Superstition

In baseball when a pitcher has prevented the other team from achieving a hit for an entire game they earn the accomplishment of throwing a no-hitter.  This is extremely rare and is only achieved by about two pitchers each year (only 287 pitchers in Major League Baseball history since 1875).  Baseball like many sports is fairly supersitious, so if the pitcher is throwing a no-hitter you aren't allowed to talk about what's happening or talk to the pitcher for fear of jinxing them.

For the past month or two Chris and I were throwing a parenting no-hitter when it came to Jack.  I've learned the hard way  He was social, chatty, learning new words and skills every day.  He was finally starting to take a serious interest in potty training and using the toilet 90% of the time at daycare and about 60% of the time at home (which doesn't sound like a huge feat, but trust me - it is).

Last Monday I had my final meeting with Jack's special needs consultant.  Everything she had to report was positive.  He was exceeding all of the program's goals and was well on route to being "Kindergarten Ready".  In fact he was doing so well, that the file was being closed two sessions early.  Everyone gushed at how polite and kind Jack was and how he'd even become an example for other students.  We'd done it!  I was so excited.

I called Chris from the parking lot of the subway station on my way into work post meeting and boasted at how awesome our Jackie was doing.  That night it was as if someone had thrown a regression switch.  He was hitty, he was tantrumful and he crapped his pants, something he hadn't done during the day in quite some time.  Each night he asked me where his friend, the special needs consultant, had gone.  We tried explaining, but it didn't matter much.  Evenings were difficult and when we checked in at daycare we found he was being consistently challenging.  He was spending more time on the "timeout" chair than anywhere else.  It was exhausting.  We had officially talked during a no-hitter and were jinxed.

On Saturday during nap/quiet time Molly and Jack were fighting like cats and dogs.  Eventually Chris decided to separate them, allowing Molly to rest in our spare room.  Jack was livid.  He spun, kicked at the door and yelled in the nursery for about 20 minutes before he finally calmed down and went to sleep.

Later that afternoon, while Molly and I went grocery shopping, Chris tidied the nursery while Jack slept, hard.  As he cleaned he came across a victim of one of Jack's most recent tantrums:

When I got home and Chris showed me the wreckage, we called both kids into the kitchen and sat them down in front of the broken book and asked what happened.  Molly shrugged.  It became immediately apparent that the destruction occurred after they had been separated. Jack began to weep.  He sobbed that he was mad at daddy. We explained to him that destruction of property, especially his own, probably wasn't the best solution.   He cried more.  I made him apologize to Molly, because the book was hers too.  They hugged, we all hugged and he cried a little more, telling us about why he was sad.  He was golden for our sitter L that night, and Sunday was a step in the right direction.

Let's hope that Jack's going to start moving in the right direction again and that no further books are harmed in the wake of the next melt down.

To read about my jinxing my kids sleeping click here.

To read about Jack's mid-session update click here.

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Take Me Out to the Ball Game

In Major League Baseball there is a rarity known as the "perfect game".  In order to achieve this anomaly a pitcher must last a minimum of nine innings without allowing any opposing batter to make it onto base (this includes walks or a hit player).  A perfect game has only been achieved 21 times in the modern era of baseball. 

There is a lot of superstition in baseball.  So much so that when players suspect their pitcher is on their way to a perfect game (or even a no hitter), they stop talking to him so as not to jinx them.  

In my three year stint in the major league of parenting I've learned a lot.  There aren't any umpires to call the shots, there isn't a rule book and really most of the time it's governed by Marshall law as we stumble our way through.  However, that doesn't mean that the territory comes without superstition.

For a while now I've realized that if I ever marvel at what wonderful sleepers the minions are, or even give the slightest bit of toddler sleep advice to anyone else that I will automatically jinx myself to sleepless nights. This self-imposed jinx comes in the form of a sleep regression that lasts anywhere from one night to two weeks.  I've learned the hard way and I try not to talk about it.

Last week while we were up at the cottage with family, in close quarters and a shared space with three other adults, Chris took it upon himself to brag that Molly and Jack never get up in the middle of the night any more.  Jinx.  Was I surprised when I was up at 1:00AM because Molly had fallen out of bed and needed to be comforted?  Not really, because my husband had already provided the kiss of death.  Did I elbow Chris to to take the next shift at 3:30AM when I (and everyone else in the cottage) heard a blood curdling scream from the boy?  Yes, because he talked to the pitcher during a no hitter and this was all his fault.  It turns out the birthday cake that Jack had shared with his cousins earlier that night didn't agree with him and he threw it up in three neat little piles all around the bases (all over his sheets and comforter).  Chris thumped back across the cottage to whip on the light and called in the reliever: me.  As I worked to I changed him into clean, significantly less barf covered uniform, Chris soaked the puke sheets in the bathtub and Molly gave us running, colour commentary loud enough for everyone in the cottage to hear.  We were finally all back in bed half an hour later.

Defeated Molly after her no-hitter was ruined (AKA daddy put her Barbies into her backpack).

As I said to Chris the next morning, surely that was just a dream, because our kids NEVER get up in the middle of the night any more!  The next time Chris talks to the pitcher I'm dumping a cooler of Gatorade on his head.

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