Saturday, October 22, 2005

Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

That line hardly covers my son. You’d have to somehow fit Monster Trucks, tractors, Brum, Noddy and, of course, Macsheese into it, and then the metrics of the whole thing would be thrown way off. My Ex went to New York this weekend, and had asked me if I could take him from Friday evening to Sunday mid-afternoon sometime. It still floors me the change in her attitude towards the whole visitation issue. It wasn’t more than a few months ago that she was claiming to people that she suspected I might try to kidnap him. In any case, he was here last night and he’s even now sleeping in the next room. We have had an incredible weekend.

I always have so much fun with him. We make up games to play, especially in the car as we’re driving. Many, many months ago it was me making duck sounds and him making a high pitched scream in return. I often wondered if he ever screamed in the Ex’s car to try to get her to play the game, but I never heard anything. Yesterday I had to find a way to keep him awake for the hour-long drive from where I picked him up to my house. We were going to arrive about an hour before bedtime so I didn’t want him napping on the way back. So we made up the Rub-a-dub-dub game.

Me: “Rub-a-dub-dub! Daddy’s an elephant!”
Him: “Nooooo! Daddy’s a daddy!”
“Rub-a-dub-dub! Charlie’s (his dog) a hippo!”
“Nooooo!”
“Rub-a-dub-dub! Daddy’s a goose!”
“Nooooo! A goose bites my finger!”

And so on. The funniest thing about the game is now when we’re not playing he’ll suddenly say “Daddy! Say it!”. The first time he did this I had no idea what he was telling me to say. He finally told me to say “Rub-a-dub-dub” and I got it. If I tell him to say it, he’ll say “No. You say it, Daddy!” We’ll get into a game where I have to try to convince him to say it.

Me: “Can you say Rub-a-dub-dub?”
Him: “No! You say it, Daddy!”
Me: “Can you say ‘Daddy’s silly’?”
Him: “No!”
Me: “Can you say ‘no’?”
Him: “No!”
Me: “You just said ‘no!’”
Him: (in a “the hell I did” tone) “No!”

Last night we were talking (or what passes for conversation with a two and a half year old) and I asked him something about snakes. He told me that snakes hide. I asked him where. He said that snakes hide under the couch, as he lifted up the dust flap and pointed underneath it. I laughed, imagining him telling my Ex that a snake was hiding under the couch. She was deathly afraid of snakes. Every time he sees a garbage truck or sees one on the road he tells me that a garbage truck took his binky. This was a ploy by the daycare woman when it was decided that he no longer needed the binky. Obviously this was traumatic for him, because it's been a year and he still associates garbage trucks with his stolen binky.

He has a little cold. My evidence is that he’s coughing, sneezing and has a runny nose. He doesn’t have a fever. Unfortunately, he has the habit of coughing so hard that he will sometimes make himself throw up after a meal. He did this with my Ex at Friendly’s not long before I picked him up yesterday. She insists that he was coughing because of asthma. So she called the doctor and insisted that she (the doctor) do something. So today I find out that the doctor has supposedly told her that it might be acid reflux. She said this as if it were nearly a death sentence. It’s so hard not to laugh sometimes. First, I doubt he’s got acid reflux to begin with. He only throws up when he coughs really hard, and that’s usually when he’s got a cold. So Monday I’m going to call the doctor and have a little talk with her.

When I put him down for bed he insists on having a few toys with him. “A few” is a relative term. Last night I counted eleven matchbox cars, three monster trucks and a Thomas the Train. Tonight it’s ten matchbox cars, three monster trucks and Thomas. It’s like a used car lot in there.

He’s wearing me out. It’s 10:10, and I’m falling asleep at my computer typing this, so I suppose I should just post it and get to bed.