Not About Information Exchange

I was listening in on a coaching class by Bob Dunham today, and heard something that struck a chord for me.

"Communication is not about exchange of information, it is about creating a shared future."

I was thinking about how this applies to Middle Son.  When we communicate, very little information passes from him to me--I have a really hard time figuring out what he is trying to tell me.  It looks like he has less trouble with that.  More often than not he seems to understand what I'm trying to tell him.  It works best when I am trying to get clear, concrete information to him.  I don't know how much abstract communication really makes sense to him.

When Middle communicates with me, it tends to be about a very near-term shared future that he wants to create.  A future in which he is eating a cookie.  A future in which I am tickling him.  A future in which the Muppet Show is playing in the DVD player.

Catch Ball Bounce Throw

As we prepare for My Beloved Fiancée and her daughters to move in, I got a loft bed for Youngest Son.  We assembled it this weekend.  He loves it.

It also inspired him to play in his room.  We spent a good deal of time tossing a big ball around.  First we were both down on the floor.  He threw me the ball and said "Daddy, we're playing catch-ball-bounce-throw!"  A little later he started bouncing it off his head and we were playing head-ball-bounce-throw, then chin-ball-bounce-throw.

Then he climbed up on his bed.  Now, for some reason, it became a three word game, catch-bounce-throw, or catch-throw-bounce.  I asked if we were still playing catch-ball-bounce-throw and he said no, now it's a three thing game, not a four thing game.

Efficient vs. Brave

I was struck by a post I read to day from Seth Godin.

"It's possible that your next frontier isn't to get more efficient, it's to get more brave."

I've been thinking lately about efficiency.  A while back when I was doing laundry, I hit on the idea of having Middle Son fold the laundry and carry each garment individually to the bedroom to put it away, rather than stack them all in the laundry basket and carry them in one trip.

It doesn't seem efficient--we walk back and forth to the bedroom 30 or 40 times, and it takes 5 times longer for him to fold the laundry that it does for me to do it.  If I folded it and he carried the full laundry basket, he'd spend the other 20 minutes shredding toilet paper.  And I'd probably spend it screwing around on Facebook.

By doing it this way, I keep Middle engaged with me for 20 minutes.  Godin writes a lot about emotional labor and emotional courage.  I think when he says brave, he means engaging with the people around you, engaging with their fears, and engaging with your fears.

In a small way, that's what I'm doing when we put the laundry away.  I'm engaging with Middle, with his fears/challenges around tasks, and my fears of his future given his inability to care for himself and make his way in the world.

Toilet Paper

Middle Son has a weird fixation (actually, he has LOTS of weird fixations, but I'm going to write about one in particular) with toilet tanks.  He loves to shred paper or grass into the tank of the toilet.  I've had to replace two toilets in the past three years because of this.  The channels inside the porcelain get clogged and you can't clear them.

Grass is the killer.  Toilet paper sometimes causes a problem, and other times it doesn't.  The first time he did it he dumped handfuls of shredded grass into the toilets of both bathrooms.  By the end of the weekend, I couldn't flush either one without a bucket.  They both had to be replaced.  My landlord made me pay for it.  I couldn't argue.

One I had the new toilets, I needed to keep Middle out of them.  I can't afford to replace the toilets every two weeks.  My first attempt at keeping him was tying rope around the tank.  That was an abject failure, couldn't get it tight enough.  Within 30 seconds he had a big enough gap that he was able to slip some toilet paper inside.  The next was duct tape.  Many turns around the lid, then a couple around the tank.  That worked.

I followed him into the bathroom.  He looked at it, realized that he wouldn't be able to get it open, and he face sank.  He looked like someone had just run over his dog (or rather, like someone who really cares about their dog would look if their dog was run over).

My current house, which I moved into a little over a year ago, has two bathrooms, a master bath en suite and the main bathroom.  The toilet in the main bath has a cargo strap wrapped around the tank so that he can't get the lid off.  That's the third method I've used to keep him out.  It's worked, although occasionally I have to tighten it up.  It looks a little classier (or maybe a little less white-trash) than the duct tape.  I found a strap that matched the colors in the shower curtain.

Since the master bath is off my bedroom, I decided not to put a strap on it.  I keep the door to my room locked, so he can't get in.  Most of the time this works.  He's gotten in a couple of times and put some toilet paper in the tank.  It doesn't flush quite as well as it used to, but it still works.

Tonight, I caught Middle at the door to my room.  It wasn't locked.  When he saw me he quickly stepped back.  I thought that I'd caught him on his way in.  Later in the evening, I went into my bathroom, and discovered that I was wrong.  I'd caught him on the way out.  There was what looked like an entire roll of toilet paper in the tank.  So far the toilet still works.

Was Too Asleep

Youngest Son fell asleep in the living room tonight.  I woke him up to go to bed.  He tried to convince me that he hadn't really been asleep, so he didn't need to go to bed.  I was not convinced.

Help?

When I got home tonight the nanny was very excited.  She had taken Middle Son out, and when they got in the car to come home, Middle was having trouble with his seat belt.  He reached from the back seat and tapped her on the shoulder.  She asked if he needed help, and she said he said "hea" and signed yes.  She was startled that he was vocalizing, and asked again.  Again, he said "hea" again.

The first speech-like response Middle has given in a VERY long time.  Hopefully it's the start of a trend.

Not Asleep After All

Last night, about an hour after he went into his room to go to bed, Youngest Son came out.  He was sobbing and saying "come on."  It took me a while to realize what had happened.  I had told him to go to his room and I'd come and read him a story in a few minutes.  I got distracted dealing with Middle Son, and then it had been 15 minutes and he hadn't come out, so I assumed that he had fallen asleep.

I was wrong.  He was awake and waiting.  And waiting.  And waiting.  Once I figured out what had happened, I apologized profusely.  Daddy is very sorry to have kept you waiting--I thought you were asleep.