How our son spent his "rest time" yesterday

Ian was never the type of baby who was "into everything," as they say. Once he became mobile, I must say that we got by with minimal baby proofing because he was just the type of kid who, as soon as we said "No!" would turn and go the other direction. No issues. No questions asked. (Maybe because he couldn't talk at the time?) Plus, we also just made it policy to not divert our eyes from him for too long. So, suffice it to say that aside from some sensible safety basics, that hiding everything, putting locks on cabinets, toilet seats, etc. was not as much of a concern for us as it might be for some others who have little ones of a more exploratory nature, shall we say. Bottom line: It was just never a problem with him. Until yesterday.

After a somewhat crazy, but enjoyable morning at OMSI - we came home and did the usual routine of lunch, clean up and a little Sesame Street before it was time to head upstairs for "rest time." As I've mentioned several times before here, rest time rarely involves actual sleeping these days. But still, the idea is to spend some quiet time "resting" in his room. The reality is that since moving into a bed and becoming potty trained, rest time for Ian is more about seeing how many times one can go to the bathroom in an hour. And believe me, if there was a category for this in the Guinness Book of World Records, he would hold the record for sure.

However, yesterday started out a little different. Things were quiet. Very quiet, actually. So much so that for a good while I was almost convinced that maybe this was one of those rare days where he actually fell asleep. So, I went about my business downstairs and after an hour and a half, went up to retrieve him for a snack and some play time before we headed out to his last swim lesson of the season. When I reached the top of the stairs I noticed that the bathroom door was closed and the light was on. Okay, so this was probably trip #50 to the bathroom today and he had just managed to be extra quiet. As I try to do before entering, I quickly knocked and opened the door. What I found was not a pretty scene.

Ian, who was standing on his step stool at the sink with sunscreen tube in hand, turned to see me with a look of surprise and horror on his face at clearly being caught mid-act. And speaking of his face, it just so happened to be covered in pure white - along with part of his hair, shirt, the counter and the wall behind him. The top drawer was wide open and sprawled out on the counter was a cocktail, really, of open toothpaste tubes, lotions, sunscreens, Neosporin, Aquaphor, you name it. Quite shocked I said, "Ian! What are you doing??!," for which his response was to immediately scrunch up his white face and eyes and start bawling, accompanied by the now typical chant of, "I want my daddy! I want my daddy!" The sight was more than I could take. Not quite sure how to handle this appropriately, I immediately did what any parent would do when they've just found their preschooler covered head to toe in white lotions: I left the room and went into our bedroom and laughed. Quietly, of course. More than anything, I really wanted to go downstairs and get my camera to capture this moment and then of course post it to Facebook, Twitter, this blog and any other online forum I could think of - but my logical parent brain kicked into gear and I decided that pulling out the camera might not be the best way to discourage this type of activity in the future. So sadly, no photos.

Once I regrouped, I returned to the scene of the crime where Ian was still standing there just as I had left him crying for his daddy. Still somewhat shocked at what he had done and buying time for what my next move should be, I asked him, "Why do you want daddy?" "Because I don't like you!," he said. Geez, and I hadn't even done anything yet, but thanks, I'll tuck that one in my back pocket for later. Maybe it was a combination of those words, the mess that was on the counter, the wasted sunscreen (which isn't cheap, by the way) and the fact that it was clear that he now needed a bath - that finally kicked me into the "okay, now I'm upset" mode. Luckily I had recently reread our Love and Logic book so my brain did a quick scan to recall what would the authors would say to do in this particular situation. Answer (I think): We had a problem and he needed to be a participant in helping me solve it.

Me: So, it looks like you've decided to make a big mess here. How do you think we're going to get this cleaned up?

Ian: I don't know! (Followed by more "Wahhh!! I want my daddy!" Puhleease, enough already.)

Me: Well, daddy isn't here and he's not going to help you clean this up. Do you have any other ideas?

Ian: No.

Me: Well, let me give you some ideas...

I was winging it, really. (After all, isn't that what first time parenting is all about?) But the bottom line is that we agreed that he'd help me clean up what he could and then he had to choose a toy that he couldn't play with through the weekend. In addition, he would not be having his current favorite snack (graham crackers and peanut butter) that afternoon and through the weekend, as well as any tostadas (aka, cheese quesadillas, which continue to be his favorite food and I'm positive he'd eat them for every single meal if we let him). "Okay," he said. (Sniff, sniff.)

And that is how our son spent his "rest time" yesterday.

Until I write again.