As I write this blog entry the kids are leaping off the coffee table and onto the couch. I'm not doing anything to stop them.
The "leap" is no problem for Jade, but it's a bit of a stretch for 17-month-old Halia. Halia, who is a combination of one-part Evil Knievel and one-part tornado, knows no boundaries.
"No" doesn't mean "no" to Halia. To her, "no" is a word that means "Oooh, a challenge!"
I'm letting them jump from the couch and on to the coffee table because I'm hoping that Halia will start to learn some limits: To realize that she needs to think twice before attempting to defy gravity. To realize that she isn't invincible.
I'm waiting for the "BONK!" followed by the crying, and am eagerly anticipating the life-long lesson that Halia will learn.
It's a good idea in theory, I think.
In practice, it's another matter altogether. I've heard the bonk three times but there has been no crying. The falls have been impressive. She falls short of the couch, hits the cushion with her chest, bounces backward off the cushion and then whacks the back of her head on the coffee table. But there has been no crying. Instead, she gets right back up and tries again.
Once again, my kids are teaching me a thing or two. This time it's a lesson about persistence.
And then I hear a bonk followed by some crying. It's Jade. She's fallen between the coffee table and the couch and has bonked her chin. She's crying and I say, "Halia didn't cry when she fell." Instantly, Jade stops crying.
After asking me to kiss it better, she confidently declares, "I won't ever bonk my chin again."