Unexpected Impacts In The Life of a Two Year Old of Having Unemployed Parents

We're well into our first official week of my wife's unemployment. So far so good, we took a day trip out to a local regional park, went walking along one of its scenic yet child friendly trails and discovered that our kid doesn't like to walk about halfway through the trail. This made the remaining half of the walk a sort of mind game between us. He would pout and demand to be hugged which is code for "carry me to the car now!" and we would pretend we were in a race or try to bribe him with mango juice. At the end of the trip we resolved to take him out walking more to break those legs in but so far we've sat around at home. 

His refusal to walk uphill or along trails came as a genuine shock to me as he actually loves climbing up stairs and escolators, or as he calls them, "lello-latows". But then again, I should have figured that his love wasn't for the walking or the exhilaration of defeating a challenging set of staircases.... no, for him the exhilaration came from machine itself. The endless row of little metal teeth that magically transformed itself into steps, that danger at the end when the teeth magically reappear and try to grab at your toes.

Now that I think about it, there's a near endless list of things mechanical and man made that he loves. For starters, wheels. He loves wheels. He touches them endlessly and points them out with the sort of glee that usually only prospectors who have found the motherload can muster. He loves things things attached to wheels, wagons, cars, the lazy susan in the cupboard that now lives in the closet because we had to hide it from him he loves it so much.  He loves elevators which share the same name with escolators which sometimes lead to bitter anguished tears when the elevator is placed close to the escalator and I can't figure out which he is demanding to ride on and usually ends up with us going up one, down the other and up again. He loves airplanes and trains, little yellow bulldozers and turning the light switch on and off as he shows his mastery over our little electron slaves.

But he does have a nemesis in the mechanical world. Electric motors. The type found in vacuum cleaners. Their angry high pitched whine drives him to heights of terror and panic. His fear and dread are very real to him and the mere act of taking out the vacuum cleaner has him running to his room in anxious aversion. In the past he would stand there in stark terror, eyes filled with tears as I vacuumed the remains of the cheerios that failed to meet their end in his devouring maw but now he runs. And to him, it must seem like I'm chasing him with it as I methodically work from room to room. He runs to find refuge only to find the vacuum cleaner whiring its way down the hall slowly towards him, back and forth, back and forth, closer and closer the glowing lamp at the front of its head like some evil glowing eye. Our son has come to name his terror, it's the green dinosaur and it lives in our hallway closet. He tells us stories about his nemesis, "Green dinosaur eat Ainan!" he'll tell us at night if he's in particular need of reassurance. 

Not because I was lazy and more keen on watching the television but out of love did I abstain from vacuuming. Rarely did the green dinosaur emerge from his den, instead the little hand vacuum had to make due cleaning up the little crumbs, random cheerios and the other debris and detritus that a two year old produces as he eats. No more though, with my wife home to act as a shield and guardian, a hand maiden (well, not anymore) of virtue to protect our son the vacuum cleaner is out in force. My heart sings with joy as I hear it weasle out little bits of dirt from the carpet, the crunch crunch of little bits of dried cereal being worked out of the nylon forest and into the HEPA sealed plastic depository of dust and debris. Cheerfully I watch as it marks its progress in the closet the whine of the motor masking out the cries of a frantic two year old as he runs from room to room screaming in terror, the Wife chasing after him trying to reassure that which cannot be assured. 

When the chore is done, my son stands over me as I coil up the power cord. Insisting upon seeing his mortal enemy put away properly, sealed into its den once more.