psy·chol·o·gy: (4) mental ploys or strategy

I think I was the only one of my friends who didn't take Psych in my first year of university. They all laughed about the non-cumulative exam and throwaway term papers and quizzes that each represented tiny fractions of the overall score...

I fixed my face in an intelligent frown and thought myself all the wiser for filling first semester with calculus, physics, and chemistry.

So begins my re-education.

pas·sive-ag·gres·sive [pas-iv-uh-gres-iv]:

Rascal is 2 (I may have mentioned this!). We're not totally sure how much he understands. Probably a lot more than we think. I was in the hot tub with him this afternoon and was trying to play a game with him. He wouldn't even make eye contact.

Is he deaf? No, he understands certain things perfectly, like "cookie" or "papa's home". We have come to realize that when he doesn't want to do certain things, he will simply ignore us. Cajoling, threatening, wheedling... no effect whatsoever.

Ok, fine, two can play at this game. I'll just sit back against the jets and relax. My eyes are closed, I'm mentally going through my day and week ahead. Moments of peace and quiet are few and far between.

self-as·ser·tion [self-uh-sur-shuhn]:

Suddenly I'm hit by a spray of water. It's Rascal spitting like a beluga whale on my hair. I'm really ticked but under control, just what he wants. So far my training is coming along nicely.

He's laughing with delight, and after a minute I too see the humor in the situation and lighten up. He says something about a ball, climbs out of the tub, and heads into the house. I assume he's going to get some water toys to play with, and since I know my husband's inside somewhere and can surely prevent anything serious from happening I stay in the tub and relax. Close my eyes againnnnnnnnn.....

Once again ripped back into reality with a splash but am slower to react as I assume it's his ball. Well, as the picture gave away, it was actually his snack from earlier... opened.

He's really cracking up now. Quickly climbs back down and heads for the stack of towels, bathrobes and slippers. I can see where this is going, so I jump out after him, snatch him up and head inside.

I'm really annoyed now, so he's gotta expect to be put in Time Out. But first a brief reprieve, since he needs to be changed into a fresh diaper and clothes. Of course he manages to escape as I'm digging for the necessary items and won't come back despite the extremely effective counting method.

Goes something like this: "You come back here! One, two, two-and-a-half..... ththththththrrrreeeeee....." Very effective.

de·ni·al [di-nahy-uhl]:

I'll get back to you on that.