As I sit in front of Tom and Jerry in the other room, working on my latest photos of the newborn, Lilly was trying to give her a bath while our 22 month old was tormenting her with frantic screaming and torturous whining. He wanted to take a bath also. For twenty minutes I bore witness to this scene. And no, I couldn’t pry him away from the bath if I tried, which I did. My wife was pleading with him to stop throwing things, stop crying, to stop acting crazy, and to stop repetitively sliding and banging the glass shower door into the side of her head.
I grabbed some OJ from the fridge, walked into the bathroom singing, ‘OOOOJJJJJJJ……O O O O OJ’. And you know what. He stopped smashing the door into my wife’s head and grabbed the OJ. Sat on the floor next to her and watched our newborn get a bath in relative silence as he slurped it down.
And you know what happened to me? Can you believe what happened to me? I got scolded by the wife because I gave him more OJ. Because a second cup of OJ today was too much. Two is too much OJ. Even in the midst of him being near impossible to handle while Lilly was tending the newborn. OJ, such a simple and benign fix. And yet I was yelled at! Lilly was pleading for me to help, and I helped. I calmed down the raging boy, bringing peace and harmony into our home. And I got yelled at. Need I say, I don’t understand?
