Well, it has been a while since my first post -- not an auspicious beginning, but not unusual for me. Let's just say that my boy did not spring from a vacuum. I don't have ADHD, at least I think not, but there does tend to be a little problem with consistency, attention, perseverance...umm.... Let's just say that I was just on my way to clean out the playroom before Christmas, and here I am.

So, Christmas. Certainly a challenging time of year for any tyke (just come spend a day in a preschool classroom during December), but once again, the special magic of the kid who lives, shall we say, "balls-to-the-wall" (pardon the French) glows brightly at this time of year.

One of the things that I love about my son is his awareness of his behavioral characteristics and his cheerful acceptance of the same. We, meaning my husband, the boy's psychologist, occasional educators and I have actually worked to make my lad aware of his behaviors; we point out the over-loud voice, the repetition of phrases, the invasion of body space, etc., so that he will learn to recognize when he is going out of control and use some of his strategies. For those who think this might be mean, it actually does help him socially. Also for those who think this might be mean, he doesn't seem to mind them. The behaviors, I mean. Like, we might say, "Your voice is a little loud right now, and the words are a little fast. That might make people around you uncomfortable, and they may go away from you." In reply, he will often say, with a bright smile, "I know. I want to do it anyway." Some parents may read this and think to themselves, "Oh, what a brave little trooper, hiding his hurt and shame from those nasty, nasty parents." I assure you, our brave little trooper does not engage, and I think really cannot engage, at this point, in such complex deception. When he is sad, he is SAD. When he is mad, he is MAD. He wants to be loud, so he is LOUD.

So, anyway, back to Christmas. I find that we have had a lot of these conversations in the past month. "Your voice is loud." "You need to sit on your bottom while you eat that [spaghetti, soup, juicy cheeseburger, bowl of oatmeal]." The dog loveslovesloves the floor under his chair. Or, the winner for December, "Tell me how many Christmas cookies you have eaten. Seriously, the truth. No, I know "zero" is not the truth, because you smell like peanut butter." And the follow-up, "Do you have a stash hidden somewhere? Seriously, the truth. No, I know "no" is not the truth, because the dog smells like peanut butter." My boy has developed a sweet tooth, apparently because he has discovered that he and sugar were made for each other. Just ask him, he will grin cheerfully and tell you so. "I did it because I have a sweet tooth."

Now, am I talking the occasional pilfering of a treat while passing the kitchen? No. Of course I'm not. That's me. I am talking the sudden disappearance of one and a half dozen cookies. At 6:00 a.m. To be fair, the boy only seems to have eaten about six from that raid. Hence, the peanut-butter-scented dog. So I speak sternly to the boy, all the while keeping an eye on the dog for signs of heart failure due to the consumption of the 10 to 12 Hershey's kisses that were perched atop those cookies (she is a 75-lb pit bull mix, so she came through with nothing worse than a little gas -- another story for another time). He solemnly agrees that it was bad, bad, bad, and he will never do it again. Picture the scene -- he is snuggled in my hubby's and my bed, since it is about 6:30 a.m. at this time, giving me the most sincerely repentant eyes that he can muster. I think to myself, "alrighty then, point made" and turn to go. I turn back for one more comment, and what do I see but a peanut-butter-cookie-with-a-chocolate-kiss-sized lump in his cheek. And slow chewing. You should have heard the hubby when he got into bed that night and discovered a wealth of cookie crumbs.

Since this was not the first such incident, I promptly hit Target that afternoon and bought a bicycle lock, which is now snaked through the handles of the cookie cabinet. And today, I bought the fixings for a cookie-decorating party with the cousins on Christmas Eve, because I am not the Grinch and it is, after all, Christmas. Oh, geez, it's Christmas, and the playroom needs to be cleaned out. Gotta go!