"I found the remote"

My wife, a veritable saint, has let me sleep in (or at least approximate sleeping in, what with our children being as they are). This morning, when she left our room, she didn't lock the door on the way out; this gives our two-year-old, who has mastered the secret art of opening doors, ingress to the room.

For the most part, he stayed out, but around 7, he decided he wanted to watch T.V. in our room, so he came in. I was waking at the time anyway, but decided I'd keep my eyes closed and play "sleeping" to see whether he'd leave or not. Instead, he found the remote control, and brought it to me to operate the T.V., a skill which he has yet to acquire.

Now, Joshua is the most innocently persistent being on the face of the planet. He will repeat his desire unendingly without ever raising his voice or showing signs of impatience (well, sometimes, that is - if it involves food or drink, it's a whole different story). Bringing the remote to the bedside, he stated his request in his roundabout way, "I found the remote." I decided that I would experiment - "Daddy, I found the remote." - to see how long he would go, so I kept - "I found the remote. Daddy, I found the remote." - pretending to sleep.

"I found the remote." The written word cannot capture the tone or rhythm of the words - "Daddy, I found the remote." The rhythm is syncopated, the tone steady except for a slight rise in pitch on the first syllable of remote: de-de-de-DE-dah - "I found the remote. Daddy (slight pause) I found the remote."

On and on it goes. Josh gently presses the remote closer and closer with each repetition. It's under my chin, now, cold plastic. "I found the remote, Daddy, I found the remote." I roll over. He climbs onto the bed, the sheet tugging as he pulls himself up. Then he climbs over me, knees digging into me. Once over the other side, he continues: "I found the remote."

Again the cold plastic is in my chin. Again I roll over, but I'm wearing down; a chuckle is welling up inside. He climbs over me again. "Daddy, I found the remote." And he has won; the chuckle cannot be controlled, though I try, and it comes out as a snort of laughter.

As I write this now, the T.V. is on, Sesame Street is showing, but Josh has awayed and left me alone. The same old story. You'd better believe, were I to turn off the T.V., he'd be back within a few minutes.

I'd better go now. Joseph is screeching to the world, "I'm awake." I can hear mommy preparing the morning bottle, and Joshua has begun his other chant, "Can I have some Pediasure?" Off I go.