The Fight or Flight Response
Is your family important to you? If something were to happen that put the lives of your loved ones in danger, how would you react? It’s not until something really happens that you realize just how important your family is to you and just what you would do to keep them safe.
I swear to you, this is all true.
Sunday night, I slept poorly. It was easily the worst night of sleep I’d had in months. I lay in bed, tired but wide awake, as if there were an energy in the air keeping me awake. I’ve had nights like that before, where my mind was furiously working through a problem that it just couldn’t let go of. That wasn’t the case two nights ago. I simply could not drift off to sleep, and I didn’t know why. I dozed in and out a few times, and finally went downstairs around two in the morning. My head had begun to ache and throb, so I went down for some little white pills and some water. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, aside from the fact that I should have been cycling into a REM sleep cycle. The house was silent.
After swallowing my two pills, I made my way through the dark house and up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Back in the bedroom, and under the covers, I settled in and hoped the sandman would visit.
And I lay there, eyes closed but still wide awake. Tired but alert. Again, I was hit with the feeling that there was something in the air, keeping me awake. Soon, I finally began drifting to sleep. Slowly. Just as I reached that in-between state, the state where we sometimes jerk ourselves awake with a subconscious body spasm, something terrifying happened. I heard somebody in our house. Specifically, I heard a door being shut. A door in my house. The one place where I have an expectation of safety for myself and for my family.
There was no thought. No wondering what I should do, or if I really heard what I know I did. The only thing that ran through my head was “my family.” The next few moments are burned into my memory as a strobe-effect; simply a series of images. The ceiling fan, as my eyes fly open. The bed sheets, in mid-flight, as I rip them away from me. My feet hitting the floor and me pushing off the bed. Delilah taking post at my heel. My hand closing on the door frame. In just one more moment, I will be down the stairs in two jumps, praying that I hit the light switch with my first attempt. Then, I don’t know, but I will protect my family.
In the instant before I pulled myself into the doorway, I remembered something crucial. Earlier this day, my little tyrant of a son learned how to open his own door.
I stepped around the corner to see him standing before me. Innocent. Relief – and fresh anger – swept over me. In the fog of near-sleep, Tyler’s newly acquired skill had been forgotten. Also forgotten was the fact that this was the third or fourth time tonight that he had gotten up. The two main differences were that he was much quieter before, and that Sarah got up those times to put him back to bed. On this particular instance, he opened the door and (I think) accidentally slammed it behind him.
In an angry whisper, I told him, “Get your butt back into bed, right now!” In my head, I added, Jesus Christ, boy, I almost killed you.
“Mommy,” he cried.
“Mommy is making her night nights. You get into your bed, now Tyler!”
As I tucked him in, and my heart slowed back into its normal rhythm, I kissed Tyler’s cheek. “It’s time to sleep, Tyler. You stay in this bed, okay?”
Tyler whispered, “yeah.”
“You do not get out of this bed again, and you do not open your door again, got it?”
Still in a whisper, “yeah.”
“I love you, buddy.”
“luh-loo.”
I pulled his door shut, and tied a shirt sleeve around the knob, hoping to make it more difficult for Tyler to turn, should he disobey my orders. He didn’t, and he slept through the rest of the night, presumably in his bed.
Today, Sarah reversed the door knob so that we can lock him into his room. And, today, Tyler took an unheard-of three and a half hour nap.
We’re still smarter than you Tyler.
It’s like…
It’s like giving a death-row inmate the keys to his cell.
It’s like leaving the bank vault open and expecting the money to be there in the morning.
It’s like the boxer putting his guard down and expecting to not get knocked into next week by his opponent.
It’s like two parents, worried that their 20 month old child will soon break his neck if they don’t do something about it.
We had to convert Tyler’s crib into a “transitional bed” a couple days ago. We really had no choice though. Over the course of 3 days, this is what has happened:
Day one.
8:30am. Sarah is downstairs, waiting for Tyler to wake up and call for her. Soon, she hears noises and prepares to go get Tyler as soon as she finishes what she’s currently working on. Moments later, she hears the baby gate. AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRS! Tyler, as if this is completely normal, says, “Hi.”
Day two.
Time unknown, but it’s in the morning. Tyler is being a brat, so we put him back in his crib, and tell him that we will get him out when he calms down. Moments later…. BANG, CRASH, SCREAM. Sarah runs in to see Tyler on the floor of his room.
Day three.
8am. I hear Tyler making a noise. It’s my morning to get up with him, so I saunter into his room. As I walk in, I see Tyler holding onto the top of his crib, trying to pull himself up. His feet are against the side, trying to walk vertically like a freaking spelunker.
His mattress was already in it’s second-to-lowest position. The next, and lowest, position is only two inches further than where it currently sat. Two inches. If it made any difference, it would have been rendered moot within a week, at most. As a result, Sarah and I – very reluctantly – made the decision to uncage the beast. Sunday morning, we set to work removing the front of Tyler’s crib and installing panels that simply protect Tyler from rolling out of his new transitional bed. He was ecstatic! The minute we finished, Tyler ran and climbed into his bed. Then he jumped out (and fell on his face). Then he climbed back in, then back out, then back in, and so on.
*sigh*
We’re both wondering how long it will be before he fully grasps this new freedom. He napped fine in his new bed. Last night, he slept just fine in his new bed. When Tyler woke up this morning, Sarah walked into his room to find Tyler still in his bed. She asked how his first night in his new bed went. Tyler sat up, started clapping his hands and said, “yayyyyyyyyy.” But, we’re not stupid. We know he’ll soon be stomping around his room while he’s supposed to be napping. We know the little tyrant will be found at some point, sleeping on his floor after playing there hours after bedtime.
We know…. and we wait with bated breath.
Apple Tree Farm
I’ve wanted to write this post for a couple weeks, but couldn’t bring myself to do so. Sarah reads to Tyler at least ten times more often than I do. I’d actually put it closer to twenty times more. When Tyler wakes up in the mornings, he wants to read. I’m already at work, so Sarah sits on the floor with Tyler and reads book after book after book, until Tyler decides he’s hungry and must eat right now! They may read ten books one time, or they may read one book ten times. Tyler also enjoys story-time before his nap. And after his nap. And before bedtime. I find it difficult to sit here and complain about reading books over and over again, often to the point of inadvertent memorization – I don’t need to reference any books to tell you that Ichy Ichy Ichabod starts with I, I, I, or that the Three Bears never saw Goldilocks again – when I know that Sarah feels the pain exponentially worse than I do.
But that damned Apple Tree Farm (Farmyard Tales) is driving me bonkers.
Apple Tree Farm chronicles the adventures of a farm family, ran by Mrs. Boot, the farmer. I won’t detail it here, so hop on over to Amazon.com if you’re curious or interested. I admit that the stories are not bad. They aren’t too short and they aren’t too long. Imagine if baby bear had written the stories; they are just right. But when you read about Ted and his runaway tractor for the 10 to the nth degree time, well let’s just say that it starts to get old.
We have a thick book that contains the entire collection of the Apple Tree Farm stories. It helps that, when Tyler brings the book to us saying “Boot, Boot, Boot”, we can select whichever of Mrs. Boot’s stories we want to read. It doesn’t help that we’ve read every single one of those stories countless times. Countless.
There have been a few occasions where Sarah and I both have said to Tyler, “No thank you Tyler. Let’s pick a different book.” Sometimes, Tyler protests, but he usually just grabs another book. That is precisely what happened a couple weeks ago.
Pulling the blue Apple Tree Farm collection book from Tyler’s hands, Sarah told him to pick out a different book. And he did. He brought us this book instead:
That’s right… first, he wanted to read The Complete Book of Farmyard Tales. We told him to pick a different book, so he DUG AROUND in his bookshelf and brought us The Little Book of Farmyard Tales, which is the exact same thing, but a little smaller, and with a few less stories.
He’s learning. That little booger is learning.
TySpeak
Tyler has been, as of late, trying to copy the words we say. Luckily, Sarah and I have our swearing under control now. If that weren’t the case, I’ve no doubt that Tyler would already have “damn” in his vocabulary, and likely some of Damn’s big brothers and sisters. Probably even Damn’s parents. The whole Damn family. He’s even surprised us by attempting some three syllable words/phrases like “I love you” and “Las Limas”. Las Limas is Sarah’s most favoritest Mexican restaurant. We actually went there just two days ago. Surprise surprise, Tyler loved it. He dipped chips into salsa, ate salsa right from his fork, and even used his fork to eat rice off my plate. Sarah practically lived at Las Limas during her pregnancy. Craving city. It was the same thing almost every day. I’d ask, “What do you want for dinner?”
“Chips and salsa.”
“We just went there yesterday.”
“Yeah? And?”
So should it really come as any surprise to me that Tyler loved the food there too? But, I digress.
Here is the current Tyler-to-English list:
Mama – Mommy
Dada – Daddy
Pumpy – Pumpkin (he sounds so cute saying this)
Howww – Help
Baba – Paci
Bahp – Up (pick me up)
Dowww – Down
Slyyy – Slide
Sie – Outside
More – More
Rie – Ride (either in the car or on Dada’s back)
Go – Go
Poddy – Potty
Yah – Yes
No – No
Nooo – Nose
Mou – Mouse
Mou (high pitched) – Cat (meow)
Neeee – Horse (neigh)
Deen – Drink
Dis – This
I-luh-loo – I love you (just started with this)
Ball – Ball
BALL – Football
Boo – Book (as in read one to me)
Nigh nigh – Night Night
Daw – Dog
Lila – Delilah (our dog)
Papa – Sarah’s dad
Nana – Sarah’s mom
Grap – My dad
Gram – My mom
Ishi – Aunt Acey
Jiji – Aunt Jiji
Jah-ee – Aunt Jenny
Paysh – Cousin Paige
Wek – Cousin Lexie
Germ – Uncle Jeremy (we call him Germs, for short)
Nah nah – Knock Knock
Pideh – Spider
Nummy – Nummy (he wants to give Lila a treat)
That’s not all. He’s got a handful of other words at his disposal. It amazes me that he not only uses the words but he actually uses them in the proper context. When I talk to Tyler (about something that interests him), I can see that he is genuinely paying attention and trying to absorb what I’m telling him. I also find it amazing that, although he can’t hold a conversation, he understands almost everything Sarah and I say to him. Unless it involves the word “no.” For example, telling Tyler “No, we do not play in Lila’s water” seems to have little effect on his playing in Delilah’s water bowl.
Because of Tyler’s perceptiveness and comprehension, we’ve been relegated to spelling and using other descriptive phrases. Park is P-a-r-k. Outside is “that place beyond our back door.”
Sarah made the mistake of saying “outside” during one of our phone conversations yesterday.
“Sie? Sie. SIE! LAY!” Lay means play, by the way.
“No, honey,” Sarah replied, “we’ll go play outside later.”
“SIEEEEEEEEE!”
Heh. I love that I wasn’t the one to make the mistake this time.
Melmo and ah-ah
“Tyler, this is a sheep. Sheep. A sheep says ‘bahhhh’. Can you say ‘bahhhh’?”
“Ba.”
The above is an example of how we introduce animals to Tyler. My thought process is that, when you have a baby (obviously, Tyler was still a baby when we started talking to him about animals) who can barely manage single sounds, it would make more sense to have him say “ba,” then “bah,” then “bahhhhh” than it would be to try and get him to say “sheep”. Especially when he can’t even make the “sh” sound yet.
Lately, I’ve found myself wondering if my approach was the right one…
Tyler is in love with two inanimate objects. The first is Monkey. Monkey is a stuffed animal.
“This is a monkey. A monkey says ‘ooo oo AHH AHH’.”
“Ah.”
“Good job, buddy! You’re the smartest baby on the planet!” And yes, I really have said that once or twice.
Tyler’s second favorite is the bane of my existence. Elmo. I hate Elmo. He has a stupid voice, stupid red fur, and is stupidly annoying. I won’t delve into the reasons for my hatred of Elmo *cough*commercialism*cough*. And although that little red thing has wormed his way into Tyler’s heart despite my best attempts to prevent it, rest assured that I plan to never personally purchase anything “Elmo”.
For whatever reason, Tyler can not (or will not) say “Elmo”. He can, however, say “Melmo”.
I walked into his room recently after he had awakened from a nap to find all of the contents of his crib on his floor. On these occasions, I find myself wondering why he would throw all that stuff out when he knows he’s just going to want it back, and then I shudder in fear of the thought that this is all a precursor to a forthcoming crib-prison escape. I sometimes think I should put a couple pillows on the floor to catch his fall when he is finally able to climb over the rail, but wouldn’t that just make me an enabler or, at the very minimum, an accomplice to the crime? *Mental note: It’s time to lower his mattress again.*
“Did you have a good nap, buddy?” I asked in an accopella tone.
“Ya.”
“Good,” I said, as I pulled him from the crib and carried him towards the door.
Tyler turned, pointed at the floor and said, “Melmo.”
In the most agreeable voice I could muster while scowling at the object of Tyler’s pointing, I told Tyler that we had, indeed, forgotten Melmo, and thanked him for reminding me. As I attempted to walk out of the room for the second time, Tyler repeated his action and said, “Ah Ah!”
“Oh yes. We forgot Monkey too. Let’s go back and get him. You know, Tyler, if you hadn’t thrown them out of your crib in the first place, we wouldn’t need to do all this extra work to get your babies.”
“Ya.”
He seems to have a pretty good grasp on what yes and no mean, so I’m operating on the likely misguided thought that he really grasped what I was explaining to him[1].
Once we were downstairs and had finished wrestling around – which mostly involves me picking Tyler up and throwing him onto the couch – I sat Tyler down to school him on something. I held monkey up and said, “Tyler, who is this?”
“Ah Ah!”
“No, that is the sound a monkey makes. This is a monkey. Mon-key.”
Silence from Tyler.
“Okay… Can you say ‘mon’?”
“Muh.”
“Good job. Now say ‘key’.”
“Kih.”
“PERFECT! Now say ‘monkey’.”
“Ah Ah!”
[1] Proven to be incorrect the very next day.
recent videos
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2010-05-15 - The Army Crawl, and Rock on.mpg -
2010-05-09 - Happy Father's Day, Grandpa -
2010-05-07 - Tyler Reads Books -
2010-05-07 - Tyler plays with Luci and says Muffler -
2010-05-07 - A Mile in Daddy's Shoes -
2010-05-04 - Swinging and Getting Attacked by Delilah -
2010-04-27 - Tyler does Shapes and Objects -
2010-04-11 - Attack of the Tyler Monster -
2010-05-29 Tyler and the snake -
2010-05-09 - Happy Mother's Day, Grandma
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