For better or worse—and according to a double-blind, independent, third-party study—Ian’s usually pretty quick on the take. Usually. For most things. It’s wonderful when we want him to learn and understand; less so when we’re trying to be D-I-S-C-R-E-E-T, or think he’s not listening.
He’s good at grasping mechanical concepts: doorknobs, latches, toys with levers and switches that even I don’t understand. He also does well with language, and figuring out what we mean, even if he doesn’t understand all the words.
Last week I scolded him for losing the cap to my flash drive. He loves playing with anything that isn’t his, and this stupid cap is one of his favorites. I asked him where he’d put it, and he pointed to his lunchbox* sitting on top of the fridge. ‘It’s in there.’ I’d put away the lunchbox earlier, so knew it couldn’t've been. Each time I asked, he pointed to the lunchbox, and I got more and more upset.
Frustrated with my refusal to grasp the situation, Ian turned to Kelly. He pointed at the lunchbox and said, ‘In the peanut cup.’ He mimed putting something into a cup with his hands. Kelly opened the lunchbox, and pulled out a small, tupperware container that we use for Ian’s peantus. Inside was the cap. (It turned out Kelly had taken down the lunchbox after I’d put it away, at which point Ian placed said cup inside.)
So the kid knows what he’s talking about.
But then there’s Chutes & Ladders. Or Candyland. Or any other game with rules. The box may say ‘Ages 3 & Up’, but playing Chutes & Ladders with Ian is like teaching goldfish to mambo.
Ian knows that two red squares means he should move his piece two red squares. He just doesn’t care. Why move two red squares when there’s purple or blue or a lollypop? Why move to that green square when that green square is so much farther? Why take one card when there are so many of them? For that matter, why should you have a turn, anyway? I’m not done playing yet. And I like your piece better, anyway. Here, I’ll just play with both of them.
Candyland is where Ian’s impatience overtakes his intelligence.
He’s a little better with Chutes & Ladders, but that’s only because he has the spinny-thingy to distract him. It also helps that he likes to count. But he’d rather spend the game going up ladders and down chutes. Really, wouldn’t we all? (This is where Kelly would remind me that, if I’ll recall, I was the one having trouble moving my piece in the right direction.)
We played Candyland again last night, with the caveat that I would only play if he followed the rules, and listened to what I said. ‘Okay, Daddy.’ And he did. He took one card, and moved two red squares. He let me take my turn. He did not move straight to the Rainbow Bridge, or knock my piece over while making an explosion sound. He even thanked me for playing.
Look out, Bobby Fischer!
[* A Star Wars lunchbox featuring C-3PO and R2-D2, which he chose all by himself thank you very much.]
According to the Associated Press, Michigan Assistant Attorney General Joel D. McGormley argued that men can’t decline to pay child support simply because they don’t want to become fathers. The argument was part of McGormley’s request to dismiss the lawsuit filed by The National Center for ‘Men’ (quotation marks mine), which is being called ‘Roe vs. Wade…for Men™‘ (trademark symbol theirs).
The presiding judge has said that he will make a ruling, but didn’t specify a timeframe. I’ll be keeping an eye on the case, and will post updates of any new information.
The lawsuit was filed on March 9, 2006 on behalf of Matt Dubay, a 25-year-old man who says he shouldn’t have to pay child support for a daughter he never wanted. Dubay ‘insists that the child’s mother repeatedly assured him she could not get pregnant and…that she knew he did not want to have a child with her’.
‘The’ child, not ‘his’ child. Oh, what a difference a pronoun makes.
I’ve made it clear how I feel about the situation. It’s not the Mother’s fault if the Father slept through Biology; nor is it a child’s fault if his Mother did the same. This case isn’t about ‘equal protection’ for men, as the NCM claims. It’s about creating a legal excuse to be selfish and irresponsible.
This case also reinforces the stereotype that men are prats. Thanks, Matt. Not only do you want to shirk your duties as a father, you also want to make it harder for the rest of us.
So, what can we do, apart from making snide comments in obscure blogs? Should we start a National Center for Real Men? Actually, you can join the National Fatherhood Initiative’s Dads Club, or show your support for fathers and fatherhood by wearing their ‘No Ifs‘ bracelet. I have a general taboo against bracelets, car ribbons, and patriotic antenna toppers, but, for this, I’m willing to make an exception.
The bracelets are sold in packs of two, so I have an extra. If you really think you’ll wear it, let me know, and it’s yours.
Last week I wrote about Ian’s sheet-drenching slumber; apparently, I’m not alone in my bafflition. I heard from a lot of Dads whose kids should sleep on sponges. Like any good father, Brent started to ‘wonder’ (read: worry) about the phenomenon, and learned from his mother that both he and his brother would sweat buckets while sleeping, rain or shine, winter or summer.
What gives? Brent learned that, too:
‘Deep sleep is when your toddler is getting the best of what sleeping has to offer—his body is restoring itself and getting ready for a new day—so don’t worry too much about his sweating. Do make sure he’s comfortable, though. Put him down to sleep in light, cotton clothes and keep his room a little on the cool side.’
So kids never really stop running at full-speed, even when they’re sleeping. If the sweating is combined with snoring and/or long pauses in breathing, a possible concern is sleep apnea. See your pediatrician, just to be safe.
Thanks, Brent! All of us non-toddlers can sleep easier. And drier.
Anecdote for Fathers*
By William Wordsworth
I have a boy of five years old;
His face is fair and fresh to see;
His limbs are cast in beauty’s mould,
And dearly he loves me.
One morn we strolled on our dry walk,
Our quiet home all full in view,
And held such intermitted talk
As we are wont to do.
My thoughts on former pleasures ran;
I thought of Kilve’s delightful shore,
Our pleasant home when spring began,
A long, long year before.
A day it was when I could bear
Some fond regrets to entertain;
With so much happiness to spare,
I could not feel a pain.
The green earth echoed to the feet
Of lambs that bounded through the glade,
From shade to sunshine, and as fleet
From sunshine back to shade.
Birds warbled round me—and each trace
Of inward sadness had its charm;
Kilve, thought I, was a favoured place,
And so is Liswyn farm.
My boy beside me tripped, so slim
And graceful in his rustic dress!
And, as we talked, I questioned him,
In very idleness.
‘Now tell me, had you rather be,’
I said, and took him by the arm,
‘On Kilve’s smooth shore, by the green sea,
Or here at Liswyn farm?’
In careless mood he looked at me,
While still I held him by the arm,
And said, ‘At Kilve I’d rather be
Than here at Liswyn farm.’
‘Now, little Edward, say why so:
My little Edward, tell me why.’—
‘I cannot tell, I do not know.’—
‘Why, this is strange,’ said I;
‘For, here are woods, hills smooth and warm:
There surely must some reason be
Why you would change sweet Liswyn farm
For Kilve by the green sea.’
At this, my boy hung down his head,
He blushed with shame, nor made reply;
And three times to the child I said,
‘Why, Edward, tell me why?’
His head he raised—there was in sight,
It caught his eye, he saw it plain—
Upon the house-top, glittering bright,
A broad and gilded vane.
Then did the boy his tongue unlock,
And eased his mind with this reply:
‘At Kilve there was no weather-cock;
And that’s the reason why.’
O dearest, dearest boy! my heart
For better lore would seldom yearn,
Could I but teach the hundredth part
Of what from thee I learn.
[* The original title of this poem was Anecdote for Fathers, Shewing How the Art of Lying May Be Taught, which Wordsworth later changed.]
For all I complain about the image of fatherhood, and for all I talk about the challenges of being a father, I have it easier than many. Much easier.
‘Kelly knows she can call me during the day; Ian knows exactly when I’ll be home. I met my son when he first took breath, and we haven’t been apart for longer than two days. And this is such a priveledge, such a luxury. Such a blessing.’
