No More Monkeys Jumping on the Bed

I have been on a mission to break some bad habits around our house. The kids love standing and walking on our bed and the living room furniture. They don't carefully sit when asked, instead they smile, jump, tuck, and land like a cannonball on the furniture, often careening off the furniture and falling to the floor.

When fathers see their kids doing dangerous things, "Daddy Vision" is engaged. They become conscious that their kids seem to be completely surrounded by perils. Walls seem to leap toward them and every sharp cornered cabinet in the house seems to relocate itself into their path. Edges, corners, toys, and clutter lay in wait every time your child falls, runs or jumps.

Norah and Justin have performed countless breath-taking stunts lately, many of which during the time Heather is at work. At these times Daddy foresees an imminent need for stitches or an emergency dentist, and has no means of transporting his baby to help, while simultaneously making the prideful plea "God, just don't let this happen on my watch!"

This kind of caring paranoia has driven my mission to stop the dare-deviltry, or at least slow it down, and limit it to safer areas. However, thousands of attempts at behavior modification seem to have reaped no appreciable benefit, other than comfort me that I've made an honest attempt.

After bath time last night I was dressing the kids on our bed when Norah began her normal acrobatic routine. Justin was halfway dressed when Norah took a wild leap and ran face-first into the window frame. She immediately crashed to the bed, sobbing wildly, head in hands. Evidently her head hurt everywhere, because she couldn't decide what part of her head to hold. Her hands migrated back and forth from her eyes to her mouth. A bruise instantly darkened along her eye socket, and the swelling was well underway before she could even lift her head off the bed.

Learning is generally made easier when examples are cited on the spot, so I debated between explaining a life lesson or holding her and assuring her she was all right. I did both. She seemed happy and actually held still as I placed an icepack on her face after she calmed down. The swelling quickly subsided, and things were back to normal, although I caught her periodically touching her face throughout the rest of the evening.

After a little first aid Norah stood up on the living room chair, producing a paternal eyebrow raise from across the room. She abandoned her customary canonball dismount and calmly, carefully eased into a seated position after a gentle reminder. For now I think the song about monkeys jumping on the bed may take on new meaning, at least for an evening.