The Annals, Entry VIII - Appetites

The chief spokesman was Menenius Agrippa and after much entreaty of the people and much plain speaking in behalf of the senate, he concluded his discourse with a celebrated fable. He said, namely, that all the other members of man’s body once revolted against the belly, and accused it of being the only member to sit idly down in its place and make no contribution to the common welfare, while the rest underwent great hardships and performed great public services only to minister to its appetites . . .
Plutarch IV, 131 LCL

Lucian has an amazing appetite, but his mouth is not unlike a revolving door. At times, it opens and rotates smoothly: one bite, two bites, three bites, four. The procession continues unhindered. This is a good day. We aim the spoon, the spoon enters with food still on it, and all are happy. Sometimes, however, the spoon tries to go in but the door jams, and in this instance, one can only hope that it will open again soon. Then, there are the times when the door takes on a life of its own, turning uncontrollably. The food goes in and comes out, goes in and comes out, in and out, then in and. . . Of course there is also the loitering, going painfully slowly, but you know you can’t fit two in the same slot.

While the revolving door analogy works, our attempts to feed Lucian can also be described as a storm, more specifically a tornado. The funnel sways, moving this way and that, completely unpredictable. It pulls in debris only to spin it out with all its power. We dive for cover in a futile attempt to avoid the onslaught. Food is flying from the sky, and even in the downpour, everyone comes out filthy. There is no counter offence, no escape, so it is endured (though any experienced visitors know better than to sit in what we fondly call the "drop zone"!). At this point, our children resemble Agrippa's stomach. While we wouldn't go so far as to say that Lucian makes no contribution, at times we relate to the great hardships, and we continually minister to his appetites, but more often than not, our overtures are flatly refused.

Bon appetit!

The Annals, Entry VII - Opportunity Knocks

Doors generally function as a barrier, as an entrance or exit, as a threshold. With children, they are all of the above and much more. They are a game, a challenge, a communication device, and an entrance into childhood. Doors start as a simple barrier, a division reminding us parents that we have a life of our own. When children sleep, there is peace; the door is closed. There is a blessed click that brings quiet, relaxation, and solace. As children grow, doors become one of the most fabulous props for peekaboo. Simply standing on one side and then appearing on the other causes the greatest laughter and the largest smiles. No matter how many times you do it, the laughter is still the same. Then, doors become a challenge for both children and parents. All things become available to the child. Garbage becomes a tasty treat, and cupboards that were once a safe house have been cracked.

A few months ago, Quintus realized he was capable of opening his bedroom door, the moment of transition from game to challenge. The barrier moved from the merely physical to the psychological. “Stay in your room” was now a request. Quintus has realized his independence, recognizes his personal freedom and power. This freedom that sounds innocently like the click of the bolt and the squeak of a hinge is, to us, the sound of inevitability, the sound of our doom. It is also a wake up call to invoke the innate traits of all two year olds: obedience, responsibility, and self-control.

Famous quotes from under the door:

• Daddy, I have to go poop again.
• Daddy, my pee is back.
• Mommy, my throat is sick.
  
• I lost my blanket.
  
• I started being afraid of the dark now.
  
• I have to go pee really bad. (This often happens more than once a night.)
  
• I want to come out; I’m not being ridiculous.
  
• I’m not sleeping; I’m looking out my window.
  
• I’m a little bit sad; can I go pee now?
  
• Hi Lucian – how are you?
  
• I see a cat, Daddy.
  
• Mommy, when are you going to your bed?
  
• Daddy, what’s that movie you’re watching? I want to see that movie, Daddy.

In the morning, the game is a bit different. We used to say a nice rhyme to him at night:

Good night sleep tight
Wake up with the morning light
To do what’s right
With all your might

After about three weeks of waking at 5:30am, it came to our attention that there is a very literal side to a child's understanding. It was that second line that we deeply regretted and changed very quickly. “Wake up after the morning light” did not destroy the symbolism too much, and it helped us get past the crack of dawn. Quintus recognized the change, and we could not scold him for being obedient; he was only doing what we had told him, though there was a clear twinkle in his eye as he saw the benefits of loopholes such as this and said: “You told me to wake up with the morning light.” It was a difficult lesson but one we are glad to have learned. You may wonder why it took us, self-assumedly competent adults, so long to recognize this pattern. However, if you lost three hours of sleep every night for three weeks, you’d empathize with our inability to think straight. Eventually, having successfully navigated this hurdle, we heard the following from under the door:

• How many more minutes until I can get up?
  
• Can I get up now?
  
• Is it time to get up?
  
• Hi, Lucian. He likes me!!
  
• Can I come into your bed now?
  
• I want to go play with my toys really bad.
  
• Mommy…Mommy…Mommy…I lost my blanket, Mommy. Help me find it, Mommy.
  
• Daddy...Daddy...Daddy...Why you are not listening to me, Daddy?

The Romans used to keep the door of the temple of Janis open during times of war and closed in times of peace. If any historians still wonder why open means war and closed means peace, they need only have a few children.

Well it’s time to bring this to a close, but tomorrow is certainly a new day.