Monkey House

Two small things, both relating to reading:

1. The monkey is fascinated with letters and numbers lately (though, he doesn’t know the difference quite yet, so he refers to the latter as “letters” also). I don’t mind in the least that about seventeen-thousand times a day he asks, “what do THOSE letters say?” or “what does THIS one say?” Not even being sarcastic; I could answer those questions all day long because I know they signify an interest in written language. And that’s at least a SMALL indicator that he might end up a reader (hopefully among other interests and strengths!).

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Bedtime has been a bit exasperating lately. Here’s how a typical night plays out (our son is in his terrible twos, not so incidentally):

1. Struggle with him to get him to the toilet for his last pee before bed. (this involves him running from room to room and us trying not to “give in” and play his game, but usually failing and having to grab him and carry him like a sack of potatoes to the bathroom)
2. Struggle with him to get his nighttime underwear on. (if we’re using the change table, this involves him arching his back and trying to flip around. If we are doing it standing, this involves him kicking his feet viciously in an attempt to not have them threaded through his legholes)
3. Struggle to get him to keep his mouth open for toothbrushing. (this goes better some nights than others. threats and bribes—sure signs of bad parenting—abound)
4. Sweetly and co-operatively say goodnight to the things in his room, a la “Goodnight Moon”. He enjoys this part and almost never refuses it unless he’s dead tired and just wants his bed.

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I did a few things poorly as a dad today. The monkey didn’t have his afternoon nap, and yet wasn’t making it through the afternoon with any sort of grace and “withitness”. A few weekends ago he missed both Saturday and Sunday (by design) and didn’t seem to miss the naps all that much.

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Let me preface this by saying: we only have one child. Compared to multi-child families, we don’t know anything about ‘tired’. But each person only knows their own reality, so that’s all I can really say by way of apology.

I took the monkey to the Canadian Museum of Nature today. My wife had let me sleep in quite late. Other than the dogs interrupting me for their breakfast, I slept until 12:30, for which I was extremely grateful. To return the favour, I wanted to give her an afternoon of ‘her’ time. Not that I had much of a choice, because as we ate our lunch, the monkey asked, “Daddy, going to take me to see DINOS next?” I shifted my gaze to meet Alex’s and asked, “did YOU tell him that?”
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“Dipper,” “Dunk-Dunk,” and “Boop” are three different semi-sensical words used by three different children as a label for the same thing: ketchup. The latter happens to be the one our monkey uses (indeed, any goopy sauce or dressing is “boop”).

I don’t get it. This is a kid who can pronounce “Deinonychus” correctly. The two beautiful little munchkins with “Dipper” and “Dunk-Dunk” are equally eloquent. Surely the words “ketchup” or “sauce” are not beyond their linguistic capabilities.

So I don’t get it.

But all the same, I’ve learned to love and embrace it. Because when they’re done with their own language and use nothing but the boring language of adults, surely an era of their childhood is over, and that just sucks.