Don't look back in anger

It has been quite a spring semester. Much teaching, a couple off-campus talks, a frazzled dash to the end of the semester and, oh yeah, tenure. The semester ended and the nuclear family rallied off to Lima for about 10 days, in between the spring and summer semesters, to meet the large extended part of the family residing down south.

If I blog lots about Peru over the next few days, it will undoubtedly be random and in fits and starts. Nonetheless, I figure I should do this. Peru is on my mind quite a bit now these days, and not just because I've been talking up Peruvian film (a presentation at the alma mater, where I also found out that the book will physically be done on Monday! whee!). The trip was the first time I have been "home" in about five years and Lima has changed in many significant ways.

A plus from the trip -- and, admittedly, a main goal -- was to get Xan interested in Peru in general. Given that he has a cousin who is only two months older than he is, this was an easy task. Now, all of a sudden, he isn't shutting out all the Spanish he is hearing, and has been mildly amused to find that folks speak the language not just in Peru. I'm not sure if we'll make like my parents and ship him off to South America when he turned 12 and surly (which is what happened to me), but who knows?

The questions only get tougher

To his parents, after seeing the WAMU radio tower, "Why does the radio come over in waves? How does it get to our radio?"

To his mother, on the metro ride into work: "Mama, where does the sidewalk end?"

And, in a moment I'm not sure I necessarily want repeated, to his female babysitter lying next to him in bed after they have played for a few hours: "What's your name?"

Career moves

Recently, Xan let us know his plans for the future. If I'm not mistaken, this was offered up to Angela spontaneously, not as a reply to "What do you want to do when you grow up?"

In order of how this was happen, Xan is going to:

• Drive a train
• Be Tigeroo's dad
• Be a dinosaur
• Go to work at AU
• Stop working so that he can be at home

Sounds like a plan to me!

Like a kick in the head (Actually, not "like" at all.)

Guess why my son has this really nasty, gigantic bump on his head?

(A) He really wanted to be a unicorn for Christmas. Or a rhino.
(B) He was brained in the head by the school bully with a wooden car
(C) Voldemort stopped by, but messed up the scar.
(D) He had an encounter with the Przewalski's horse at Zoolights the other night.
(E) He is a klutz, falling down on a concrete step near the Capitol.

Despite (B) having actually happened earlier (see the other bump on his forehead, now almost healed) this time it's actually D. This confirms once again that he is, after all, my son.

Jingle bells all the way, man!

'Tis the season for all sorts of wonderment. Due to my potential jury duty (which so far hasn't actually occurred, yay), we stayed in the DC area this year and instead brought my parents here. This means that we've gotten to experience the holidays in DC for the first time. It's been a lot of fun to actually put up the tree and lights and actually enjoy them for Christmas. Santa will be coming down our chimney (which, come to think of it, may mean that we shouldn't start a fire in the fireplace tonight). We almost went to Michigan, which is currently overrun with bad weather, so this turned out to be great foresight on our part, even if Xan won't quite have a white Christmas. And we're having some good friends over for Christmas dinner whose families are otherwise far away (in Kazakhstan, Hong Kong and Michigan again), which may be accompanied by Stinkylulu's holiday soundtrack which he sent. (Should I play the "Festive" CD, or the "Filthy" one? Hm.)

For me, one of the funnier stories has to come from a couple weeks ago, when I had a bit of deja vu. Oma and Opa were due to arrive in a couple days and I was started to indicate to Xan that they would be arriving. "Are you excited that Oma and Opa are coming for Christmas?" I asked in the car.

He thought for a moment. "No," he said.

I was a little taken aback. "Really? Why not?"

"I don't want Oma and Opa to come for Christmas," he said with finality. "I want Ruben and Gabriel and Liam to come for Christmas." These are three of his best friends at school, part of what I call The Gang. The first two are twins, the second is the sweetest kid ever.

All three, however, also happen to be Jewish. "Well, Xan, that's sweet, but they don't celebrate Christmas?"

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because they celebrate Channukah." I knew he knew about that, because a parent had done a special thing at school about Channukah and he was therefore well-versed on dreidels and menorahs.

"Why do we have to celebrate Christmas? Why can't we celebrate Channukah?" he asked.

And suddenly, I was taken back about thirty years to when I started school myself, only to discover that all of my friends were Jewish as well. Growing up on Long Island, where everyone is either Roman Catholic or Jewish, I was a bit of the outcast as the Hispanic Protestant.

We have since gotten totally into Oma, Opa and Christmas (with all the songs, as you can see below, and the going to church), so we're dedinitely in the swing of things. And man, Santa is a great bribe to get a wayward child in line. What will I do tomorrow?

Merry Christmas, everyone!

A time to laugh, a time to cry

The family was heading out late last week for our semi-annual joint haircut at Cabello's, having let our manes get quite shaggy. We scheduled the visit on the day I didn't teach, which corresponded with the day that Xan was not in school due to a day of parent-teacher conferences. Ange had to teach, however, and so just before the appointed time, we were parked relatively close to her classroom to wait. We were listening to a mix-CD (is that what you call the slightly more modern version of a "mix tape," before we get to playlists?) made by a friend as a party favor for his three-year-old's birthday party earlier this year. Since this CD features Elmo, Xan was in a particularly good mood.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, a quiet voice from the back seat of the car said, "Dada, when someone kills, that means someone dies, right?"

I was a bit shaken by this, but the word "kill" has come up a few times before. I think one of the kids at his school had talked about "killing" things, perhaps because he has a video game or something and I had dissuaded Xan from blithely using the word, trying to indicate the serious finality of killing. He also understands the concept of death, somewhat, mainly because his great-grandfather died only a year ago. So I said, "Yes, that's what that means."

There was a pause.

And then: "Dada, when will I die?"

In the rear view mirror, I could see the earnest expression on his face. At that point, I had to figure out how to hold it together. I was not preapred for this at all, nor the way that such a question would put me near tears. Quite frankly, I don't think about this possibility at all because, deep inside, I know this would crush me in ways I really can't imagine. (This, even though we upped our life insurance the other day. My own potential death? Apparently, I can handle that.)

I replied, "Oh, sweetie. I have no idea when you will die. Hopefully, not for a very, very long time."

He pondered that. "When do people die?" he continued.

"We don't know," I said. "No one ever knows when they're going to die. That's why we have to do the best we can while we're still here."

He seemed to accept this, and I gave him a squeeze. I did think, however, What on earth inspired him to ask that question?

On the way home from the haircut, the CD had started over again and I realized that one of the songs we had heard in the morning was Dolly Parton's version of the Byrds' "Turn, Turn, Turn." I absolutely love this song in virtually any form (part of my amusement comes from the fact that this is probably the only #1 pop song to be inspired by the Book of Ecclesiastes), but of course the song posits a series of opposites. In fact, as I thought about it, I realized that a few days earlier we heard the song and Xan, having processed the concept "kill = bad," had said, "Dada, they said 'kill.' That's bad." I had explained what the song was trying to do, and that we needed the bad things in life in order to appreciate the good. Somehow, however, I hadn't thought about him processing the concept of death as it might apply to himself.

All this simply means that I better take my copy of Nine Inch Nails' "Closer" out of the car.

Why Zithromax and amoxycillin are welcome guests in our home this week

Upon picking up the boy at school today:

A: So who did you play with at school today?
X: I didn't play with anybody.
A: Really? I thought I just saw you playing with Shaya-
X (adamantly): No, I wasn't playing with him.
A: Why didn't you play with anybody today?
X: Because I have germs.
A (slightly worried, "is he being ostracized?"): Really? Who said that.
X: I did.
A: You did.
X: Yes. I have a hundred and fifty-seven germs.
A ("oh"): Really.
X: I have a hundred and seventy germs.
A: I see.

He knows not of what he narrates

No, I am not referring to any of my lectures. I am referring to my son's current narrative strategies, which is to take several things he has learned about and combine them into a new, even more exciting story. As I have previously mentioned, The Blob has already entered the family parlance, although now it refers simply to tasty jello. Somehow, however, the boy did manage to also process the correct definition of "The Blob," i.e. scary monster that creeps (and leaps and gliiides... OK, yes, please stop me now). I swear, he hasn't seen the movie. (Yet.)

This was apparently combined this evening at dinnertime while Angela and Xan were riding home together on the bicycle with the concept of "robots," apparently acquired through a friend at school. (I was not a first-hand witness to this, by the way, because it was "back to school night" at the preschool and I was the one on hand; at this meeting, the parents of the aforementioned child wanted to know is "camping" was a topic at school, because their son suddenly wants to go camping. It's hilarious how quickly these concepts are picked up.) Add the ever-constant Thomas the Tank Engine, who appears in all narratives these days. (Even when they involve pirates. Don't ask).

This results in the following narrative, explained matter-of-factly by Xan to Angela tonight: "The Blob and the robot were chasing after Thomas very, very fast. Thomas was scared -- but then he was faster and got away. From the Blob. And the robot. Who was big."

Personally, I think this would make a fantastic movie myself.
Apparently, Thomas doesn't share my opinion.

Where parents fear to tread...

I had promised to take Xan to the playground after a nap on our last day in Ann Arbor, fully aware that it was supposed to storm that day. Luckily, there's a cool indoor playground/coffee shop called Jungle Java that has a giant structure to climb around. Xan saw it, went in and didn't touch the floor again until they closed.

At some point, I decided that this was a good moment for me to take my trusty new pocket video camera and venture inside this structure. Clearly, a Steadicam would have been more useful here, if even more impossible to go around various corners; clearly, this was also not made for a thirty-six-year-old man. (That said, you may note I'm not the only one in there.) Please note how appreciative my son is of my travails in maneuvering said obstacle.

The power of bargaining

There is so much to blog about, and it's criminal that I really haven't had an opportunity near a fast connection. Not to mention the fact that my poor camera lost its button, and therefore I have lost the ability to take pictures.

But, then there's this.

We are currently on summer vacation in Ann Arbor visiting my folks. My cousin Ed also happens to live here and he and his wife have two kids. John, the elder, is a year older than Xan, but is exactly the same size. Last year, John was three (and all that implies) and this year he's an angel -- but now Xan's three (and all that implies). So when they invited us out for pizza, I was worried how things would go. Luckily, being boys, they were both thrilled at their mutual interest in toy cars and fries. Things were going swimmingly.

As we were leaving, however, I noticed that Xan had the two cars (one larger, one smaller) that he had brought in one hand, and one of John's cars in the other. This could not be good. "Xan," I warned as we went down the staircase, "you have to give John back his car."

"But I don't want to!" This is a common retort.

"It's not your car. It's John's car."

"But I like John's car."

I decided to try logic. Again. It only works occasionally, but I'm persistent like that. "What would you say if John wanted one of your cars." I waited for the expected response: I wouldn't like that, no no, it's my car.

But there was a pause as he went down a few more stairs. Thoughts were being processed. My ears perked up as I realized we were officially off-script.

He replied, "I would tell him OK, and he could give me the car back the next time we see each other."

Holy crap. "Really?" I said.

"Yes."

OK, then! "Well, let's ask him then."

Sure enough, at the bottom of the stairs, Xan heads for John. They talk for a moment and John happily grabs both of Xan's cars while Xan happily comes back with the single (but very cool) car of John's. It takes me a minute to tell John's parents that no, he does not need to give the car back, that the boys have (somehow) worked it out. All of us marvel at this unprecedented event.

Since then, Xan and "John's car" have been inseparable. Which makes me a little nervous as we head to tomorrow, where we will be joining forces at a local (kick-ass) water park. But for now, I revel in the negotiation skills of my son. And how logic worked. Well, for a moment, at least.

15 years from now, this posting would probably show up on Facebook titled "After the first frat party"

Angela and Xan left last night for the road trip to Cape Cod, with an overnight pit stop in New York. The trip was uneventful and actually fun for everyone involved. (If I'm not mistaken, Angela has not had quite the solitary summer road trip experiences with Xan -- with optional emergency issues -- that I have had in the past.) They arrived without incident early this afternoon and he took one look at the grandparents' backyard, said "I need to mow," and clicked back into his summer groove. Apparently, he has also managed to completely scrape up one knee less than 6 hours after arriving. Beautiful.

After putting him to bed and checking her email in another part of the house, Angela went to check on Xan in his bed as she normally does. She fumbled around in the bed for a little while in the dark . . . only to discover that he wasn't there. For a moment, she got confused and a bit worried, wondering if he had perhaps gone in with his grandmother? maybe? did I put him here?

And then she heard some light snoring coming from elsewhere in the room.

At which point she found the boy in the following position:


Naturally, the whole family was called to witness this. Many photographs were claimed to have been taken. A beer was almost placed into his hand. Please make note of the seeming cat-skin hat perched on his head: to get the full effect, you must also know that the kid-snores were accompanied by the obsessively purring cat (not Vega; this is good ol' [friendly] Cous-Cous).

Angela called me about this. How can he sleep like that? she asked incredulously. I really don't know what you mean, I replied, but he sure looks like a drunk frat boy to me.

Sick day

Xan had a 102-degree fever today, which pretty much matched the weather outside. Luckily, celebratory revelry this weekend forced us to bring down the giant air conditioner, thus the boy was able to exist in relatively cool temperatures. We'll see where he's at tomorrow.

Since he was a baby, however, living with fever basically means one thing: he becomes the Cling Monster. A parent going to, say, the refrigerator to get him some orange juice is taken as if the limbs of his favorite stuffed animal have been ripped off. (Going to the bathroom? Forget it.) Basically, the entire day he wants to be held, even if it's ridiculously hot between the weather and his feverish body. On the plus side, this activity is a relatively good indicator of whether he's better because then he wants to, you know, play or stand up by himself or something. On the minus side, until the fever is past, there is no plus side.

Like I said, this has been this way since he was a baby. Sucker that I am, I give in to whatever he wants when he's sick, to my own detriment. Case in point: my lunch today consisted of some crackers with hummus that I managed to shove into my mouth before my lap was demanded in a pathetic whimper.

By dinnertime, he felt much better. As we were eating, however, Angela observed with bemusement that I was still in my bathrobe, having never made it to the shower. (Don't think she got off too easily today: as her bike was stolen late last week, we replaced it over the weekend; as this bike wasn't quite up to speed, however, she spent roughly an hour and half at Target this evening trying to return it.)

Xan, who was polite all day today (!), asked to be excused from the dinner table. He scampered off a little and I finally relaxed a bit. "I noticed you're still in a bathrobe," Angela said, bemused.

"Yep," I replied. I jerked a thumb toward Xan's favorite tiger and affected a Marshall Dillon accent. "Me and Tigeroo have been clutched to all day long. First moment we've had free pretty much all day. I'm thinkin' he and I should go for drinks."

"There's all that margarita in the fridge."

Oooh, indeed there was! Someone brought over a gigantic vat of margaritas, mixed nice and strong, over the weekend. (Really tasty.) Surprisingly, we hadn't finished it all yet. "I think that's a great idea!"

She poured a glass, stepped back and laughed. "This would make a great picture. You could post about how you deal with a sick day."

I laughed. "Go get the camera."

Who needs a shower when you have tequila?

The terrible threes(ome)

M is a sweet and pretty little girl at Xan's school who apparently is relatively shy and reserved, often plays by herself.

That is, unless my son is involved.

Xan had a hitting incident with me this morning (for which he was reprimanded with some stern words and a three-year-old lecture on the perils of hitting, particularly the perils of hitting me). When I brought him to school, another kid came up to hit him while I was there. I was proud that he didn't hit back right away and mentioned this morning's incident to one of his teachers. "Oh yeah," she said, "it's his new thing, the hitting. He's definitely in that rambunctious phase." We've known this for a while: don't let anyone tell you anything about the "terrible twos," which I now think is a completely myth -- it's the threes you have to worry about (and Ange's Mom said she was the worst at four so I guess it could get worse). His teachers mentioned, however, that this new bravado turned out to be a good thing in another way: apparently, his current wild-man phase has been pulling M out of her shell a bit, since she adores him and will happily follow him around, even doing some naughty things herself because he did them. This is actually a good thing for her, according to the teachers, since they would like her to mix things up a bit. So while they are not letting him get away with everything, secretly they are pleased about the residual effect on M.

Anyway, Xan went over to M's house yesterday for a play date after school and they had a great time. This evening was the school potluck and M's mother sat next to me while the kids were supposed to be doing this group exercise thing in the campus amphitheater; my kid, meanwhile, was running around the back part of the plant area. "Look," M's mother said, pointing to her daughter who was running after him with the biggest grin on her face. "She is so smitten with him. I think she has a crush."

I had seen this a little earlier, when the two of them went off together to play on the playground and then she followed him to the tricycles. He had pedaled away and she was standing there. "Would you like to ride as well?" I asked her. She shook her head and said simply, "I don't know how to ride the tricycle yet." (This is totally understandable: Xan has only just learned, and through much determined effort because of his neverending obsession with wheels.) I watched him ride away with me and her standing there, looking after him. And she had that look in her eyes that said, Wow, he is just so cool. I thought to myself, Oh my goodness, I think M totally has a crush on my kid. This is so freaking adorable. Except, male that he is, he isn't really noticing at all. Typical guy.

I mentioned some of this to M's mother, who laughed. I looked back at the kids and at M running after Xan, trying to get his attention. But at that point, I noticed he was doing the same thing -- only not with M. I turned to M's mother and said, "M may have a crush on Xan, but right now it looks like Xan has a crush on R" -- one of the twin boys in his class, who Xan was indeed chasing after and imitating, no matter than R was trying his best to ignore him. In an exact parallel of what was happening with M.

For a moment, I realized with some surprise that this was mimicking the plotline of Threesome, a movie with Lara Flynn Boyle, Stephen Baldwin and Josh Charles that isn't all that great but that I still have an affection for, maybe because in 1994 I identified with it a bit too much when I saw it (and that is all of that story any of you people need to know, thank you very much). Still, all we need is for R to have unrequited affection for M, and then they go to college and...

No, no. No.

Still, it's incredibly cute to see what seems to be the first crush. (Just don't tell Jolie. Seriously. M doesn't stand a chance.)

Wednesday Whyning #1

Today we begin a new series akin to Jack Handey's Deep Thoughts where you, gentle reader, may contemplate some of the issues brought forth in our world today as funneled through the ever-inquisitive mind of my three-year-old who NEVER. SEEMS. TO STOP. ASKING. WHY. I have at times, in fact, placed a limit on the number of why-questions he can ask while in the car on the way to school, mainly because I have already answered 619 of them and I still haven't had any coffee. (I have also discovered perhaps the best response to these questions. Trust me, I will find a way to use this at some point.) Feel free in the comments to provide some good answers to these questions.

This week's selection, said to Mama:
"Why do you have legs, Mama?"

(Husband's response: "For me to ogle, kid.")

Ibuprofen? You shouldn't have...

The scene opens with Xan in the back seat of the car following his gymnastics class. In typical Middents form (and given that this backbreaker of a semester only ended the night before as I finished up the grading), I still had to get something for Mother's Day.

I turned in the seat before heading out. "So, Xan, do you want to get something for Mama for Mother's Day?"

Xan nodded his head vigorously. "Yes."

"What shall we get her?" I was prepared for anything.

His answer was definite: "Watermelon."

OK, maybe not anything. "Why should we get Mama some watermelon?" I asked, noting that I've had to answer roughly six "why" questions per minute over the last couple weeks.

"Because she will like it."

I actually considered this for a moment. Then, sense returned. "Um, Xan, I think watermelon is out of season right now."

"Oh." This fazed him for just a moment. "Then I want to get Mama some medicine."

Now I turned around again. "Excuse me? Why should we get medicine for Mother's Day?"

His answer was again unequivocal. "We need to get Mama some medicine in case she gets sick. Then she can get better."

In my mind, I think for a moment that I was just hanging out with a doctor who could have written up a great prescription of something advertised on television that I know I should have paid attention to. Paxil? Oxycontin? Xymox?

"Perhaps we should go to the bookstore instead, Xan."

Big grin emerged. "OK!" Whew.

Happy Mother's Day, everyone!

In Bed with Middento

I recently pointed out to one of my classes that movies are not always released with the same titles everywhere else in the world. In some cases, it's because the significance of the title simply does not translate. Case in point: Madonna: Truth or Dare, which could not be released elsewhere with this title because, funny enough, the "fun party game" is only immediately recognizable in this country. Everywhere else (and this is how it was translated into other languages), the film was titled In Bed with Madonna.

These days, in case you'd like to know, this is what I am often In Bed with:

A. One Tigeroo. Still #1 favorite friend for almost three years now, although these days he apparently also "likes" to be squished all the way into a square basket about half his size.

B. Cool books for me to check out, often placed near or under my pillow. I came to bed at 3:00AM the other night and slammed my head down on this. (It's a hardcover.) (UPDATED NOTE: Item labeled "E" points out that I am actually the one who put said book in that location. This does not change the fact that I think the person who put it there is a bone-brain.)

C. (1) A train of cars, because anything put together in a row can be a train. (Can anyone guess the theme of this year's birthday party? Heck, at least this year we thought about it at least a week before his birthday, which is pretty good for us.) Making trains with trucks brings the best of two worlds together. Lately, the trucks are especially a good thing if accompanied by a (2) squished Mandy. This is easily #2 fave friend, but lately she has also been good to (a) stomp on, (b) rock over with the rocking horse, or (c) roll over with anything with wheels. On the plus side, he usually indicates that this makes her cry and comforts her accordingly. (On the minus side, he often announces that he's going to squish her and make her cry with particular glee. Perhaps it's not a bad thing we don't have another kid yet.)

D. Pizza. Apparently, my side of the bed is something like an oven,, because someone puts the pizza there to cook on a nearly daily basis. Please note its placement under the sheets: this is important, otherwise "the pizza won't cook right." It is usually forgotten there until I try to crawl into bed, so I can slam my knee on it before slamming my head on the book.

E. The Logic Puzzler. Most likely, I do not actually go to bed with the logic puzzles, but I do know that this person tends to be there when I head to bed... Wait a second, I've clearly been staying up much too late these days trying to get work done. Who is this? Do I know this person? How did I get here? Am I in another part of the world?....

Li'l Devil

No news, frantically trying to finish up manuscript/SCMS paper/grading before Thursday. But I couldn't let this photo go by, which Angela took at breakfast and which I completely love. Yes, it does appear as if we have an honest-to-goodness boy on our hands.

Wallflower no more

I have a colleague at work who also has a nearly-three year old son. The kids met at a summer get-to-know-each-other departmental party for what I called "the underclass" (i.e. the untenured, the folks still on one-year-contracts, etc.) at our house, where we discovered that our kids were both, miraculously, followers of sorts. Each stayed in his respective dad's arms, eying the other with a mixture of curiosity and concern, waiting to see what the other would do. This lasted until a 4-year-old boy showed up and took charge, turning the two 2-year-olds into versions of tie-fighters flying in formation around him.

The other day during my evening class' break, I found this colleague in his office with no students. We exchanged pleasantries and at some point I asked him about N, his son. "Oh man," he said, "I have no idea what to do. I have to get him ready every morning and he just throws this ridiculous fit. It happens every morning. And I don't know what to do."

"Really?"

And at this point I turned into Dear Abby, offering advice on how to traumatize your child into submission so you can get his pants on. I have to say that it still works: the other day he was resistant and I calmly said, "Would you like me to bring you outside with no clothes on?" He looked at me and said, "No, I put on my pants now."

Here's the sadistic part: I can't wait to hear how N will take to the smackdown. Bwahaha: tormented fathers of the world, unite!

---

I haven't written much lately for a few reasons. Primarily, it's because I fell behind in my writing and other work due to some illnesses (both mine and Xan's) that set things back a bit. (Indeed, my last posting notes the beginning of this spiral.) But the revisions are close to being done indeed, and the Oscars are actually happening no matter what (hooray!) so I just have to KEEP ON GOING. Come mid-March, I may actually be caught up with all the writing, which would be novel.

One of the interesting by-products of the creeping crud that invaded our house a couple weeks ago was that Xan suddenly turned into Mr. Obstinate. He would yell all day at us, "No! You to do that. No, no, don't say that!" Very insisting, very forceful, refusing to be nice for any reason whatsoever. (Apparently, something invaded many little boys around this time, since I wasn't alone in wondering what the heck happened to my sweet little child.) Within a week, he returned to a version of his normal self, but one day I lingered at his school and watched an interaction with his classmates. He sat down at a table doing some crafty thing and got up to move a chair for some unknown reason. As he was doing this, the girl next to him grabbed all of his craft material to put on her tray. Xan returned, discovered his stuff was gone and started to throw a minor fit. "Give me my stuff back!" he started yelling at the girl.

I was talking to one of the teachers and my first response was to stop him, but before I even said anything, the teacher turned to me and said, "Let's see how this plays out." The girl ran off with his stuff and he chased her, managing to get some of it back but not all. The teacher -- who saw more than I did -- eventually stopped the two of them and actually berated the girl: "Did you take his stuff when he wasn't looking?" "Yes," she said. "Well, you need to give it back. You don't like it when someone does that to you, do you?" She did, Xan was happy and all was well." The teacher turned back to me. "I think that went well," she said."

"I'm impressed," I said. "I was just going to say that he's been pretty willful this last week and was concerned that he was transferring back to school."

The teacher looked at me. "Well, you know, it's been a goal of ours to actually get him to stick up for himself."

And at that point she fleshes out the details that she mentioned in our parent-teacher conference but that I had forgotten: indeed, when he first arrived at school (at only 2 1/2, the very youngest there), he had been a doormat. A kid would take his toy and, in his relatively good-natured way, he would shrug and find something else to play with. The teachers had apparently been concerned that he wasn't asserting himself enough. Lo and behold, this may have been part of the reason he got snippy with us: testing the waters to see whether he could also rule over us.

Today, however, more news, and this actually worries me slightly: when she picked him up today, Angela got word from the teacher that Xan is now teasing the other kids.

As someone who has all sorts of traumatic memories of elementary school, I almost couldn't fathom that this was happening. Apparently, it makes sense: the other kids did it to him and now he's trying on that particular hat for himself. Tomorrow, when I bring him in (provided we don't have a snow day), I'm planning on asking if there's anything we can do at home.

Garbo, reincarnated

Two minutes ago, with me still up late writing, I heard Xan start to cry. "Are you OK?" I asked.

"I want to be alone," he said sleepily.

And just like the Baron von Geigern, I quickly scampered away.

A.M. UPDATE: Actually, he turned out to be lying. Waking up a couple hours later, he had a fever. So we're home today.

How have I NOT damaged my child in the past week?

(a) This morning, I took him out in the cold rain, forgetting to put on his rain boots. Naturally, the first thing he does is splash in a large puddle outside. Naturally, this is also the day that I don't have the car, having dutifully brought it in to be serviced. Naturally, we have also missed the bus. "My feet are wet," he says. Naturally, he is the only one who doesn't have rain boots when we get to school, so I have additionally committed a fashion faux pas.

(b) Last night, upon taking him to bed, I accidentally bump his head while getting his pajamas on. "You hurt my head!" he says. "Don't do that!" I ask for forgiveness. I get it only after many kisses and a few tickles for good measure.

(c) On Monday, I deny him the opportunity to see Barack Obama in person. In DC, I explain, disenfranchisement happens early and often.

(d) In the process of (c), I have to bring him in to school much earlier than we usually get there. As such, instead of being late for snack when everyone is already there, he is only the second person, and the other kid is significantly older than he is. After taking off his coat, he looks around, looks at me with wide eyes and, very seriously with an extremely cute voice, asks, "Dada, where are all my friends?" (Thankfully, the twins his age -- who also usually arrive very late, actually usually right before us -- come within a minute, since their mom also has an early meeting.

(e) Late last week, I go through the daily motions of getting him ready for school. Usually, this involves much bellyaching and a chorus of "I don't want to [x]" with [x] being either "have breakfast," "get dressed," "put shoes on," "go to school," "put coat on," or, you know, "breathe." This has occasionally devolved into mild tantrums -- and, lately, not so mild. On the day in question, I am running late (as usual) and trying to put clothes on, which leading to complaints and thrashing as described above. This, after I've given him a LOT of extra time to play and after he has agreed to get dressed without a fuss. "I DON'T WANT TO WEAR CLOTHES! NO! NO!!!"

At some point, I give up. I remember that apparently I had this problem as a kid and my mother made me go to school in my pajamas for a whole day. I decide that perhaps it's time to bring out the big guns. "Really?" I ask. "You don't want clothes? Fine." I pick up his clothes and shoes, put them in a bag, grab my coat and his lunchbox and drag him out the back door to the car.

He is wearing only a diaper and a pair of socks.

The temperature is about 16 degrees above absolute zero outside.

I then proceed to put the howling boy ("I DON'T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOOOL! I DON'T WANT TO WEAR CLOOOOTHES!") into the car, strap him into the car seat, start the car and drive off. To cover up the howling, I put Annie Lennox's "Coloured Bedspread" on the CD player at a relatively loud volume. I then pray to God that a cop doesn't drive by, since I'm not entirely sure that what I am doing is legal. Only when I get to the other side of town do I finally hear a small voice in the back seat say, "Dada, may I please have some clothes?" And after an apology and a huge hug, I put them on.

Wracked with guilt, I confess all this to his teacher at school. "You're better than I am," she laughs. "I probably wouldn't have even turned on the heat in the car." I look at her. "What makes you think I did?"

(f) I gave my son a fat lip.

ANSWER: (f)
Funny enough, he gave himself a fat lip at school. Later telling us that it involved "riding tricycles around and around and around and around and then CRASH," he actually manages this by simply running with a plastic toy in his hand and then falling on it, giving himself a nice bloody cut. By chance, Angela and I both arrive only minutes after this happens and are thus able to document the aftermath, snapping photographic evidence with the incriminating evil toy, still in his clutches.

"I'll show you, Evil Squiggly Plastic Blue Toy!"