Building Logic

For the past few months, Gabe has been working on his ability to put two and two together, figuratively speaking, anyway. He's beginning to comprehend cause and effect relationships--if something doesn't work, there's usually a reason for it, and identification can lead to a solution. The fact that he is making these progressions isn't particularly interesting. Actually, it's a bit of a problem as he's actively remembering promises or falsehoods that I make and using them against me--which means I'll have to start watching what I say more.

No, this is noteworthy because, like everything else he does, Gabe does logic amusingly. Twice today he used his deductive reasoning to my amusement. Both, actually, happened within about twenty minutes of each other. He was on a bit of a roll.

The first happened while he was in the bathroom. He'd run up to Libby and said, "I need to poop!" with such urgency that we practically burned a trail in the carpet getting him to the bathroom. Then, he sat on the toilet for five minutes and declared that he didn't need to poop. Ugh. So Libby decided that Gabe could keep his pants and underwear off until he needed to poop again (the thought being that he wouldn't do it if it was going to go on the floor instead of in his underwear--a bet that I would never put more than pocket change on). Gabe refused. He doesn't much care for being naked--or even just in a diaper or underwear. He likes to be in his clothes. But Libby stuck to her guns and told him to go play. He ran into the living room. Then, as soon as Libby cleared the room, he walked back into my office and said he needed to wash his hands (something he does something like 50 times a day, the kid might be OCD) so he went back in the bathroom. About a minute later, he called for help.

I went in and he was standing with his underwear tightly bound to his lower calf muscles. He had tried to put both of his legs in the same hole and couldn't pull them up any further.

"Here, let me help. We need to take them off and start over," I said.

"No. I do it," he protested. "I just need a little exercise."

This might be one of those "had to be there," things, but it struck me as very humorous, though I'm not sure why. I don't know whether he meant it in a "god I'm so fat I can't fit in my underwear" kind of needing exercise or if he needed to be stronger to get it up. Either way, it made me laugh.

The second one came shortly after in the living room, and it was actually pretty sound logic, though it was based solely on faulty information provided by Libby.

I asked him to open up the door on our entertainment center a crack to let the heat of the X-Box out (we have so little room in this cabinet that we can only fit the DVR and the X-Box, so we have to use the X-Box as a DVD player, too, and he wanted to watch Fireman Sam, which we only have on DVD--but if I don't want the red ring of death on the machine, I have to get it some air, too), and he pinched his finger in the process. He started to cry and Libby offered him a drink of her Diet Coke, asking, "Will a drink of Diet Coke make your finger feel better?"

He perked up and took a drink, which was a mistake. Give him a taste of a new drink and he'll demand the entire thing, which he did. Finally, Libby dragged the can away and put it on the table. A minute or so passed and he went for the can: "I'm going to have some Diet Coke," he declared, and he went for the can.

"Nuh uh!" we both answered in unison. "Diet Coke is for grown ups. It gives little kids upset stomachs." True? Dunno. Probably not. But he doesn't know that, yet.

He held up the finger that he pinched in the door and said, "I need Diet Coke. It makes my finger feel better." Now, we shouldn't have been able to argue with that logic, since Libby had just suggested that Diet Coke would, in fact, make his finger feel better. Nonetheless, I asked, "HOW will it make your finger feel better." He thought for a bit but all he could do in his defense was hold his finger up some more for us to see that it still hurt.

Hmm. I don't know. Neither of those stories has the punch it seemed to earlier. Either neither event was very funny originally or my narrative is off tonight. I'll put the blame on myself. Since both of us laughed at both stories when they happened, I have to believe they were funny. The fault is mine.

Oh well.

How about a video of Norah playing peek-a-boo? She's sort of figured out how to do it on her own.