Straight to Bed, Young Man

So it's not exactly sending him to bed without any supper, but it still weighs heavy on my heart—sending Sam to bed without any stories. I knew he wouldn't be happy to hear the tub running tonight: it's four long school days into a busy week, and Thursdays seem especially draining with 9 hours clocked at Carleton Heights and then off to karate class before heading home for a 6:30 dinner. His one evening hour rushes cruelly past, and then the bedtime rituals start. Sam generally loves his tub, his cartoons, his stories and songs and chats and cuddles. But tonight he staunchly refused to take the first step towards bed.

It's hard to get angry at his petulant displays of frustration and resentment. The flipping of a stuffed toy onto the floor. The deliberate stamping of feet, eyes dramatically ablaze and cheeks puffed out in rebellious pout. It's all still too cute. And we try to cut him a little slack when we know how tired he is and we agree that the nights are too short, that we "just got here." But enough is enough. Tonight, when he was presented with his "choices"—the options he has control over once he has relented to our will—Sam rejected all offers. "I'm NOT going to listen to a Harry Potter chapter, and I'm NOT going to watch a "Go, Diego" and I'm NOT HAVING A BATH! No, no, no, no No NO!"

When a few minutes of gentle chiding on my part failed (often the whole "why are you being mean to Mommy, when Mommy is so nice to you?" ploy works), I wordlessly stepped out of the arena and let Jeremy do his thing. He's the more patient of the two of us—and he has a deeper voice—so he's the man to handle the escalation. He outlined Sam's two choices again and added a third: "Or, I can carry you upstairs, give you your bath, and we'll put you straight to bed without any stories." The punishment of punishments! Unbelievably, Sam didn't budge. Dug his heels in on the stairs and said it again... "No." And then burst into wild tears when Daddy followed through with Plan C. Was in near fits by the end of the tub.

When he was all ready for bed, I gathered the exhausted and sobbing child up in my arms and sat with him in what used to be the "talking chair," back in the brief period towards the end of the 2's when he suffered through the occasional Time Out and then had to allocute to his crimes and apologize and end it all in hugs. I think he realized the significance, because he snuggled in for hugs immediately and listened to us explain why he was heading straight to bed. He calmed down as we spoke, the anger draining from his body. But it was obvious he was really only waiting to talk when he offered, in that hitching voice that comes after a crying jag, "Now .. I choose .. Diego.." Oh, the heartbreak when I stood firm and replied that he'd missed his chance!

I carried the inconsolable child up to bed for the first time in as long as I can remember and tucked him in without even turning on the bedside lamp. Still, he looked longingly at the stack of books on the table, crying now with a sense of his own loss rather than his parents' duplicity. I explained that it's part of our job to make sure that he grows up understanding that he can't behave the way he did and because of that he will always lose out on something good when he defies us. This time, he nodded with the saddest of "ooookkkaayyyss" and asked for a sip of water, saying "I think I can stop my cries now." Then he burrowed under his covers, sighed deeply, and asked if he still got the four kisses. I hope he knows in his heart of hearts that we'd never withhold affection to teach him a lesson. I take it as a good sign that no matter how hurt, how seemingly wronged, he still bid us both a "good night, I love you" with strong hugs.

And then he fell asleep in 90 seconds.

Written and Illustrated by Sam Ashe Arnold

The Bears' Spooky Night

Once there were four bear friends. They went in a spooky forest and they saw animals coming out of the smoke. They saw a lion. There were also bugs in the spooky plant. They were scared.

The bears went on a special truck that took them to a spooky house. It had a fireplace that was just like Sam's, but it also had a fire in it. They go through the fire and up the chimney, but they don't get burned.

The bears well back to the ground. Then a big spooky chair came walking up the street. The bears climbed on, and the chair brought them home.

The bears were back in their cave.

The end.


The Ghost Adventure

The children and the grown-ups were ready to get their warm clothes on for the ghost adventure. Once they were dressed, off they went to the front yard. The kids were so excited they jumped off the stairs.

They ran down the sidewalk. These guys live in Sandy Hill. They saw one! But it was just a baby. Then its parents came through the door.

The ghosts stared down at them.

The end.

A Thousand Words

And just like that, January is gone. I've missed a month of stories, but I have a nice little collection of photographs that I can caption to catch up.

Sam loves Lego. I think we went a good six months of hearing "I played Lego" as the sum total of the child care report. Nine, ten hour days of a fully structured program with a dozen other kids, and he only remembered the Lego. Not surprisingly, the lego pirate sets are the centre of his bedroom universe. And this Christmas, Grandma & Grandpa Arnold gave him a 380-piece Dinosaur set (but who's counting pieces?), and we've been building fearsome beasts. I took a picture of the beaming boy holding up our first creation, but this is the photo he liked best. It was his idea to pose dino as though he assembled himself and was now crawling out of the box to wreak havoc in Hudson house....

While rooting through a back seat pile of commuter-parent baggage (lunchkits, laptops, gym bag, backpacks, snowpants, groceries, art work) during a Sam drop-off a few weeks back, I spotted a colourful hexagon next to his booster. I spun around to ask Sam if he made it ... and broke his heart. He let out a wailing "ooohhh, nooo!" that made it clear I'd spoiled a surprise. Holding back tears, he explained: "I wanted to wrap that up for you!", the thrill of Christmas still fresh in his mind. I knelt down for a big hug, declaring my love of the little craft to help soothe his obvious disappointment. "Is this an ornament?" I asked ... and then had to stifle my laugh when he answered earnestly, "Yes. I wanted you to have something beautiful to look at while you washed the dishes."

Unlike the 'housework hexagon,' most of Sam's drawings are monochrome. He favoured a simple pencil for the longest time before moving on to the brown crayon. Then he went through a festive red stage through Christmas before settling on blues, where he's remained—aptly—for the chilly month of January. Before taking down the December bulletin board, I want to commit a few things to memory. First, Sam and made the wreath together during the Centre's "Annual Cup of Cheer" breakfast reception. Perched on the wee chairs together, we had a fun conversation about Christmas decorations. Another night, we coloured the Santa pic together, and Sam tried once again to decide if he preferred spelling his name with his left or his right hand. Finally, the figure at the bottom left that struck me as a lynched cowboy is Spiderman, lowering off a wall to battle the muscled stickmen in the centre of the drawing (click the photo to enlarge). I've developed quite a skill at eliciting details from him rather than guessing at the picture's content. I love these little Sam collages: I wish we could keep them all forever.

And speaking of wishes and forever, I will never tire of the sight of my slumbering son. Somehow in sleep, the infant's chubby cheeks, shallow breathing and tousled hair return and he's my baby bunny once again. He stays perfectly still through the night, with those small hands tucked up between face and pillow in a portrait of pure peace. I hope he always sleeps like that. I call this picture "Four Kisses," because that's how every day ends. Once the stories and songs are finished, I kiss his forehead and both cheeks before our goodnight kiss. And each kiss has its own statement: "Good night (kiss), sleep tight (kiss), sweet dreams (kiss), I love you (kiss)." Sleep well, Sammy.