Babies and Why I Growl at Them

I went to the internet this morning looking for an answer to a question that I had. Knowing the internet as well as I do, I figured there would have to be some line of logic or posting that covered (if only in part) the topic to which I sought answers. To my dismay, I found several entries that were about what I was asking but no real answer to the questions I had. So, being disappointed with the internet I have decided to layout my question here and see if I may find a response in the madness I call my own.

Roughly three months ago my sister by association gave birth to another baby. This one is in the same lineage of Tiny Face but is far tinier than his current face. I will refer to the brother of Tiny Face here as Beany Cakes. Moving on, Beany Cakes being a baby does roughly four things all day. He poops, he eats, he sleeps, and of course he cries. The last of which is at such a pitch that my wolf like ears almost bleed when Beany Cakes decides he is upset about something. I put up with crying to a point because you know he is a baby. Though there are times where even the immortal level of patience I have is pushed to a brink. When I get to that point I regular joke about punching the said baby in the face. Because if anything punching babies is the best form of anger management. Side bar to explain this understanding:

Say someone comes up to me and says they are angry. I would then tell them to hold on to their emotions while I go and get a baby for them to punch. If they are a normal person they will most likely protest to the idea of punching a baby. I then return with said baby (where did I get it, don’t worry about where I got it). I then hold up the baby and say punch it. The angry person will most likely again protest and say that I am crazy for suggesting such a thing. I then put the baby down and ask them if they are still angry. A good deal of the time they say no, they are rather shocked about being asked to punch a baby, and where did I get that baby anyways? I pat them on the head and congratulate them on being cured of their anger. I walk off and they are happy having been cured. The baby I assume goes back to its family and lives a life of love and fortune knowing it helped to cure someone’s anger issues. 

Back on topic, when I find that Beany Cakes is crying at such a rate that my ears are about to explode, and he is unwilling to stop no matter how many times I hit him in his face I find that I start to growl. It rises like a guttural hollow sound from the base of my spine. Gathering strength and resonance from my gut it climbs furiously up the back of my throat. Then it springs forth from my mouth in a cavalcade of bestial understanding. I can tell you that I am unsure where the growl comes from or to as why it shows up like that. I can, however, tell you that when I do growl at Beany Cakes he stops crying.

 Now he does not stop crying because he is scared or because he is shocked at what I have done. It would appear that he likes it when I growl at him. I know this because his crying turns into smiling, and he responds at times with a laugh or a giggle. I, of course, continue to growl at Beany Cakes till either his parents come to tend to him, or he decides it is time to do something else. Normally what he means by doing something else is performing some bodily function that requires an adult like person to check his pants.

So, I have explained the action and now must explain the question. Why is it babies or my nephew (who is a baby) responds to my growling as he does? Does it have something to do with the tone of the growl? Does it mimic a sound that they heard while in the uterus? It is because as our higher brains tell us we are no longer animal we forget that in the base of our genetic code is the memory of animal instincts? Is Beany Cakes some weirdo that enjoys the mimicked tones of a beast? Or is it the look on my face when I growl, which is can only imagine is a mix of anguish and horror. There has to be a reason for it. Hence, that is the reason I went to the internet. It is also the reason I am disappointed with the internet.

When I went out searching, I used the most logical search string “why do babies react to growling?” I got a few posts on dogs growling at babies and parents being freaked out by it. I then made the search string simpler by asking “babies and growling.” What I got for the results here was where I found disappointment with the internet. A good deal of the links Google offered me were moms looking for help because their babies are growling. I thought this was funny, so I decided to see what the posts were about.

Come to find out there are a lot of moms and parents out there that are either annoyed or disturbed by a growl-like noise that their babies make. Mom’s complaining about how it sounds gross and annoying. Other mothers are blaming their husbands or baby daddies for teaching their babies how to do it. And finally there was one mother that complained about it to her doctor only to be told that her tiny dog was not in fact a human child and in this way growling was perfectly normal. As you can see, the internet lets me down. One it did not provide an answer to my question and two it did not do the risk of the growing number of wolfling children justice. Seriously, it is apparent that their number is growing which could lead us to Wolf War III and honestly we don’t have enough silver to survive this one. So, the question I have now is where do I get the answer to my first question, and also where do I go to buy large quantities of silver?

Finally, after my ranting, and taking several hours to write this I think I have come up with an answer. I growl at Beany Face, and he likes it because like his brother, and like myself he is weird. There must be something in my tone when I growl. Or it could be that I am joking as I do it; making faces and whatnot. It could just be that my growl is that good and he finds it funny that a man of my talent lives in the basement of his parents’ house and is not a millionaire. If that truly is the reason he is laughing, then I am making a note now to punch him in his fat baby face when I get home tonight.

All in all, it is a funny interaction between the two of us. He cries, and I growl. It goes back and forth. I find it funny and in this way wanted to know if there was some higher or medical like purpose behind it. Maybe we are all wolves from birth and as we age we are less likely to scratch behind our ears because we are not as flexible as we are at birth. It could just be that the innate beast like instincts we so desperately hide from the world are at our core the reason we have survived as a species. If it howls like a wolf, hunts like a wolf, growls like a wolf, then it might just be human… eventually.

To close, I wanted to make sure and add Tiny Face to this post. This weekend he watched me play Witcher 3, which was just me running around picking up plants and him yelling at me to go find a bear. It was worth mentioning because eventually I had to go and hunt down some spiders. He was not concerned until he saw that there were spider babies. The conversation then went like this:

“Why are you hunting spiders?”

“Because they are eating people and I need to make sure they don’t eat my butts.”

“Oh, is there a mama spider?”

“Yes, she is the big one in the back.”

“Oh…NO! Don’t kill the baby spiders!”

“Why?”

“They are calm, they aren’t doing anything.”

“WHAT? They are biting my butts. See look they are coming right at me.”

“No, Uncle Jeff, they are nice spiders. You are mean and you should not hurt them.”

“Um, no.”

“Um, yes.”

“Um, no.”

“Um, yes…”

It went on like this until he found it funny when I died because the spiders had eat my butts. This ended the argument over whether or not baby spiders are calm. The said spiders are pictured below, judge for yourself.

Random Arguments with a Toddler: T-Rex Politics

Here for you enjoyment is this week’s Random Argument with a Toddler 

Over dinner, I was told by my associated brother (again may or may not be the oldest man in history) that my tiny faced nephew had something interesting to say on his way home from daycare. Apparently he was concerned that when he got home my T-Rex was going to eat all of his cars. It was at this point the argument began.

“Oh, is that, so Tiny Face?” I asked. A look of inquisitive dissonance painted across my face.”

“Yeah, your T-Rex is going to eat all the cars. Your orange T-Rex… will pick them up and eat them…RAAAAAAAAWWWWWR!” answered Tiny Face. He was eating, so most of his words were filled with the sound of chewing food. He is also very animated, meaning that his hand swung around a lot grabbing and crushing imaginary cars out of the air.

“Oh, I see, good to know,” I said.

“RAWR!” retorted Tiny Face.

The argument ended here so that we might all continue with dinner. This is most important for Tiny Face as he likes to play while eating. If I can do my part by not distracting him, then I am properly doing my job as his associated uncle. Not that he cannot distract himself (he is excellent at it) he just needs to focus while he is eating.

As is the habit right now in the house Tiny Face is the first to finish his meal. He is smaller and thus does not eat as much. Though when he does eat he can eat his fill. Point being is that he is done first and thus is the first to leave the table. This typically prompts him to ask this question.

“Can I have a lollipop?”

Now this is a learned behavior. In the house when the Tiny Face finishes dinner he gets either a candy or a lollipop (yes lollypops are candy, shut up, he’s three). This is so familiar that he started to assume that he would get a candy after every meal he finished. Breakfast, “can I have a lollipop!” Lunch, “can I have a candy?” Dinner, “can I have a lollipop and candy?” I do not agree with this practice because a kid does not need to be given a reward for doing something as common as eating. Also giving kids candy as a reward all the time defeats the purpose and can cause bigger issues when they are older. I am not the parent, and thus I cannot set the rules.(I digress, and yes will cover this ideology in another post later next week.)

Moving on, the kid finished his meal and asked for his lollypop. He was told to wait until we were all done. He pretended to be busy with the dog until his mother got up from the table. This action meant to Tiny Face that she was done, and so he again asked for this lollypop (see the connection I am making to my ranting? Sneaky, sneaky). Tiny Face got his lollypop and was immediately told to go sit down in the living room while he ate it.

Later, I finished my dinner and proceeded to clean up the table a little before moving into the living room. When I went to sit down, I found Tiny Face seated in one of the two recliners. His face was grave and a little zoned out as he continued to eat his lollypop. Think of it as someone crossing a road and trying not to step on any cracks out of respect for their mama’s back.

“My T-Rex is going to beat your T-Rex up,” said Tiny Face, still eating his lollipop.

“No, my T-Rex is going to punch your T-Rex in the face,” I said in return.

“My T-Rex has a sword… and, and he is going to cut your T-Rex up,” countered Tiny Face.

“My T-Rex has a laser gun, and he is gonna shoot your T-Rex. PEW PEW PEW PEW!” I argued.

“Well my aliens are going to come down and blow up all your T-Rexes and dinosaurs,” said Tiny Face’s older brother from the corner of the room.

“NO! That’s not fair!” yelled Tiny Face successfully ended the side argument with his brother.

“Okay good to know. My T-Rex is going to use your T-Rex’s sword and cut him up into little pieces,” I said putting the conversation back on track.

“No, you can’t do that,” said Tiny Face, desperately trying to win the fight.

“Oh really, well after my T-Rex cuts your T-Rex to pieces with a snick, snack, JEDI! My T-Rex is going to your T-Rex’s house, and he is going to eat your T-Rex’s car. Then he is going to take over his house. Then he is going to steal your T-Rex’s girlfriend,” I said trying to drive the point home.

“NO, YOU CAN’T!” cried Tiny Face. “My T-Rex is going to turn into a plane and blow your T-Rex up.”

“ now? Fine, my T-Rex is a bunch of Velociraptors in a T-Rex suit. They break free of their disguise and start to swarm your T-Rex in a pack.”

“No!”

 “They pounce on him.”

“No!”

“They rend the flesh from his bones.”

“NO!”

“They feast upon his guts and eat all his candy.”

“NOOOO!”

“They marry his girlfriend.”

“No.”

“They buy her a beautiful house and have six kids.”

“No!”

“They celebrate him on his birthday with a cake made from his bones!”

“NOOOOOO!”

“They… END HIM!”

“Nooooooooooooo!”

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

I tend to get worked up when I know I have him beaten. This, however, allows for Tiny Face to move without being noticed. This case was no different. I shouted out my victory for all in the house to hear so that they may know how mighty I am. Tiny Face used this to his advantage.

He somehow used telepathy to connect to the mind of his father calling out for help. I don’t have kids, so I don’t know how this works. I do know that my associated brother had entered the living room with a collection of bags he was preparing for Tiny Face’s upcoming overnight. Tiny Face himself had gotten out of his seat and was slowly creeping around me. I did not see this as I tend to throw back my head with evil laughter after defeating a child in a game of words.

“Hey Tiny Face, I think I know why you can’t find your screwdriver,” my associated brother said as he pulled from Tiny Face’s backpack a plastic screwdriver.

This is how Tiny Face tried to win the argument. He knew he did not have the words nor the knowledge of dinosaur society to defeat me. He did, however, understand the simple concept of fear. Seeing the plastic tool in my brother’s hand and the wicked smile on Tiny Face’s face I knew what was coming.

“Don’t you give that to him!” I cried out.

“Why not?” said my brother.

“Cause you know why!” I shouted back.

Tiny Face however had already taken the tool and now was moving in my general direction with a quickness. I being an adult got up from the chair and covered my bellybutton. I took the needed number of steps to the stairs, nodded an imaginary hat, and started making my decent to safety.

As I reached the bottom level I could hear the collective laughter of both Tiny Face and his father. It sounded like jerks, no judgement, but it did sound like two jerks. They laughed at what they had done. I went to my room. Argument over.

This ends this week’s Random Arguments with a Toddler. Join me next week as I most likely will write about how punching babies is this generation’s new anger management tool. Till then keep your kids happy, and your bellybuttons attached. 

Random Conversations with a Toddler

As I have been sick due to the germ factories in my house I have lacked in my post consistency. To correct that I now present to you a random conversation with a toddler. 

Morning Encounter – Entryway stairs

I typically head out of the house around 7:00 AM. I leave my living room area and close the door. I turn the hallway light off as I exit my area. I head up the small staircase to the front landing to get my shoes.

(A side note:  In Alaska it is customary for any entering into a house to remove their shoes. Most houses have a mud room or entry way that allow for those coming in to take their coats and hats off as well as their shoes. This is done to keep the snow or mud or whatnot from getting on carpets and nicer flooring. Does not matter if it is winter, this custom is a year around affair. It is something you will deal with if you ever come to Alaska. Be aware now if you have foot issues.)

This particular morning my tiny faced nephew was getting dressed by his father in the living room at the top of the stairs. I am not a small man, nor do I tread up stairs like a ninja early in the morning. Being as such the sound of clomping up the stairs was heard by all.

“Hey Tiny Face, who is that?” said my associated brother (who may or may not be the oldest man in history).

“UNCLE JEFF!” exclaimed Tiny Face.

He was not dressed. He frequently is not dressed as nudity in the household is something used to make Uncle Jeff feel uncomfortable. Please note there is never really any actual nudity. Diapers and underpants are the norms. There was one time, but I try not to recall it as I throw up in my mouth a little.

“I’m gonna punch you in the face,” I said as it is my customary greeting to Tiny Face.

He looked at me with a mix of false anger and goofy silliness; He raised his left hand in a fist to show me that he was ready to return my punch.

“Why don’t you show Uncle Jeff your screwdriver?” said my associated brother.
He used this distraction to leave the room and attend to the task of finding clothes and whatnot for Tiny Face.

Tiny Face moved toward the stairs and began to descend them with the pointer finger of his right hand extended. I had not heard what my associated brother had said. I was expecting a punch in the guts or something along those lines. I knew that something was coming because the tiny face of Tiny Face was wearing the trickster’s grim of Loki himself.

I prepared for the punch but was taken off guard when Tiny Face started to lift up my shirt. Lucky for me I wear an undershirt almost all the time. Seeing his task was not completed Tiny Face began to tug at my undershirt. I pushed down on my shirt to impede Tiny Face from getting any further. It is a little weird to have to fight a three-year-old for control of your clothing. I am sure parents everywhere understand this. If not, then please put clothes on you nudists. Unless of course you are a hot, single, lady looking for an educated, funny, gentleman to spend the rest of your life with. You can stay naked, I won’t judge.

“Hey! What are you doing? That’s my shirt,” I said batting his tiny hand away.

“I need to use my screwdriver,” he said while pointing his finger in the general direction of my belly button. At this stage, I had to stop and laugh due to the cold hand of fear beginning to climb the back of my neck.

This tiny SOB was going for my bellybutton to unscrew my legs. His small brain has worked out the concept of the threat, and he was actively willing to fire the first shot. I could see the events unfolding before me. My belly button was popping out of my torso causing my legs to loosen from my frame.  My legless body was crashing to the floor of the landing and wheedle wobble its way down the lower stairs to the basement. The worse fears of ages 5 – 9 of my life flashed before my eyes. I had to act quickly to bring my rational mind back into the present timeline.

“He is going to end me…” a tiny voice in my head whispered. “Quick man! Defend yourself before he manages a killing blow!”

I pointed my finger at the Tiny Face and pushed gently against his stomach. Being that I am much larger and far stronger than he is my push was enough to disable him. He fell back against the stairs and began to laugh. I poked at him a few more times to draw out laughter. Though it was effective because he laughed, it was more efficient because it re-established dominance between the two of us. I am bigger, and he should know that.

“I am going to use my screwdriver,” I said as I poked Tiny Face further.

“NO, I’m going to use my screwdriver!” returned Tiny Face.

This banter continued for a few moments. Tiny Face attempted to get at my shirt again but was swatted away like so many flies before him. He laughed, I laughed, and it was a grand ole’ time for the few moment we battled. Being the adult, I became aware of my need to get to work. I began to move away placing my feet into my shoes.

“Let’s play FIGHT,” said Tiny Face. His tiny fist raised up at me as if we were going to recreate a fight from the video game Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out.

“I can’t, I have to go to work,” I explained.

“Let’s play… hide and seek,” he whispered in my ear as I knelt down to fix my shoe.

“I can’t, I have to go to work,” I explained again.

At this point, he stood up from the stairs and tried to play with my shirt again. I took his tiny hand and gave him a hug goodbye. He looked at my shirt and started to trace the large X of my shirt’s design. He looked like he was thinking about stabbing me in the belly button again. I waited to react to his attack when he spoke.

“You should go to the moon,” he said finishing his tracing.

“What do you mean go to the moon?” I asked.

“You should go to the moon, so you can see the moon,” spoke Tiny Face very plainly as if it made perfect sense.

“Um, well that would be nice, and I would like to go to the moon,” I said. “But I have to go to work.”
“Okay,” he said returning my hug.

I hugged him back. Turning toward the door I opened it enough to get out without the chance of Poseidon “Dog of the Sea” to escape. I walked out the door and began to close it when I hear this.

“Okay, I’ll see you this morning!”

“Okay, I’ll see you this evening,” I corrected.

“Okay, whatever, bye,” he returned making his tiny way back up the stairs.

I closed the door and walked to my car. I got in and started it up still trying to figure out where he had gotten the idea of going to the moon. I looked down and checked my shirt. That day I was wearing my 13PAX shirt. A shirt I had bought when my friends and I had made the awesome trip down to Seattle for PAX Prime 2013. I looked carefully at the picture and found that the X was designed to look like the D pad of a video game controller. In the middle of that X is a round white circle. A circle that looks a lot like how a toddler would image the moon.

“Huh. Clever devil,” I said as I turned the key in the ignition.

Screwdrivers and their use on the removal of bellybuttons...

Over the years I have either been a part of or been in proximity to conversations with kids. The conversations themselves run a wide gambit of topics such as dirty diapers or cleaning a room. Conversations on why candy cannot be had after breakfast. Interjections of how it is not practical to stand on a chair. Quips over thoughts on what color dinosaurs are and why they are trying to eat us. Both compliments and complaints for which ever food dish is sitting on the table at that moment. Conversations of any type, topic, or length. Talking with your kids, and to kid in general, is something of great importance. Talking to a baby in baby talk does not really help them learn how to properly say widdle, I mean little. 

The point is talking to kids helps them learn how to speak. Helps them to decipher understanding and reasoning. Helps them know that there is a difference between a question and an argument (the difference is not the use of a question mark). Point for point talk to your kids. But what things were we told as kids that somehow have worked into the conversations we are having with children now? An example of this something my grandfather, Dr. David K. Spindle M.D., used to say to me. 

“Jeff, if you don’t behave I am going to go get my screwdriver. Then I am going to unscrew your bellybutton and make your legs fall off.” 

Now from a medical standpoint any layman knows that the bellybutton has nothing to do with how your legs are attached to your body.  We know that the leg is broken into five parts; upper leg, knee, lower leg, ankle, and foot. None of which are directly linked to the bellybutton. The legs themselves stretch from the hip which connects below the abdomen. There is a whole section of the body between where your legs and your bellybutton exist. The flesh of the legs does stretch into the skin of the abdomen but only by passing through the groin and pelvic areas. 

The bellybutton is the keepsake we take with us from birth. It is the location of the umbilical cord, which was used to feed us in utero. The belly button forms after the umbilical cord is cut. Some of us have inward developed bellybuttons, or inies. Others have outward developed bellybuttons, or outies. Neither part of the body has to do with the other except for that period of time we developed in utero. Also as there is nothing for the screwdriver to take hold of other than naked flesh the use of such a device would be ineffective in the removal of a leg.

It is far too small and at times not pointy enough to get the job. Unless of course you are very, very small and your attacker is the size of a large townhouse. Anyhow, no matter how you claim it the science is not yet sound enough for one to use a screwdriver to remove their own or another person’s legs.

The counterpoint my inner child has the reasoning I have given goes as such. My grandfather was for close to 50 years a neurosurgeon. That means he was a brain surgeon. When people say, “it’s not brain surgery,” nine times out of ten to my grandfather it actually was. He had a medical degree that set him apart from the common know it all or today’s WebMD sites. So to a small child like myself at the time it made perfect sense. Grandpa was a doctor, he knew things about the body I could not even comprehend. Even as I got older it still scared me a little because I could easily see the connection between the legs and belly button when I pulled part GI Joe figures. Their legs literally were attached to their body by a rubber band. That rubber band could in fact be removed from the body with a screwdriver. The first time I did it I believe ended up running around the house yelling, “GRANDPA WAS RIGHT! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL HOLY AND GOOD IN THE WORLD GRANDPA WAS RIGHT!” I mean when I was 6 how in the hell was I to know that I was not just a rubber band connected to a hook in my stomach. (Yes, there were many ways to know that. Shut up, brain. I am trying to write.) 

As you can see what I was told as kid affected me greatly, so much so that recently I used the same phony treat on my own nephew. Out of nowhere we were talking about me punching him in the face and him retuning said punch to my own face. This is no reason to call child services. It is a rarity if either of us is actually punched in the face. When it does happen it is only hard enough to rattle teeth, not loosen them. The point is while I we were having this perfectly normal argument I inadvertently said out loud, “I am going to go get my screwdriver and then use it to unscrew your belly button and make your legs fall off.” The shared look of surprise on both my nephew’s and I’s faces was rather haunting. He had never heard me say such a thing. I had never intended to say such a thing to him. Like any time a child cusses it just slipped out. 

So, you can only imagine now the images running through my nephew’s head. For reference his favorite show is Disney’s Doc McStuffins.

A show about a young girl who can bring toys to life so that she may diagnose and treat their aliments. The show is a good one but because it uses the power of imagination my nephew had probable cause to both understand and enact my threat. His little mind could see the practical application of a screwdriver being used to remove the legs of a person or toy. I mean honestly Doc McStuffins does such things all the times. One of the medical tools her playset comes with is a screwdriver. As I watched him process what I said I thought to myself, “oh crap, he is going to believe and even use the threat against me.” Nothing came from the conversation. Everything passed without conflict or loss of life and/or limb. I figured it was a onetime thing and there was no further need to worry. I was by all accounts the guy from a horror film who knows the monster on the loose and still goes out to check on a noise. No worries, I’ll be right back. Yeah, that guy.

A week or so passed and again my nephew and I were playing. I told him he needed to clean up and go to the dinner table. He, being three, started to whine and fake cry (two skills he has mastered). Out of nowhere again I made the bellybutton threat. My nephew stopped whining, looked me in the eye, and laughed. He then proceeded to go to his doctor station and remove his screwdriver. He walked over to me and proceeded to attack my bellybutton. I being bigger and strong quickly took the screw driver out of his hand and turned the attack on him. This went on for short while until we were both told to come to the table. The point is that he had put two and two together and figured out that it was equal to any threat I made, he could use himself. He could use a screwdriver to remove my bellybutton just as I could do it to him. The kid, as always, is too damn smart for his own good. 

This back and forth bellybutton war did not end with the one incident. 

Later in the week when my nephew did not like what I had to say at the table pointed at me and proceeded to make claims on my bellybutton. We went back and forth in a normal argumentative fashion. I was going to get my screwdriver, he was going to get his screwdriver. I was going to remove his bellybutton, he was going to remove my bellybutton. I was going to make his legs fall off, he was going to make my legs fall off. It went on and on for some time. We spoke at large volumes with pointed fingers and a smile most of the time. 

All and all the point I am making is that we need to be careful with what he talk to kids about. Not so much in the way to shield or protect them, but more so that we don’t wake up in the middle of the night with a plastic screwdriver hovering about our midsections and a small child laughing wickedly in the dark. Something like that will disprove to your kids that you are not supposed to pee in the bed. 

Please be aware of what you talk to your talks about. Be aware of the silly jokes you were told when you were young. Remember and reuse the odd ball facts and stories you were regaled with. The only reason we know so much about where we came from is because for generations we shared the stories of where we had been. 

Make a habit to share with your kids or the kids you are around the most. They will laugh as you once did. They might even prove to be smarter that you were at age. It depends on how much imagination you pour into the batch. You can never use too much, the purpose is to share not to perfect. Talk with your kids, even if it is to remind them you still have screwdriver and you still know how to remove belly buttons.