The Revolving Door

Between the ages of birth and three years, my son had his share of “moments,” many of which have been documented on this blog.

From the time he was born he started things off with a bang, screaming bloody murder practically around the clock. After several doctor visits and unpleasant x-rays, the official diagnosis was acid reflux– but I suspected (and time proved me right) that much of his frustration was actually due to the fact that he wasn’t able to do much of anything. I could see in his teary eyes that there was desire to crawl across the carpet. To grab the toy. To feed himself his dinner. But his flailing baby body was betraying him. As he got older and more independent, mercifully the crying stopped.

And the oral fixation began.

Bruiser chewed on any and everything within his reach, from electric cords to the soles of his daddy’s work shoes. I routinely found small objects in his mouth– Legos, rocks, rubber bouncy balls… He drank his bathwater when I wasn’t looking. Sucked on his fingers while playing at the playground. Gave me a thousand nervous breakdowns as I imagined all the illnesses he was sure to contract. Measles. Chicken pox. Rubella. Whooping cough. Yellow fever.

And that wasn’t all.

The first three or so years of Bruiser’s life are a haze of temper tantrums, near-misses, impossible saves, and last-minute rescues. The fact that he was also the most loving and affectionate child I’ve ever known kept me from completely losing my mind- and the Internet was also invaluable. I’d read blog posts and comments from my online friends detailing their own misadventures raising the opposite sex, and be reassured that my son wasn’t displaying the emerging tendencies of a future homicidal maniac.

He was simply… a boy.

Fortunately, right around the time he turned four, he miraculously transformed from a mini-Tasmanian Devil into a complete and total delight. This year for the first time, we can take our son to movies, restaurants, and puppet shows, and feel reasonably certain that he’ll behave. He’ll sit through story times, absorbed by the pictures and plot. He loves playing “school” with me and begs to do worksheets and learn his letters. He’s still exuberant, but also very well-behaved in public.

But as I’ve discovered, certain things continue to set him off.

I learned this after a recent trip to California Pizza Kitchen. There, the children were exposed to their first Revolving Door, which apparently ranks on the kid scale right up there with escalators and glass elevators. Both my children excitedly took their places and started pushing. You can guess what happened next.

They went faster and faster as they got the hang of how the door worked, and while Hubs and I popped out inside the restaurant after an extra turn for the kids’ sake, the children kept right on going, laughing wildly. After another turn, Punky emerged, breathless, inside the restaurant. That left Bruiser all alone, pushing the door as hard as he could, running around and around… and around. I caught a flash of his eyes on the fourth go-round and realized that the Tasmanian Devil had re-emerged.

“Come out of there, Bruiser,” I said nervously as he ran past me. He shouted out laughter in return and kept pushing. “Come out NOW,” I said as he revolved past me again. He kept going.

On the next go-round, I reached out, stopped the door with one hand and pulled him out with the other. He was shaking with mischievous glee. “HA HA HA HA HA!” he chortled, looking around wildly for something to knock down or scribble on. “HA HA HA HA HAHAHAHA!” In front of us, the maitre d’ grimaced and I had disturbing flashbacks of pretty much every restaurant experience we’d had with Bruiser until he was about 3 1/2. I got down on one knee and held him by his shoulders.

“Calm down,” I hissed. “You are out of control.” He blinked at me in surprise and at that point, I saw something familiar in his face, and knew that this wasn’t simply a behavioral issue my four-year-old son needed to conquer.

I was witnessing the male mind at work.

While most men are able to function calmly and rationally, they all have their revolving doors, don’t they? Just when you think you can predict their every move, something comes along that sets them off and leaves them whooping and wild-eyed. It could be fairly harmless like NFL football or fishing… or it could be more sinister, like high-stakes gambling or a peroxide blond in a too-tight dress.

I realized as I stared at my son that we mothers (and girlfriends and sisters and wives) can never hope to eliminate that switch. It’s hardwired into the male brain, delivering an electrifying jolt of euphoria when flipped.

All we can do is try our best to pull them out when it looks like they’re making asses of themselves.

P.S. My latest post for the Tommy Nelson blog is up today — It’s about one of my very favorite Ferrier Family traditions. If you love me, you’ll go read it and leave a comment!  ;D

Image via Chad K/Flickr