Rock Catch and Release Program
The Kiddo is in the Let's Bring Mom Things stage. It started with the white flowers that grow on the clover in the neighbor's yard. When we would go outside in the afternoons to play, my son would become endlessly interested in something simple, like a throwing a hickory nut fallen from a tree or rolling half-empty water bottles down the driveway to see how far they'd go. I'd be left with little to do besides throw an occasional "good job, sweetheart" his way (Mom of the Year candidate, right here), so I started pulling weeds in the yard. This served the dual purpose of keeping me occupied and keeping the yard nice, since we gave up the yard service when I stayed home with the kid. On those long afternoons he would watch me pulling up weeds and followed suit, indiscriminately pulling up grass and weeds alike. Then one day he plucked a single white clover flower, toddled over to me, and offered it up. I was so overcome with pride and love that I made a big deal about his gift and showered him with hugs and kisses and choruses of "good boy!"
I now see that this was a mistake.
He brings me flowers, which is sweet, but also used Q-Tips, unfolded disposable diapers (at least they're clean), the wallet he dug out of my purse, errant dryer sheets, and random bits of lint. Every time I praise him and thank him profusely, then wait until he turns around so I can throw it on the floor, out the window, or put it back where it goes (if it's a good day).
Lately the preferred victims of his Catch and Release Program are the small rocks in the next door neighbor's flower beds -- the same beds where I once slayed a giant weed. The previous homeowners had lined these beds with pea gravel, which is apparently irresistible to small children. He is constantly wandering next door and into that gravel, making miniature stone waves with his feet, sending it skipping with small kicks, and picking it up and letting in slide through his hand just to watch it fall. No matter how many times I ask him to please come back to our side of the invisible neighbor line, he inevitably wanders back to his tiny, dusty addiction. Pea gravel is like crack, only more fun because you can throw it.
I've tried reasoning with him and explaining that it's not our yard and not our rocks. (We do have some pea gravel in our back yard, but it's the boring and unremarkable kind that's not good for anything.) I've tried telling him it's not nice to relocate someone else's rocks because maybe the neighbors want them exactly the way they are. I've even dragged him away with a simple but firm "no." My efforts are all in vain. He grabs rocks by the handful, as many as his long fingers can crush into his small palms. The ones he doesn't turn into projectiles, he brings to me.
The other day I attempted a different tactic. I told the kiddo that the rocks he brought me needed to go back home, because their friends would be lonely and their parents would be very worried about them and sad that they left. This must have struck some chord with him, because he began to walk his handfuls of pebbles back toward the bed. I filled with hope. He understands me! He feels compassion and empathy! He is a baby genius who will no doubt win a Nobel Peace Prize by age 7! Then he dropped the stones in the grass about 18 inches away from their friends and family. He bent over and peered down at the rocks, perhaps seeing if they were capable of making the rest of the journey on their own. Alas, they were not.
I guess it's a work in progress.
I now see that this was a mistake.
He brings me flowers, which is sweet, but also used Q-Tips, unfolded disposable diapers (at least they're clean), the wallet he dug out of my purse, errant dryer sheets, and random bits of lint. Every time I praise him and thank him profusely, then wait until he turns around so I can throw it on the floor, out the window, or put it back where it goes (if it's a good day).
Lately the preferred victims of his Catch and Release Program are the small rocks in the next door neighbor's flower beds -- the same beds where I once slayed a giant weed. The previous homeowners had lined these beds with pea gravel, which is apparently irresistible to small children. He is constantly wandering next door and into that gravel, making miniature stone waves with his feet, sending it skipping with small kicks, and picking it up and letting in slide through his hand just to watch it fall. No matter how many times I ask him to please come back to our side of the invisible neighbor line, he inevitably wanders back to his tiny, dusty addiction. Pea gravel is like crack, only more fun because you can throw it.
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| Toddler crack. |
I've tried reasoning with him and explaining that it's not our yard and not our rocks. (We do have some pea gravel in our back yard, but it's the boring and unremarkable kind that's not good for anything.) I've tried telling him it's not nice to relocate someone else's rocks because maybe the neighbors want them exactly the way they are. I've even dragged him away with a simple but firm "no." My efforts are all in vain. He grabs rocks by the handful, as many as his long fingers can crush into his small palms. The ones he doesn't turn into projectiles, he brings to me.
The other day I attempted a different tactic. I told the kiddo that the rocks he brought me needed to go back home, because their friends would be lonely and their parents would be very worried about them and sad that they left. This must have struck some chord with him, because he began to walk his handfuls of pebbles back toward the bed. I filled with hope. He understands me! He feels compassion and empathy! He is a baby genius who will no doubt win a Nobel Peace Prize by age 7! Then he dropped the stones in the grass about 18 inches away from their friends and family. He bent over and peered down at the rocks, perhaps seeing if they were capable of making the rest of the journey on their own. Alas, they were not.
I guess it's a work in progress.
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