Mind Your Manners

"Because as an only child, you have your own little world." -Maynard James Keenan

Something has to be done. And quickly. Have you ever had that feeling of urgency come over you? Leg-shaking, nail-biting, eye-rolling, earth-shattering urgency? You notice something, even the smallest flaw in your child or your parenting. Then all of a sudden it becomes the most important thing in the world. You think about it constantly and you get angry at yourself and annoyed at your child.

No? Then maybe it's just me...

Even when she's being fresh, I find her amusing

We've noticed lately that the Peanut's manners need a little routine maintenance. The check engine light is flashing on my parental dashboard. What happened to "please?" Why does she demand things instead of asking for them? When did "may I" get replaced with "I want?"

And when we correct her, she's really going to get annoyed at us? I don't think so, my little friend.

I know the Peanut is a good little girl at heart. I know she hears me, even though she doesn't like to let on that she's listening. Just the other day during a play date at our house I overheard her tell her friend, "'I don't know' is a bad word." That's all me.  Whenever she answers us with, "I don't know" I tell her, "I don't know isn't an answer." NOT that it's a bad word. But at least she's listening to me. Kind of.

I've become more aware of her manners and how we give in to her wishes, most recently because of the strong possibility that Peanut will be an only child. That's not what we had planned. But you know what they say about making plans.

So until further notice, we need to start treating Peanut like an only child without allowing her to develop only child syndrome. You know, the general belief that the world revolves around you? And that other people merely exist to serve you in some way? And if they don't believe that then you have no use for them?

I know a lot of only children. I sit next to one at work. Trust me when I say that for the most part it ain't pretty. Still, he's one of my co-workers I like the most. So that's something. And there are plenty of bad-mannered children who have siblings.

We'll start with the manners. If she's going to expect the world to revolve around her, the least she can do is start saying please again, and ask nicely even if it's only a formality. But for the love of God if she doesn't start asking for things nicely I'm going to stop feeding her, period.

The irony is that if she does end up being an only child, we're going to be able to provide her with things we might not have been able to if we were to have a second. (See: spontaneous trip to Disney for her birthday in March.) And that may in turn end up spoiling her. 

There's a fine line between providing and spoiling. I think we often walk that fine line. Do we step over it sometimes? Sure. It's up to us to know the difference, and make sure Peanut does too. Only child or not, it still always comes down to love, and being her parents. 

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Cuddly as a Hedgehog

"Excuse me. I'm trying to stay in character." -Mr. Pricklepants from Toy Story 3

One night, the Peanut came into our bedroom as I was changing into my pajamas. She was holding her plush Mr. Pricklepants doll. A doll she had asked for while shopping with my wife because "daddy loves him."

She held Mr. Pricklepants and offered him to me. "Daddy, do you want to sleep with Mr. Pricklepants?" (Hearing her say Pwicklepants is pure magic.)

Did I want to sleep with him? I had just met him.

"Do you want to daddy?" She asked again as she handed me the stuffed doll. "Because you love him?"

You see, Mr. Pricklepants has become a mainstay in our house... part of the narrative... because of me.

If you are not aware, he is the plush hedgehog character in Toy Story 3. He speaks with a British accent yet is dressed in German lederhosen. I find him to be hilarious on many levels. His voice, his clothes, his name, his demeanor. I want another sequel just so I can see more Pricklepants.

We are introduced to him in a scene where Woody the Cowboy joins a new set of toys in a strange new room and is trying to figure out where he is. Mr. Pricklepants keeps interrupting him, telling him to "Shhhh" because he is a thesbian who, as I reference in the quote above, "is trying to stay in character:"

Mr Pricklepants is a complex, passionate, loveable animal. Just like my daughter. Just like her dad.

But the Peanut now says "Shhh" a lot. At times, it's so naughty it makes my blood boil. And when I call her on it, she blames Mr. Pricklepants. That's because I mimick him. A lot. 

Sometimes we teach our children bad habits. Sometimes it's too funny to resist. Sometimes it comes back to bite us in the a$$.

It's my fault. In our non-stop viewing of Toy Story 3 for the months after we bought her the DVD, I would repeatedly quote him. And quote him to her, when she was legitimately trying to ask me something.

Yes, I am at times a horrible influence. But her comedic timing will be so precise she'll be ready for the stage at Second City by the time she's twenty.

And what does she say to me when I correct her constant shhh-ing at inappropriate times? "I was only kidding, daddy. I was being Mr. Pricklepants."

That's maddening. Because now I want to hug her for being funny. Even though she was not being funny. She was being bad. Then I want to hug her for being resourceful and thinking of that excuse. For blaming me. Like the old anti-drugs campaign, "I learned it from watching you, dad."

But sometimes she uses her powers for good...

So I shared my pillow with Mr. Pricklepants that one night. It was nice. Maybe I didn't teach her such a bad habit after all.

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Who's Sorry Now?

"The voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven’s lieutenants." -William Shakespeare

Man oh man it's got to be frustrating to be a baby. A toddler. Excuse me... "a little girl," as my daughter now refers to herself. Put aside the daily struggle with the pooping and peeing in the pants. Ignore the language barrier that causes us as parents to turn into a couple of Jackie Chan sidekicks when trying to decipher what she just said. Not to mention her constant attempts to accomplish something on your own, for the first time, the second time, or just the next time... but can't.

Those are all frustrating. But the most frustrating? It's gotta be that we keep changing the rules on her. Poor kid.

Ever since she could talk, walk, and slap, we have ingrained in her head the concept of the apology. And now, she obliges. A conciliatory, sincere, often immediate apology often follows any wrongdoing. But now there are times where she's gone too far. And saying "sorry" just isn't enough.

One night my daughter was extra cranky and overtired. She wanted us to read her a book that she was holding, but my wife told her she'd have to wait until we finished getting her ready for bed. At that point our little girl proceeded to smack my wife upside the head with the book. And although the thought of this scene playing out in my mind still causes me to giggle (I'm giggling right now - evil), this behavior is unacceptable. I'll let funny stuff slide sometimes, but acting out sight gags from The Three Stooges simply crosses the line. That could be downright dangerous.

Why I oughtta...

My wife, always a buoy of calm wading in a sea of chaos, lost it. She had to leave the room she was so angry (as I suppressed my laughter). It was then I informed our daughter that she will be going right to bed and we would not be reading her a book.

"Soorrreee."

Nope.

And she didn't understand. I put her in her crib despite her vehement protests. She repeatedly screamed her apology in desperation "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!" Once I calmed her down, I explained to her that while it's good that she's sorry for using a children's book as a weapon to nearly concuss her mother, that sometimes saying your sorry is just not enough. It doesn't make it right.

This, as you can imagine, did not go over well.

Consider her point of view: all she knows is to apologize if she does something wrong, and she is forgiven. It's the foundation of our faith. It's how we believe we get into heaven despite our faults, despite our sins. Geez, in less philosophical terms, to my daughter it's the quickest route back to getting a cookie.

Now we're saying, "Well, technically it's good you apologized BUUUT..." And that's a pretty big 'but.'

Now, I like big buts, and I cannot lie... but this is one of the biggest. We're getting into intent. And interpreting intent. The subjective, murky, gray areas that children cannot grasp. Espcially a 2 1/2 year old.

The same goes for "please." I don't care how sweetly you say please, my little darling, or how nicely you ask in a full sentence like I require. You're not getting a cookie before you eat breakfast.
Now I'm the one who is sorry. Sorry that my wife got blindsided with a book (snort snort giggle). Sorry that my daughter did all she knew she could to remedy the situation. And sorry that to us, it wasn't enough , and she didn't know why, and couldn't comprehend the reason.

Maybe we're the ones who are out of our minds.

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