There are some things I don’t understand about Tyler. In the form of yeah’s and no’s, he’ll tell you that he’s tired, that he wants to go upstairs, that he wants his jammies, but he does NOT want to go to sleep. And yet, when we put him in his crib, he doesn’t fight it. More times than not, he goes right to sleep.

I understand that we, as parents, need to be careful with our questions. Instead of asking Tyler if he’s ready for bed, I should ask if he wants to bring Melmo or Ah-Ah to bed. I get that. I do. And when he does tell us that he isn’t ready for bed, we correct him by nodding our heads and saying, “Yes, Tyler is ready for bed.”

I’m jumping off topic here. I should just replace the fist two paragraphs with “Tyler knows the difference between yes and know, and what those words mean,” because that’s what I was getting at. At least, I think he knows what yes and no mean. More specifically, Tyler knows what yes and no mean IF he’s the one saying those words. When mommy and daddy say “no,” what they really mean is “maybe.”

A couple evenings ago, I asked, “Tyler, do you want to brush your teeth?”

“Yeah.”

I picked Tyler up and set him on the sink. As I applied the toothpaste to his toothbrush, Tyler grabbed the faucet handle and pulled, turning the water on.

“No thank you, Tyler.”

I pulled Tyler’s hand away. The very moment I let go, he grabbed the faucet again.

“NO Tyler. This is not for Tyler’s hands.”

He did it again.

“Tyler… NO!”

On either the fifth or sixth time (I lost track, but it’s however long it takes a parent before they start getting really angry and they get tunnel vision), I got the daddy growl in my voice when I told him no. The “I’m not effin around anymore, boy” growl. The flared nostrils, narrowed eyes, teeth clenched while talking growl. And it worked. Tyler’s hand stopped short of the faucet. I was victorious. He withdrew his hand. The battle was mine. His mouth quivered. Wait, I won, didn’t I? Tyler’s eyes welled up. Now hold on, I didn’t mean for this. A tear spilled over as he began his sobbing. Oh crap, what have I done? I backtracked, stumbling over my words as I told him that a faucet wasn’t something for little kids to play with. I came away thinking that maybe I hadn’t won that battle afterall. Especially considering the fact that I apologized to him. After brushing his teeth then mine, I picked him up and told him to show me his teeth in the mirror. We smiled at our reflections, with Tyler adding, “cheee,” and headed for the stairs.

“Tyler, do you still love me?”

“Yeah.”

And then he poked me in the chest, laughed, and said, “Dada!”

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