Freedom, baby

Peyton has been developing such a funny little personality. He likes to say "Hi" to total strangers. We're a family of introverts, so this part is new to us. The thing is, he's choosy. He doesn't go after the grandmotherly types who fawn all over him, or even motherly types who tell him how cute he is. He likes a challenge. He only says "Hi" to the cranky man or woman with the downward gaze and averted eyes of a person on a mission of great importance for, let's say, the government. Or Gene Simmons (he strikes me as somebody you don't want to do a poor job for.) Know what I mean? The W.C. Fields types who have "I hate kids" tattooed on themselves somewhere, or who clearly think the effort of returning a 19 month old's "Hi" is beneath them. That's when P-dog goes to work. "Hi!" "Hi!" "Hi!" over and over, each greeting working harder than the last. (Yeah, that's right. W.C. Fields. I said it. Google him.)

I'm such a sap, because it always bothers me that the people he's "Hi"ing never ever turn around and throw him a bone. Ever. So I end up saying hi to him for them, as a sort of a "they suck, but don't worry, I'll always be here to say Hi to" consolation prize. I seriously doubt he notices the difference, but I'm in there, plugging away at the positive language reinforcement, so that I can regret it later when he turns 9 and recites for me all in one breath the entire L.A. Lakers roster, complete with alternates and coaching staff. (I have one of those already.)

He's also big into independence. This is fine for his overall development, but frankly it stinks when I have to go to the bathroom, or take groceries in, or pull the laundry out of the washer . . . basically when I have to do something that requires both hands, both eyes and most of my brain. It's a given these are things I can't hold a baby while doing, but things that I am negatively reinforced in if I put them off (see the bathroom entry). Again, this is when Peyton springs into action. Today, I had to bring in the groceries. I had frozen food in there, so I couldn't put it off. Peyton was in the yard in a safe location, next to the car, looking at a leaf.

See? There he is. Just fine. Enjoying nature. The kitchen is only about 20 steps away, to and from. I'll just take a bag of groceries in to the kitchen. I mean, it's not far at all. Ten seconds, tops. Maybe less at a light jog. He'll be just fine right where he is, long enough for me to get this bag of melting food inside.

Yeah, right.

When I came back out, he was past the circle drive and nearly three houses down, running at full crazy-happy-drunk toddler speed. This is a picture of him coming back after finally heeding my impassioned pleas, smiling all the way. "Looooookit me!"

Freedom, baby.