Going Postal

There are three entities of whose whereabouts Oscar wishes to be apprised at all times:  his dad, his dog, and his mailman.

I am aware that Oscar considers me a ghastly bore.  He has not given me a catchy moniker like "dad dad vroom vroom" or "dog dog woof woof."  What can I say?  I don't ride a motorbike or bark.  Oscar is a high-spirited child, vivacious and energetic and uberquick of mind and body, and I am the quiet old lady who is whispering hush.  Only with a chihuahua in my lap instead of knitting needles.  So to stimulate his intellect (who am I trying to kid--it's to curry favor with him) I rack my imagination for new things that will interest him.

My first (and perhaps only) coup in this department was introducing him to the "mailman."  (Sidebar: I know the correct term is mail carrier, but try getting a one-year-old to say it.)  One day as the mailman was driving up the street, I brought Oscar to the window and said, "Look!!  it's the mailman"--in my most excited voice.  Then we watched the truck carry on up the street and stop at each box.  Oscar had no problem saying, "mailman."  He repeated it a few times for practice.  He seemed to enjoy it.  I pulled the switch (you know, the one that makes lightning strike the sewn-together bits and bring them to life) on Catherinestein's monster when, after his nap, I took Oscar to the front door and threw it open, revealing the packages there (that had actually been delivered by UPS).  He was absolutely delighted.  Feeling rather triumphant (damned fool that I am) I carried him to the mail box so we could "check" it.  There were letters inside, and he was quite gratified to retrieve them.  He opened and shut the box several times for emphasis.  Score one for mum mum.

The next day Oscar began asking about the mailman as soon as he woke up.  I wasn't too concerned because during the school year he asked about the bus every morning, and then again in the afternoon, when he could hear them coming and going.  In fact, I continued to congratulate myself on my achievement.  Idiot.  All morning long he pressed me, "mailman? package? box? check?" over and over and over again.  As I was putting him down for his nap, the last thing he asked me was, "mailman? mailman? mailman?"  The novelty of my victory was quickly wearing off, but I was pleased to excite his anticipation by telling him that we would look for packages and check the box after his nap, the mailman hadn't come yet.

As soon as I put Oscar down, I went down for a nap myself, as usual.  Out of a dead sleep I heard, "Mum mum?  Mum mum?"  I looked at the clock.  Oscar had only been asleep for 45 minutes.  He needed two hours. I was gutted, but I got up to get him.  As I was picking him up, what should I hear but the MAIL TRUCK driving away.  He was listening for the mailman while he was napping!!!  NOOOOOOOO!!!  Sure enough, as I heard the truck drive off he stated confidently, "Mailman.  Mailman.  Mailman."  Then he started with the "mailman? package? box? check?"  I obliged.  Was it a fluke?  Sadly, it was not.  The next day and the next day and the next day ad nauseum he woke from his nap way too early, and I would hear the mail truck driving off as I got him out of bed.  One of us was crying.  I concluded I should play down the whole mailman thing.  That has helped.  A bit.

Chalk this one up to another of my fantastic parenting ideas, along with the one where I let him crack the eggs for a cake when I only had the exact number I needed.  Or the one where I let him stir the brownie batter.  Or the one where I let him carry the dog bowl full of kibble.  Yeah, it's like that.