About a year and a half ago, Martin started getting in trouble at daycare.  He could come home with notes that said that he bit someone, or pushed them, or caused some other kind of bodily harm.  Many times on the days when he wouldn't come home with a bad behavior note, he would come home with an injury report of his own.  There were a whole group of kids who seemed to take turns biting and fighting.  We tried everything - time outs, rewards for good days, and serious talks.  One morning, I ran down the list of all the things that he shouldn't do that day so that it would be fresh in his mind before daycare.  "No biting, no hitting, no pushing, no spitting, no scratching."  That day, he came home with a note that said that he's been squeezing.  After a particularly difficult week, Martin hit the magic number of incident reports for that week and was suspended from daycare.  That's right, suspended at age 2.

At the time, I thought that maybe it was just that he was with a group of physical boys who all kind of learned this stuff from each other.  Or maybe that he didn't know enough words yet to express his thoughts and feelings, so he was using other means to get his point across.  But now that he's older and I've seen his personality grow bigger each day, I think it's something else.  I think he's a hairsplitter.  He listens very carefully to what your saying and quickly finds the holes in whatever directives you've just given him.

For example, this weekend I was making food for Father's Day and needed some time (mostly) alone in the kitchen.  So, I opened up the sliding door to the screened porch so that the kids could play out there.  They love playing there despite the fact that it's really just an empty room with some of their toys.  It must seem exciting to be somewhere else.  I can just barely see the kids from the kitchen when they're in the porch, but I can easily hear what's happening.  The only bad thing about having the kids play in the porch is that there is a door that leads to the deck that has a handle lock.  Which means that Martin can unlock it himself.  So, when I sent the kids out there to play so that I could finish stuff in the kitchen, I laid down all the ground rules.

"No closing the sliding door.  Don't push Sophie when she's climbing on the step.  Share your toys.  AND I DON'T WANT YOU TO GO OUTSIDE.  NOT ONE SINGLE PART OF YOUR BODY CAN GO OUTSIDE."

He said "Okay momma, I promise."

Not five minutes later I heard, "Momma, come quick.  Sophie's outside."  I ran to the door and there she was.  Stomping in puddles on the deck in her footie pajamas, smiling and waving at me through the sliding glass door.  I opened up the door, grabbed her and sat everyone down.

"How did she get out there?"  I said.

"I put her out there.  But I didn't go outside.  I promised."  Martin explained.

So, you see, he held up his end of the bargain.  He did just what he promised.  I'm just going to have to be more specific next time.  NO ONE goes outside.  Not even for a second.  Not even one finger, or toe, or hair, or any other part of you.  Including, but not limited to, your stuff.  Or my stuff.  Or dad's stuff.  Or Sophie's stuff.  In fact, don't even touch the door.  And don't let Sophie touch the door.

We're in trouble, aren't we?