Saturday, November 21, 2009
I’m not much of a fighter. Aside from a couple drunken brawls in college, I haven’t raised my fists in anger in my adult life. However, I’ve been a black belt in the ancient martial art of “Withering Sarcastic Comment” for quite a while.
So imagine my surprise at learning that Elijah has been doing a bit of the punching and the kicking lately. I asked him how his day was last Thursday night and he proudly exclaimed, “I kicked Finn!”
Much like trying to explain to a dog why he shouldn’t defecate in the house hours after the act, I sat him down and, “We don’t hit or kick, buddy. It’s not nice to hit and kick. We’re nice guys.”
He responded from planet Mars, “Okay.”
I said, “Why did you kick your favorite person in the world, Finn?”
“I wanted him to move.”
“Couldn’t you just tell him to move?”
“I also hit Mommy. And I kicked Grover!”
I suddenly felt left out that I had yet to be the object of baby violence.
I need to lay down some hard core discipline. But I’m not really sure what to do about it if I don’t catch him in the act. And of course he has been an absolute angel all day today.
So I’ve been trying to get on his nerves. You know. Yanking toys out of his hands, poking him in the chest. Making fun of his favorite sports team. Telling him Curious George is his evolutionary relative. But no go.
He simply says, “I want to dance!”
p.s. Here is a photo of his victim. He clearly had it coming.