Broken Record

Sometimes I wonder how much Erik comprehends in terms of actions and consequences. Today I told him that if he got dressed, he could go outside, which is one of his favorite things to do. He was obviously very excited about this. However, when I asked him to come to me so we could begin the process of getting ready, he just gave me a sweet, slightly defiant smile and said that he didn't want to. He looked at me and stated he wanted to go outside. I explained that he could not go outside in his pajamas but that once he was dressed, we could do just that. He became instantly frustrated and told me no yet again. I attempted to remain calm and put his clothes back down, telling him that because he was not dressed, we would not be going outside.

A short time later, I decided to give him another chance, repeating the process with the exact same results. When I decided not to cave in and told him that my answer was still no and why, he followed this up with throwing a fit and then asking me one billion times if we could go outside, turning on the charm and hoping for different results. I repeatedly explained to him why it was we were not going outside until I felt like I was turning blue in the face. From there, upon the same question, I asked him if he understood why it was he was not getting what he wanted. He didn't really seem to have an answer. Brian listened to this whole conversation, and I wondered aloud how much of what I was saying was soaking into Erik's ears and brain. Brian's thought that some of it was but that Erik didn't seem to be able to help asking the same question over and over.

I had to agree.

Just how much understanding there is, however, remains unclear. While Erik is becoming quite talented at some things, he seems to be missing basic reasoning skills that other children seem to have that result in positive interactions and render discipline effective in any way. This is one of the many reasons we do not spank our child. I think it would prove to be confusing and hurtful to Erik without the proven ability to completely understand actions and consequences. I would always wonder if I did the right thing, as I could not determine how much he actually understood. For now, though, I continue to stand firm in my interactions with him, give time outs (which seem to break his heart at times), and hope that my explanations of actions and consequences sink in at some level to prepare him for the next situation.

Switchboard SNAFU

As I scooped up our lunch dishes from the kitchen table, Erik disappeared around the corner into the living room. I suddenly ceased what I was doing and noticed the house had taken on that deathly silence all parents know indicates that their child is in the middle of doing something irreversible and evil, like flushing the contents of your wallet down the toilet. In fact, the last time I experienced this stillness was when Erik uncapped a black permanent marker and decorated the rug in his bedroom with a series of gigantic squiggles that would have brought a tear to the eye of any talented contemporary artist. I'm no artist, but his work certainly threatened to bring tears to my own eyes. For different reasons, of course.

As I stepped into the room, I saw Erik sitting on the couch. He looked up at me and gave me that crooked, Dennis the Menace smirk at me that he does when he is doing something he knows he shouldn't. He held my cell phone in his palm, and it was open. He was pressing buttons on the keypad. I loosened the thing from his viselike hands, and he instantly began screaming "NO" and slapping my legs at the same time. The display read, "66666666666666." Of course. As I began to walk away with the thing trying to figure out just what he had done to lock up the display, I heard a wee voice yelling, barely audible under the bilious din emanating from my furious son, who followed me like a tiny, pissed off tornado. The voice was coming from my phone. Maybe he had dialed the devil after all.

"HELLO?"

"HELLO?!"

"MA'AM?!"

"HELLO!"

I placed the phone to my ear and found myself talking to a 911 dispatcher. Apparently, her knickers automatically bunch themselves into a giant, angry, crotch-splitting wad when you dial these three numbers in a row for no good reason. She bitched me out accordingly and instructed me to take the phone away from my son. Uh, okay. I felt my face flush and couldn't decide if I was more angry or embarrassed. On top of everything, Erik continued to scream at me, follow me around, and try to topple me over, so I could barely hear her. I just said I was sorry as loud as I could and snapped the damned thing closed, cutting off the leprechaun-like voice admonishing my parental stupidity. I'm surprised CSD didn't show up five minutes later.

Oh, sure, I bought Erik his own cell phone when he started stealing mine. It's really darling. It's red and blue and makes a funny camera sound if you push the correct button. However, it only dials Mickey Mouse, not real people, and Erik is beginning to suspect that he is talking to a recording. Erik doesn't even really know who Mickey Mouse is, as I consider Disney a tad too corporate for me these days. Besides, we kill mice around here. Actually, now I think about it, when emergency personnel get excited or agitated enough, their voices do reach that hilarious, sky high octave and almost sound like Mickey Mouse. However, I definitely did not hear adorable little things such as "Hot dog!" or "Would you like to come over to play with me?"

During my research after this embarrassing incident, I discovered that no matter how I set up my cell phone, there is a hot key that will connect me to the 911 dispatch center that is impossible to lock. What's ironic is that I couldn't tell you what it is, as they neglected to include that in the manual. I could be lying on the floor in a pool of my own blood the size of Lake Michigan and would have no idea how to use this "hot key" or where it is located. I would expire in a matter of seconds, but before I blacked out, I would likely get Erik's attention, point to the phone, and plead for his help. He would probably say, "No, mama, you said not to touch that phone, and I wouldn't dare disobey you."

A girl can dream, can't she?