Oscar can be a little...fastidious. I don't have any basis for comparison, of course, maybe all kids are like this. Well, not all, not the ones at the child development centers, apparently. But maybe it's not so unusual. His naptime/nighttime ritual is a long, elaborate ceremony, the intricacy of which would make that Da Vinci Code guy proud. Or baffled. And if it's not performed with precision (by yours truly, Monkey Boy) at the opportune moment..."No nap today, Mommy!"
After the meal, Oscar gets to play while Mommy cleans up and gets the bed ready. Then the stalling starts. Usually, Oscar needs to do a poo, and he says, "Can you go away? I need privacy." Every couple of minutes I check to see if he's done. "Not yet. Go away! I need privacy!" Hmmm. He's standing next to his play table "choo-ing" trains. Well, some guys read magazines and others "choo" trains, I guess. (I'm beginning to think the reason he won't use the toilet is because it would cut into his playtime.) At last he allows me to supply fresh pants and pajamas. Then Oscar has a veritable checklist of chores I might have missed that would deprive him of another go around the track. Did I get the bed ready? Did I wash my hands? Did I forget anything else? Yep, yep, nope.
After that hurdle, Oscar turns on his reading light and chooses his stories (unless it is nighttime, when he has to submit to a teeth-cleaning and we do scriptures and prayers---tack on another fifteen minutes). Hmmm, so many to choose from. My every suggestion is shot down. Unless it's to read all of them. (I've never actually suggested that. But he has.) After the stories, I hold up Oscar's sleep sack (think Snuggie that zips) and he steps into it. The first attempt is always arms into the wrong holes ("Silly!"). In the summer he would chant, "Two feet are out. One foot is out, one foot is in. Two feet are in," as he shimmied in correctly. Now, though, he just gets in and sticks one foot out to get caught in the zip. So I guess he can change it up. He turns off the light (I used to have to hold him up for that part but now he can reach on his own). I heft him into his crib (yes, he still sleeps in a crib---and he acknowledges that he can't get out of it because of the "bars and rails"---but it's really the sleep sack that's trapping him, ha!) and he gets a drink while I hold his friends. Then I lift him up again. He throws Mousie into the bed. Oscar, Woofie, and I sing some songs. I lay Oscar down on top of Mousie and we pretend we can't figure out what has happened to Mousie. We look for him under the pillow, under the blanket, then under Oscar. We find him! He clutches his friends and I ask, "Is everybody in position?" Oscar answers, "Everybody's in position. I'm in position, too!" I tuck his "big blanket" around him. Then it's time to talk. "What animals did we feed at the zoo?" was the subject of our conversation for months after we went there with the Buckners. Then, after Christmas, "Let's talk about the time I was disappointed when Santa came." After reminiscing, we say goodnight. Sometimes there are a few last ditch efforts to prolong the process. He's afraid, he wants me to leave the door open, Mousie and Woofie see a monster. I pooh pooh his fears. Faker. As I'm walking out the door Oscar says urgently, "Wait! I have a question I need to ask you." What is it? He hems and haws. Goodnight, Oscar.
Perhaps Oscar was named after the wrong half of the Odd Couple.
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| Oscar's bed at the "ready," from the top: pillow fluffed, mousie face up on the corner of the pillow, woofie "hugging" him, drink at arm's distance, spout on near side, big blanket draped so as to provide hiding place for mousie. I have a feeling they would not be so accommodating at the daycare. |
