches we have in our dining area and bonus room because in my mind’s eye they are already painted with a distressed black finish. Today, at approximately 3:00 pm (after having stained my beautiful handrail and newel post) I made the unfortunate discovery that I could not live with a natural oak handrail and newel post. The vision I’ve had for those stairs in my mind’s eye is something like this:
I think that’s even the same newel post that we have.
The first problem is that in order to stain the stair treads with a dark stain I need to fully remove the protective varnish. I did a little research and found a “green” stripper that is supposed to be safe to use inside the house and off I went to the Lowe’s. By 5:30pm I had covered the stair treads in stripper. The second problem is that that stripper now has to be removed. In order to do that it has to be scraped off and then wiped down with mineral spirits (or a “green” mineral spirits substitute, apparently). I have no idea how many rounds of this it will take to fully remove the stripper, but it’s obvious that it won’t be one. The third problem is that because the stripper isn’t fully removed and because I don’t want to burn my skin off I can’t kneel, lean, or sit on anything that has been stripped in my attempts to strip the tread above the one I have just partially stripped. The fourth problem is that the protective chemical gloves go up to the elbow and I still have huge leper-like poison-ivy-infested strips on both wrists and up my arms. Chemical gloves do not breathe. Huge leper-like poison-ivy-infested strips need air. The fifth problem is that it is currently 11:20pm and I only completed half the steps. While I write this my dear husband is scraping the stairs. He did not sign up for this, unless you count that whole for-better-or-for-worse thing…
Skink Watch 2009: The Hunt (Series Finale)
Last night Matt finally saw Frederick (which is what he named the skink after he saw him and simultaneously stopped making fun of me and started planning tactical manuevers for Skink Hunt 2009). There were a couple of sightings last night (which is odd because we’ve never seen him at night before — my theory is that Fred heard Matt’s statements of disbelief and came out during his beauty-sleep period to show himself — my secondary theory is that this lack of essential skink sleep caused the events of today, Fred was simply not on his game) but we finally gave up and went to bed. The real action began today during Liam’s nap. By the time I came downstairs (about an hour after Matt) the living room looked like this:
In case you can’t tell — both couches are moved, there’s a dolly in the left corner of the picture (used to lift up the trunk that was also moved and propped up on shims and books), the lamps are moved, and the coffee table is sideways in the center of the room. What the picture doesn’t show is that there was also a towel stuffed under the door to the hallway, the doors to the hutch were open, at least three of the games were sitting out and missing their tops (which were spread around the room to be used as skink catchers), and there’s a broom in the middle of the room. When I got down there Matt had him cornered under the couch but when I used the broom to try to shove him out towards Matt he ran and we discovered that he fit under the “baseboard” (the strip of wood that someone apparently thought would pass for a baseboard at some point during the remodeling of the basement). Matt tried slowly running a shim under the baseboard in a vein attempt to flush him out that way. Eventually the baseboard was removed but Fred wasn’t giving up that easily so we ended up sitting on the couches watching Must See TV on Tivo in hopes that he would come running out. One of the helpful skills I’ve acquired during the past week has been an ability to hear a skink running (no lie), so when I heard him we were on the move again. To make a (very) long story a little shorter, the end result (after a fantastic show of reptilian prowess on everyone’s part) was this (Fred’s under the Urban Myth game box top (yes, Matt noted the irony) which is under several books including a particularly apt title):
Next Matt carefully scooted the stack over the carpet to the door:
Next he went about creating a perimeter barrier and prepared for the final push over the threshold:
And finally, success:
My hero, upon completion of his mission:
The End (hopefully).
Skink Watch, Day 5
The stupid thing is still in my house, crawling on my things and creeping me out. Here are the happenings in bullet-point form:
- Matt has still never seen the skink. We’re not sure if this is because A) Matt is much scarier than I am or B) Skinks aren’t nocturnal and Matt’s really only here in the evening or C) Matt goes a huntin’ with Liam and Liam is loud and skinks don’t like the loud.
- I have now had three separate sightings from halfway beneath furniture.
- I no longer watch television in our family room during the day because I can feel his beady little eyes on me the whole time.
- I have seen several (phantom?) skinks upstairs but Matt thinks I’m making them up (and maybe I am).
- I have mistaken the drawstring on several different pairs of pants (yes, I have multiple pairs of drawstring pants that make an appearance on a regular basis) to be a vicious skink coming to eat my face off by crawling up my leg.
- Matt killed a cricket in the workout room last night and (as happens fairly regularly around here) left it on the floor. When we were skink hunting a few minutes ago there was one leg at one end of the room and one leg at the other and no body anywhere to be found.
So what do we do now? How in the world are we supposed to get an animal who is very quick and scared of humans to come to us so we can put him in a box and release him back to his kind in the backyard?
If I see the thing upstairs I’m seriously moving out and if I ever see a picture like this with my child,
someone will pay.
Scoliodentosaurophobia
The little blue snake I put in Liam’s Easter basket used to feel much more benign.
Losing It?
Rant:
If you write articles or a blog that focuses on weight loss then you should learn the difference between lose and loose. Really, if you had any semblance of an English class you should know the difference already, but that’s an entirely different issue. I mean I’m certainly no Shakespeare, but continually reading about people who are working to ‘loose’ it is contributing to the fact that I am, in fact, losing it.
End Rant.