Posts Tagged: ‘Fatherhood’

Roll Tide Means I Love You

January 8, 2012 Posted by Brandon Gilbert

     There’s a saying that when you’re born in the state of Alabama, you’re forced to choose between a loyalty to Alabama or Auburn. That’s not really true. The truth of the matter is that if your parents truly love you, they’ll teach you to be an Alabama fan, and if they don’t care about you, they’ll allow you to pull for Auburn. Seriously, it’s one of the things you can call and report people for at the Department of Human Services.

Ok, I’m kidding. I am not one of those people who take it that seriously. I am probably one of the few Bama fans you would meet who pulled for Auburn in the National Championship game last year. I love college football, and I wanted to pass that love on to my son. And of course, I wanted to raise him right, so I wanted to pass on a love for Alabama football. This means from the time he started making sounds I tried to teach him how to say “Roll Tide.”

Fans of all college teams, particularly in the south, teach their children things that reflect their love of their particular school. For instance, Auburn fans teach their kids to say “War Eagle,” despite their nickname being the Tigers. Tennessee fans teach their kids that the color of their uniforms is not a color used to torture suspected terrorists at Gitmo. Mississippi State fans teach their kids that ringing a cowbell is not the most annoying fan tradition since the vuvuzela.

Ryne picked up Roll Tide pretty quickly and it became, along with “Go Cubs,” one of his favorite things to say. Back in May, after his stroke, one of the first things he tried to say when he woke up was “Roll Tide!” I don’t really push him to say it or anything, he just loves to say it.

I truy think the reason he says it all the time is that he thinks it means “I love you.” He doesn’t ever say I love you, but when he’s really happy you did something for him, he’ll say it. If he gets excited to see someone he hasn’t seen in a while, he’ll say it then. If he wants your attention, he’ll say it. If you’re someone new that he has just met and thinks you’re worthy to talk to, he’ll greet you with a hearty “Rooooooll Tieeeede!” And yes, he says it like a northerner for some reason. Of course, he is a quarter Chicagoan.

It’s fun to hear him say it, even if he really doesn’t connect it to the Alabama Crimson Tide. I love him, and I know he loves me too, when He says “Roll Tide.”

Castoff

June 28, 2011 Posted by Brandon Gilbert

Well, that didn’t seem quite so long.  Ryne finally got his cast off today. So he looks like this again:

It was kind of anti-climactic since we’ve been building up to this with him for a while now, counting down the days until his arm lost its thin non-candy shell. He and I even had a long discussion last night about what it meant now that he would be without his cast. I know most of you wouldn’t understand much of what he said, but luckily I speak baby and am able to interpret it for you. So, without further ado, here is the entirety of our conversation from last night…

Dad: You know what happens tomorrow, right?!?!?!?!?!?
Son: Yes, you go to work and Mommy and I go to where they make me play with educational toys and do Jazzercise.
Dad: Nope, not tomorrow, tomorrow you go get your cast off so you can finally use your arm again!
Son: I’ve been using my arm. See, look (He smacks my arm with it). Want to see me use it again?
Dad: Ouch! that hurts buddy! You’ve got to be gentle.
Son: Geez, sorry Dad, didn’t realize you were such a delicate flower.
Dad: Well, now you know… So, are you excited to get your cast off?
Son: To be honest, I’m kinda disappointed. I like to use it to pretend my arm is bionic, like the six dollar man.
Dad: That’s the six million dollar man, son, and besides, who knows what he’d be worth with today’s prices of materials, then factor in union labor costs, government red tape on melding human and machine, and the…
Son: Dad! Dad! Whoa there! I believe your train has derailed. I said I like to pretend. In pretend land, there is no inflation or cost of living increases.
Dad: You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s been a long time since I’ve played pretend. I used to pretend I was Michael Jordan.
Son: Wow, that had to be some pretty difficult pretending.
Dad: I was a lot better at hoops than you might think. Shoot, maybe I still am. Anyway, I, for one, am really glad you are getting your cast off because it made me sad when you broke your arm.
Son: What does it mean to break your arm anyway? When my toys break you usually fix them with a screw driver or some new batteries. I didn’t get any new batteries.
Dad: Well, it means the bone in your arm, your humerus , had a little bitty fracture in it and you had to have a cast put on to keep your arm from moving at the elbow so that the fracture could grow back together. You’re actually quite lucky you didn’t need screws. That happens sometimes.
Son: Lucky? I bet I’m the only 23 month old to have ever had a broke arm. And I most certainly didn’t find it humorous.
Dad: Well, it happens a lot more often than you think. And it’s H-U-M-E-R-U-S.  It’s a different word than the one that means funny.
Son: Really? So tell me what happened when you broke your arm when you were my age.
Dad: Actually, I’ve never had a broke arm…or leg. But I did have my pinky dislocated once when I was on tour with Tim Byrne and our friends in Philmont.
Son: Prove it.
Dad: Ok, here:

Dad: Yep, it took one doctor holding my arm and two doctors pulling on my finger to pop it back into place.
Son: Ugh, Dad…please tell me this isn’t some elaborate “Pull My Finger” joke.
Dad: No, Son, I was just telling you about the time I had a boo boo like yours.
Son: Well, thank you Dad. I appreciate you trying to relate your little pinky boo boo to my bone with A BREAK IN IT!!!
Dad: Well, you’re welcome. Just remember, that break in your arm has a matching one on my heart.
Son: I love you too, Dad.

The Ghost Cat

June 21, 2011 Posted by Brandon Gilbert

The following story has very little to do with Ryne, other than the fact that it all happened late at night while I was out on a run to procure some coconut milk for him to drink. This story is not for the faint of heart, but it must be told. Do not read any further if you fear ghosts, or cats, or ghost cats.

One winter evening not so long ago, I was traveling to the grocery store to get some coconut milk for my son. The moon was full and the sky was clear. I drove by a large field and something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. There was a large white cat jumping in the field. It looked to have something set in its sights and kept pouncing to try and catch it. I stopped my car for a moment to watch. I thought to myself how funny it is that even small cats pounce and strike like lions and tigers. I was quite curious to see if this cat would catch its prey or not, so I watched for a moment more.

As I watched, I noticed something that both terrified and perplexed me. I could see through the cat. It wasn’t clear like a window, but it was definitely translucent. I thought to myself, ‘Is this cat a ghost?’ I immediately had visions of Stephen King and the movie Pet Cemetary. I thought to myself, ‘I wonder if this is a cat from the Civil War and it’s reliving what it used to do 150 years ago in this very spot?’ Maybe it was a cat who had belonged to the owners of the house adjacent to the lot it was in and this is how it used to play. The possibilities were endless, but all of those thoughts paled in comparison to one prevailing thought: ‘How in the world am I seeing a ghost cat? I am losing my mind.’

I didn’t know what to do. I knew no one would believe this story. I couldn’t take a picture of it in the dark because all I had was my phone and it doesn’t have a flash. I just decided to watch it some more and soak in the moment because I knew I would probably never see anything like it again. Then the weirdest thing happened, it seemed to start coming towards me. I have to admit, this made me even more scared. It seemed to be skittish and was taking it’s time getting to me. It finally got about 50 feet away from me which was close enough for me to be able to make out exactly what kind of breed the ghost cat was:   a plastic Walmart bag blowing in the breeze.

Has your mind ever played such dirty tricks on you? Please leave a comment and tell me about it.

Ryne: A Status Report

June 20, 2011 Posted by Brandon Gilbert

 

The last two weeks have been amazing having Ryne and Jamie back home. I believe that Ryne being at home in an environment he’s used to is really helping him to thrive. He’s started outpatient therapy at Vanderbilt and he seems to be responding well. The following is a little list of where he is now in the recovery process:

1. His cast will come off on June 28th.

2. In spite of his cast, he has been using his right arm more and more, including using his fingers!

3. Until his cast comes off, he can’t do occupational therapy to help with the fine motor skills on that arm, so right now he’s only doing physical therapy.

4. He should begin with speech therapy soon but we still don’t know the exact date of that yet. He’s getting a lot of his old words back along with some new ones already, so this should help him become the finest orator in preschool.

5. On July 11th, Ryne will go to the neurologist at Vanderbilt to have an EEG to see what his brain activity is like. We are really praying that everything will be to the point that he can start coming off of his anti-seizure meds.

6. Ryne has two new movies, Finding Nemo and Milo and Otis. Milo and Otis has not made an appearance yet, but Nemo is on repeat. I guess when you watch every Shrek movie 6 times a day it’s a nice change of pace.

7. The physical therapy people at Vanderbilt keep going back and forth on putting Ryne in a leg brace on his right leg. His leg keeps “kicking out” a little and they just want to make sure that he strengthens it up good. The good part of           that is that he’s doing so well without one that they can’t decide if it would for sure help him.

8. Ryne’s biggest challenge and the source of most of our prayers for him now is that he has lost peripheral vision in his right eye. if you come from his right side, and don’t make sounds, he doesn’t know you are there until you get right in front of him. He’s young and doesn’t really know any better, so none of this bothers him right now, but we do worry for him in the future if it doesn’t come back. Without peripheral vision it’s hard to play sports, drive, and put your           arm around dates without hitting them in the face. Everything else has been coming back so well, that it’s frustrating     to see no improvement in this area. Of course, it’s frustrating that he has to go through it at all.

So, that’s where we stand right now. If there’s anything you’ve been wondering about, PLEASE feel free to ask. We’ve had so much support from everyone that we feel you guys are going through this with us.

Ryne’s Top Ten

June 13, 2011 Posted by Brandon Gilbert

When Ryne was born, one of the quickest skills I picked up was speaking Baby. Through his oohs and coos, I knew exactly what he was trying to say. It was surprising, because he was so sarcastic and had a little bit of an attitude. I should have known what we were in for as he gets closer to being two. The following is a list of the Top 10 things that Ryne has said over the last month as he recuperates, interpreted for your reading pleasure:

10. Of course I see the turtles Dad, I’ve seen them all 60 times you’ve shown me. From now on, I’m only interested if they’re mutant ninjas.

9. I know I’ve been really sick, but seriously, if I see another white coat, I’m going to start flinging poo.

8. I hope they’re going to eventually take off this turban, because I’ll never make it through airport security.

7. Why do the nurses say they want me to rest, then come wake me up every hour and take my blood pressure?

6. Dad, why does Mommy watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer every night? It’s so fake. Everyone (more…)

The RynoBoy Diaries #7: Shangri-La

January 27, 2011 Posted by Brandon Gilbert

As a Super Hero, I have traveled the world many times over. I’ve journeyed to far off lands in exotic locales with exotic people. Recently, however, I stumbled upon a place so beautiful and so filled with mystery that I just had to put it down in words, though I can barely find any words to accurately describe it.

It’s a land filled with pools of crystal clear water in which to swim and mountains that are lovely to climb. There are many hiking trails and nature paths. There are several tall buildings, but they’re made of wood and naturally blend into the surroundings. There’s always a gentle breeze and everything is lit up magnificently by 6 different suns. Six!

There’s this allure as well. I can’t describe it. When you go there, you just feel like you’re home. Like you’ve been there all your life, yet you’re only just now beginning to see everything. I want to live there, but I feel like if I did, I would never leave to go fight villains. That’s the only bad thing about this new found Shangri-La of mine: there’s still evil to fight.

Just this week, I was hiking around my new found paradise when I had just stumbled upon a hidden treasure! I know you would think that being a Super Hero would come with a handsome salary…and it does… but who do you think pays for all my cool Super Hero gadgetry?  The IRS won’t allow me to deduct “invisible rope” as a business expense, and don’t even get me started on the business lunches at Superman’s Fortress of Solitude (something about no street address…you know how those people are with details). But anyway, I digress… I stumbled upon a hidden treasure and as soon as I found it, The Evil Dr. Daddicus swooped in and wrapped me up so that I couldn’t move. He transported me to a reinforced cage as I struggled to gain freedom…

Will RynoBoy escape? Will he be able to return to his Shangri-La? Will he need a diaper change?
Tune in next week. Same RynoBoy time, Same RynoBoy Channel.

TheBrandNewDad Epilogue: See, what had happened was… Ryne is now walking and exploring our apartment pretty well. We’ve given him pretty free range to roam as he pleases, so long as he’s not getting into anything that’s going to hurt him. When we’re doing something, we’ll close off the front bathroom, and our bedroom. This limits the places he can go out of our sight. But if everything is open and he has all options, he’s a sure bet to head to one place to play: Our bedroom.

He doesn’t go into his room where he has toys. He doesn’t go into the kitchen to get pots and pans, though he does enjoy that when his options are limited. He doesn’t even go to his area of the living room where he has toys. No, he makes a beeline for our bedroom…that is actually absent of his toys.

I don’t know what it is about parents’ bedrooms that are so appealing. I remember when I was little thinking how awesome my parents’ bedroom was. There was this smell that seemed to be different than the rest of the house…like oak or cedar or some kind of wood that had perfume and cologne in its pores. It smelled better, which I’m guessing is mainly because I wasn’t in there enough to mess it up.

Ryne thinks our bedroom is his Shangri-La. It’s the place he wants to be. He like to flop around on our bed, and repel down the sides to the floor. He likes to investigate what’s under our bed (which is nothing, but apparently nothing under our bed is interesting to him). He has a knack for searching out whatever we’ve left in the floor by accident. The incident to which RynoBoy refers to above was him exploring the drawer in the nightstand next our bed. I didn’t want him dragging junk out of it or closing his fingers in it, so I told him to stop looking in it…telling him “no” several times. He’s gotten to the age where he thinks it’s cute to ignore us saying “no.”

In order to protect him from himself, and as a quasi-timeout punishment, I put him in his play pen. He didn’t like it at all, and I think he understood why I put him there…but that is another post for another day. What about you guys? When you were little, did you think that your parents’ room was awesome? Were you allowed to go into your parents’ room?

Why Won’t This Kid Grow?

January 18, 2011 Posted by Brandon Gilbert

I have a small son. I’ve learned to accept it.I just don’t know why I have a small son. On January 14th, 2010, we took him in for his 6 month Doctor’s visit. He weighed 18 pounds. On January 11th, 2011, we took him in for his 18 month checkup. He weighed 18 pounds, 6 ounces. Yes, one year’s growth yielded 6 ounces.

Along with our Doctor, we do have some theories on this. First of all, Ryne has food sensitivities with Gluten and Dairy. He breaks out with eczema if he comes even close to these things. I don’t know if you’re aware, but the foods that contain these things are also the foods that make kids grow larger. So, since he’s not getting these foods, he’s not packing on whatever weight and height they would bring.

It’s definitely a struggle because he eats like a teenager. A typical lunch could be black beans, spinach, sweet potatoes, chicken, and coconut milk followed up with some grapes or raspberries for dessert. With all of that down, he’ll still be up for a snack of GFCF (Gluten-free, Casein-Free) cereal. But as much and as fast as he eats, his body processes it all very efficiently.

We have a follow-up visit next month with his doctor to check his weight and to see how he has progressed. The doctor’s not worried about his weight too much because he’s progressing just fine with learning skills. I would just like to not see extreme surprise on the faces of people when I tell them how old he is and they follow with “wow, he’s small.”

Anybody else experience growth chart problems? Leave a comment below…

Wrangling the Talents of My Little Poocasso

January 18, 2011 Posted by Brandon Gilbert

It’s been exciting watching the development of my little guy from a fragile little thing that just laid in my arms to a slightly larger and seemingly indestructible force of nature. He’s learned so many new things and taught his Mommy and me new things as well. Lately we’ve learned that he’s quite the artist. He’s re-worked his crib, his toys, his clothes, and even some of the carpet. I would love to engage his little-artist-within if it weren’t for his chosen medium: Poo. That’s right, he’s been painting with a Number 2 brush.

It all started a few weeks ago when I woke up early one morning to hear his laughter over the baby monitor. I got up ready to get him and make him some breakfast. When I opened the door to his room, he started jumping up and down, obviously excited to see me and to get out of bed (this is how he usually is in the mornings). I noticed his pants were off (though his diaper was intact) which made me feel bad for him because it was fairly cold that morning. As I got closer to his crib, though, my concern for him turned into pure horror, nausea and disgust at what I encountered. Ryne’s black crib had been repainted brown. The sheets and pillows had been dyed and even his friend Jimmy was not spared.

The plan was changed from breakfast and play time to emergency bath and wash the sheets time. I scrubbed down his crib and put Jimmy in to wash with the sheets. To be honest, it may have been the moment I felt truly baptized into parenthood (sometimes being a parent can be surreal, because most of the time you don’t have any time to actually think about it). My first instinct was to burn everything, but then I remembered how I didn’t have any money to replace any of it.

At that time, I put it off as a one time occurrence because he was curious about what was going on in his diaper. Then it happened again. After that, we began to watch him even closer for any signs that he may have a dirty diaper, or be about to make it dirty. That helped a little. He’s a poo ninja. He can make it appear where there once was none. Then we decided that we’d have to make it a rule that when he slept at night or when we weren’t going out anywhere that he had to be in onesy pajamas so that he had no access. This helped quite a bit more, but it’s hard keeping up a rotation of just three of those that still fit him.

I understand he’s at a curious age and he’s learning how things work…even his body, but I’m tired of cleaning toys. If Andy treated his toys like this in Toy Story, his toys wouldn’t be in such a hurry to get back to him:

Woody: “Andy won’t play with me anymore.”
Mr. Potato Head: “Well, thank the Lord for the small things. It’s Buzz Lightyear’s problem now.”

Today, we finally had a breakthrough…I think. I was preparing some lunch for Ryne when he had to go. I went into his room to find his pants laying to the side. Immediately I knew there was a poo situation. Sure enough, his hand was covered. Luckily, the collateral damage was minimal this time. However, Ryne’s reaction was quite different. He looked a little upset. When I put him on his changing table to clean him up, he started whining and pushing his hand towards me, as if to say “Get it off, Da Da!” He wasn’t happy that it was there. I hope this is a sign of good things to come as I try to wrangle his artistic side, because right now the whole situation is just a pile of, well…you get the idea.

Anybody else had to deal with this with their kids? Please leave a comment below!

How I Met Your Mother: A (True) Fairytale

January 16, 2011 Posted by Brandon Gilbert

January 17th is mine and TheBrandNewMom’s wedding anniversary. This year is our 7th year of marriage. January 15th is the anniversary of how long we’ve been a couple. This year marks 11 years we’ve been together. I wanted to tell the story of how we met and record here it for Ryne. In honor of his favorite movies being the Shrek series, let me take you to a land far, far away…

There once was a young man named Brandon. He was living in a towne called Florence in the north of Alabama near the great river of Tennessee. He was attending a University, training to work with Minstrels and other merry-makers. Like many other young men, a fair maiden captured his attention and made his heart flutter when she passed by. He was a shy young man, but finally gathered enough courage to ask the fair maiden to accompany him to a meal followed by a night at the theatre. The young man was smitten but, alas, the fair maiden fancied another.

Heartbroken, but determined to win the heart of his fair maiden, he did what most young men of his ilk do in that situation; he decided to travel the road of friendship with her. In his mind, after friendship the next logical step would be “Happily Ever After.” Don’t blame the young man for such lofty thoughts, however. He was young, being of only 18 years, and having just left the care of his mother and father. He had also moved many days’ carriage ride away from his village. He was just learning the ways of the world and of love (or infatuation).

After a long, long while, he traveled home to his village for Christmas time. The University let all of the young men and ladies take a break from their studies for two fortnights to celebrate the holiday. After the young man returned to the University, there were a few days before classes would resume. The fair maiden had gathered a group together to go enjoy a meal and to play rounds of ninepins. She was celebrating the journey of her friend, another young maiden from her village, to our University. Her friend had not yet finished her primary classes in her own village.

The group set out together and shared a meal at a local grille owned by a man named Arby. The group then ventured to the ninepins arena where they bowled many games and engaged in much merriment. It was during the rounds of ninepins that the young man began noticing that this new maiden had excellent *ahem* “form” when rolling her ball down the lane (once again, remember he’s just a young man). The young man began to take more notice of the way this new maiden moved and of her smile. He decided he would like to know more about her.

After they were done with their rounds of ninepins, they went to a late-night establishment known as “The Waffle Abode.” This is where the young man and the maiden began learning more about one another. They talked until the group was ready to return to their lodgings for the night. A smaller group including the young man, another male friend (a Scotsman), the maiden, and her friend adjourned to the Scotsman’s home in order to hear a story about terrible deeds called “Seven.” After the story was finished, the young man left the group to return to his own lodgings for the night.

The next day, it was time for the new maiden to return to her village. Though she lived fairly close to the towne of Florence, it was still quite a long carriage ride for her to get home. The young man was interested in her, but alas, she had to leave him to return to her family. He did not know when he would see her again, but the pair promised to write to keep in touch. That night as he lay in bed, he was wondered how long it would be until he heard from her again. He wondered how long it would be until she could visit again. He was suddenly startled by a noise at his window, and even more startled to find the noise was a carrier pigeon. The message attached to its leg invited the young man to visit the maiden’s village so that they could see each other again.

The young man sent word back that he indeed would be there the following week. In the days leading up to his visit to the maiden’s village, his classes resumed at the University, but his head was in the clouds at the possibilities with this new maiden. Finally the time came for him to make his journey to the village of Trinity, where his maiden lived.

That evening they went to the theatre to watch a play in which Angelina Jolie was cast in the lead role. Afterward they spent several hours talking and getting to know each other even better. This is where their romance started. Thoughts of the other maiden faded quickly to the background and this new lady became his one true love. Five months later he requested her hand in marriage. Three and a half years later they were wed after he finished his studies at the University. Today the two live in the City of Nashville where they live happily, working on their “ever after.”

Have your Milk and Drink it, too.

January 14, 2011 Posted by Brandon Gilbert

Unless you’ve lived under a rock most of your life, or basically ignored overused cliches, you’ve undoubtedly heard the saying “Have your cake and eat it too.” As cliches go, this one seems to be one of the worst way to say “you can’t have it both ways.” After all, what good is having cake if you can’t eat it? Well, if you think it sounds absurd, you’re right. As with a lot of things we Americans do to the English language, we’ve butchered the saying until the literal meaning is ridiculous. The original saying is “to eat one’s cake and have it too.” This make much more sense to me. You can’t eat your cake and then still have it to enjoy again (yes, I know you still technically have a gastrointestinal version of your cake, but let’s face it, that’s not giving you as much joy as the original form).

This point really hits home for me with my son who wants to throw his milk (or any other beverage we give him) down in the floor and then still have it to drink as well. We’ve just about broken this habit, but it still rears its ugly head every now and then. It all started several months ago around the time when Ryne was weaned off breast milk. Jamie had pumped when she went to work and so he knew how to drink from a bottle by himself. He wasn’t very mobile, though, and so we usually were there to take the bottle back from him when he was through drinking. As he became more mobile and we transitioned to a Sippy cup and strictly Coconut milk and water (Ryne has a sensitivity to cow’s milk dairy…he breaks out into a rash that makes him look similar to Bob the Tomato if he has anything with milk proteins in it), he didn’t know what to do with the cup when he was done drinking. So, he did what felt natural. He would drink until he had his fill, and then launch the cup to the floor.

I think he enjoyed watching the flight of the cup as it floated through the air on it descent to the floor below. It was one of those “Pretttyyyy” moments where he would just stare on wonder. Of course, as soon as the cup hit the floor, the cold reality of no longer having access to a refreshing beverage set in and tears were shed. Jamie and I were actually enablers because we would just pick it up and give it back to him and comfort him, because let’s be honest… baby tears hurt Mommy and Daddy the worst. But…it quickly became annoying and we found he had started turning it into a game of fetch. He would throw the cup, we would fetch it and bring it back to him. Then one day, his really awesome sippy cup decided it had had enough. He threw it, it broke, and milk spilled everywhere. Now, I know there’s no use in crying over spilled milk, but that didn’t stop our little man or us either (hey, that sippy cup was seriously awesome).

We knew at this point we had to start teaching him that it was wrong to throw his cup and that it had a place on the tray of his high chair where it should go. I’ve experience a lot of things in my life, but this was probably the hardest process I’ve had to go through. What we did was to put him in “time out” when he threw the cup. He would throw it down, and I would tell him that’s not where his cup went, and then I would show him where it was supposed to go (in the holder on his tray). He would get mad and throw it down again. I would then take his tray off his high chair, put his chair in the hallway where he couldn’t see anything but the wall and leave him for a few minutes. After I had enough (you read that right… after I had had enough) I would put his tray back on and tell him if he could show me where the milk went, he could come back and eat with his Mommy and Daddy.

Sometimes it worked on the first try, other times he would shove the milk away or off into the floor again in defiance. Whenever he did what he was supposed to, we would clap and tell him what a good boy he was for doing it the right way. He’ll smile real big, and put it where it’s supposed to go now…making sure we’re watching so that we’ll clap and tell him what a good boy he is. Now, he even just picks his cup up so that he can put it back in the right place and get us to clap for him. And I have no problem with that. The whole process of teaching about the milk has helped us to teach him about the right way to do other things. And he loves to do things the right way as long as there’s clapping involved when he does it.

I would like to say we have him trained well, but it’s actually quite the opposite. Why do I say this? Because I just heard him put his cup in its holder in another room and without skipping a beat, I clapped and said “Good Boy!!” That’s right, my 18 month old has trained me as well as Pavlov’s dog.