Matthew and I have a great rapport but I dread parts of our day. Dinner is not particularly tough, but he is a picky eater—surely the only male in my entire family who can make that claim—and finding the right combo of foods can be a challenge. It just takes time. And a thick skin.
But the primary challenge is getting ready for sleep.
The first step is brushing our teeth, a reliable trigger for wailing tears and a general emotional collapse. (His, not mine.) The bath afterward is not much better and causes him to pretend to need to sleep (“No papa! I sweep! No bath! No teeth!”). Most of the time I can cajole him just enough, but my patience can wear thin and if I don’t read his emotional state just right, I can make big mistakes by forcing the situation when a more nuanced approach would be better for everyone.
The first thing we do in the morning is brush our teeth, and it can set the tone for the day. I’m uncaffeinated (a potential legal defense) and unfed, and while I love playing with him, the schedule doesn’t allow for much dawdling. This week we have had some spectacularly difficult mornings.
On our way to school, we talk about who we’re going to see at school and what we’re going to do. On Tuesday, he was mad about everything and in the resulting snit, he refused to join the conversation.
I: Are we going to see Alina at school?
Matthew: No.
I: Are we going to see Shianne?
M: No.
I: Are we going to see Morgan?
M: No.
I: Are we going to see Leo?
M: No.
I: Are we going to see Micah?
M: No.
I: Are we going to see Ellie?
M: No.
I: Are we going to see Gwynnie?
M: No.
I: Are we going to see Isaac?
M: No.
I: Are we going to see Charlie?
M: No.
I: Are we going to see Stella?
M: No.
I: That’s everyone. Are we going to a completely deserted school?
M: No.
I: Are you going to be a little asshole all day or does it stop when we get there?
M: No.
Shades of my mother start creeping in; next thing you know, I’ll walk around with a cigarette hanging from my lip while using four-letter words everywhere I go. Oh, wait….
However, we also play games. There’s the double take, where I glance back at him in his over-engineered car seat and then glance again. This makes him laugh and if I do it often enough, I can have him in stitches. I don’t know why that’s funny but if he’s happy, I’m happy.
Now that he’s facing forward, there’s often a running commentary about my driving. “We we ‘top? Go!” I have to explain that we can’t go, or other people have a right of way. One day we were sitting at a traffic light and he told me to just go. “I am waiting for the traffic light to turn green.” “Where?”
I pointed out the traffic lights and told him that the red light meant we have to stop, but the green light meant we could go. At that moment, it turned green and he screamed. I think he had connected it to the games he plays and the cartoons he watches; it was his W-A-T-E-R moment from The Miracle Worker. I am Annie freaking Sullivan.
This morning we were waiting at a traffic light. “When green, Papa?” “Soon.” “When green, Papa, go big fast!” You don’t have to tell me twice.
We’re bonding over big fast.
If parenting were an Olympic sport, you and Curtis deserve the 🥇🥇
My grandson used to cry every time we turned left. He only wanted to turn right. That would make for a dizzying day.