Regular Life

One of the greatest and most frustrating things about parenthood is that the child has a mind of his or her own. Unlike a robot, or, at anywhere near the same level, a dog, children will do their best to please you one moment, and then seemingly work to get under your skin the next. Sometimes, not just seemingly.

What? You don’t have a robot yet?

Saturday night, it was not Ben’s fault that things went badly. (pics by Ben’s mommy)

Shannon and I had let his new toddler bed ride around in the back of the minivan for about a week or so. Finally, Saturday we decided when we returned from a Razorbacks football watch party (we beat Alabama) that we would put together the bed and make that night Ben’s next milestone.

Ben helped me at first, but quickly got bored with all the sitting still. After much difficulty making the parts go together (the directions skipped anything about how to install the slats), and more difficulty not cussing in front of Ben, his mommy and I had it ready.

Then we had to completely disassemble his crib to remove it from his room. Because parts of his crib were held together by screws in wood, and we didn’t want to risk stripping the holes, this included removing the guestroom/computer room door from its hinges.

By the time we prepped Ben for bed, it was an hour past his bedtime, and he was in the hyper-tired stage that makes toddlers very hard to manage. Any activity they undertake is aimed at keeping themselves awake. Yes, that rhymed, and yes, I’m leaving it.

The boy showed little interest in bedtime stories (which he usually adores and which we take away one-by-one when disciplinary needs arise), and was restless during the equally loved bedtime songs. When he refused to lie down and stay in the bed, Shannon offered to lie down on his floor while he fell asleep. That succeeded only at ratcheting up her frustration level from the aforementioned bed assembly fiasco. She gave up and tagged me in for round two (weekend nights are usually her time to put Ben to bed).

Except for lasting longer, I didn’t fare much better. Finally, meaning it as a mild threat, I asked Ben, “Do you want us to take away your big-boy bed and have you sleep in your white bed (crib)?”

He looked me right in the eye for the first time in an hour and said, “Yes.”

Unfortunately, his crib lay in many pieces in the next room. There was no turning back. I had to salvage this somehow.

“Well, Ben, that’s not an option, because we took your crib apart. You said you wanted to sleep in your big-boy bed.” In our defense, he had acted quite excited about the prospect earlier in the evening.

I offered to let him sleep on the floor with me, and he gladly lay down on the carpet. Then he wriggled, poked at me, and tried to play with a stuffed-doll Tigger. I resorted to smacking his bottom, and it got his attention for about 14 seconds. After reminding myself that this was a big change for him, I reverted to a more calm state and used even, mild-mannered speech.

“Ben, you aren’t being very nice. I was nice and agreed to lie here on your floor if you would sleep in your new bed. I’ve been lying here trying to sleep, but you haven’t lived up to your end of the deal. That’s not nice. Do you understand?”

He gave no answer verbal or otherwise, but within two seconds his movements stopped and within a minute he was asleep. About a half-hour later, Shannon, who got about an hour of sleep while I struggled with Ben, walked into his room and lifted him into his new bed. He uttered silence.

I have no idea whether what I said did the trick. I know, however, that lately a little explanation goes a very long way with Ben. When he objects to doing something, instead of forcing him by repeating our demand, we tell him why it needs to be done. Increasingly, it works.

Our boy is becoming more human every day, and while it challenges us in one instant, it delights in the next. We can’t imagine our lives without him now.

For one thing, we wouldn’t get to hear things like this while skimming a catalog:

“Angels are biiiiig ladies that scare people.”

Now, one door over from where I sit, still he sleeps soundly. For his sake, I hope angels aren’t watching over him.

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