#12 – The Kid Has Cheat Codes
PAPACITO #12
I've started to suspect that the Toothless Troublemaker is cheating.
I don't know where he's getting his cheat codes from, but he definitely seems to have found some. And the worst part is that he uses them with absolutely no shame.
I've always imagined that children's toys have some kind of educational purpose. That they're supposed to develop problem-solving skills, perception, motor skills and all the other wonderful things the manufacturers promise on the packaging.
Apparently, the kid disagrees.
And this isn't limited to toys.
I've started noticing that the Toothless Troublemaker has developed his own unique approach to solving everyday problems.
And I'm usually the one who suffers the consequences.
WHY MAKE IT DIFFICULT?
The Toothless Troublemaker has one of those shape-sorting toys where you're supposed to drop different shapes through their matching holes into a box.
Circle through the circle. Square through the square. Triangle through the triangle.
You know the concept.
So do I.
Apparently, the kid sees no point in it.
I was sitting next to him, watching as he examined the box and the shapes. I was already preparing to witness that magical moment when he would figure out which shape belonged in which hole.
Then the little bastard lifted the entire lid off.
Dropped the shapes into the box.
Job done.
WHAT THE FUCK?
I had been expecting a breakthrough in fine motor skills and problem-solving.
He had simply solved the problem.
Without even needing to know what the hell a triangle was.
I found myself wondering which one of us had actually misunderstood the assignment.
I thought the shapes were supposed to go through the little holes.
The kid thought the shapes were supposed to go inside the box.
Period.
At no point had he signed a contract stating that the lid had to stay on.
And there I was, sitting on the floor, a university-educated grown man, explaining to a baby that his perfectly functional solution was wrong.
Because that's not how you're supposed to do it.
Why?
Well, because...
Because I said so?
Fuck.
I'm already starting to sound like my own parents.
HANDS ARE OVERRATED
Another thing I've noticed is that the Toothless Troublemaker refuses to let anatomy limit his problem-solving abilities.
We adults generally use our hands to get things done.
For example, to take off our socks.
The Toothless Troublemaker has apparently decided that's a complete waste of effort.
If a sock needs to come off, he folds himself in half, grabs it with his mouth and starts pulling.
The same goes for mittens.
Why use your hands when you've also got a mouth?
And two teeth.
TWO.
And those two little teeth don't even have opposing teeth to work against yet.
Still, they've already caused more destruction than some adults manage with a full set.
I've been trying to dress the kid so we can go outside.
Meanwhile, he's been trying to undress himself.
With his mouth.
There's something truly special about finally wrestling a pair of mittens onto tiny hands, only to realise the other party has already started removing them before you've even managed to fasten his jacket.
I dress him.
He undresses.
I dress him again.
He undresses again.
And then we wonder why we're always in a hurry.
THE STAFF HAVE BEEN TRAINED
The Toothless Troublemaker has an absolutely unbelievable obsession with cream jars.
Not toys.
Not books.
Cream jars.
The cream jars at the far end of the changing table in the utility room are apparently the most fascinating objects in the world.
And he must get his hands on them.
PROBLEM:
The Toothless Troublemaker can barely fit on the changing table while sitting anymore. His head is starting to hit the overhead cabinets, and there's about as much room as in an economy-class aeroplane toilet.
But that doesn't slow the little man down.
If the cream jars are out of reach, he begins a determined expedition.
Full speed ahead towards the jars.
And at that point, changing a nappy turns into a wrestling match.
I'm supposed to change the nappy, stop the kid from crawling across the table and make sure his head doesn't hit the cabinets.
All at the same time.
At that point, I have two options.
Either I continue wrestling and try to change the nappy.
Or I hand over a cream jar.
I hand over a cream jar — all of them.
These days, I offer them up before the little guy has even had time to plan his escape attempt.
The nappy gets changed.
The kid stays put.
Everyone's happy.
Except I've started wondering which one of us is actually in charge here.
He doesn't even need to start a protest anymore.
All he needs is for me to know what will happen if the cream jar isn't delivered on time.
The staff have been trained.
OUTSOURCE THE HOUSEWORK
The Toothless Troublemaker has also taken responsibility for supervising the cleanliness of our home.
Not the cleaning itself, obviously.
The supervision.
We keep our pushchair indoors, which means leaves, sand and tiny stones occasionally end up on the floor.
And no matter how hard you try to keep the place clean, something always turns up somewhere.
Or at least the Toothless Troublemaker finds something.
I can walk past the same leaf fifteen times without noticing it.
The Toothless Troublemaker spots it from the other side of the room.
And immediately heads over to retrieve it.
With his mouth.
Which means picking up the kid, removing the leaf and getting the vacuum cleaner out.
And this keeps happening.
We no longer need to think about when it's time to vacuum.
The Toothless Troublemaker lets us know.
Usually by trying to eat something off the floor that definitely shouldn't be eaten.
And that's not all.
We also have a robot vacuum cleaner that's supposed to make the cleaning easier.
Supposed to.
The Toothless Troublemaker has discovered another fascinating device that absolutely must be investigated.
And, of course, every button must be pressed.
The robot vacuum is so popular that we've had to activate its child lock.
Which is actually a wonderful example of technological progress.
We bought a machine to reduce the amount of housework.
And now I have to stop the kid from using it.
I've come to the conclusion that we don't have a baby living with us.
We have a quality control manager.
And I'm his cleaner.
WHO'S REALLY CHEATING HERE?
When I think about these situations, it becomes pretty obvious that the Toothless Troublemaker has already learned something that's taken me considerably longer to understand.
You don't have to do everything the way somebody else planned it.
If the shapes won't fit through the holes, take the lid off.
If your hands aren't up to the job, use your mouth.
And if something is too far away or the floor needs cleaning, put Papacito to work.
And every single time, it works.
And these are just the examples that came to mind while sitting here.
I've spent years studying, working, solving problems and improving processes.
I even have a master's degree in Lean management.
You know, the whole business of making processes more efficient, eliminating unnecessary work and getting things done as sensibly as possible.
And now there's a little guy sitting here at home who can't even talk or walk yet, but has already managed to outsource part of the housework to me.
Without a single meeting.
Without an improvement plan.
Without a PowerPoint presentation.
And most importantly, without paying me a single penny.
I'm slowly beginning to realise that, out of the two of us, the Toothless Troublemaker might actually be the one running this household.
I'm just the one carrying out the orders.
And the next time he takes the lid off the shape-sorting box, I'm not going to argue.
Because technically, he's right.
And apparently, I'm wrong.
AGAIN.