Attractive Nuisances

Under the law, an “attractive nuisance” is defined as “anything on your premises that might attract children into danger or harm.” Common examples of attractive nuisances include swimming pools, ponds, trampolines, and tree houses. But based on my personal experience, most homes are chock-full of attractive nuisances, inside and out.

My children, like most, apparently have radar which helps them find every attractive nuisance within reach (as well as many that are not). Whenever they enter an unfamiliar room, they instinctively make a beeline to the nearest electrical outlet, knife block, or breakable objet d’art in sight. In a familiar room, they know all the best trouble they can get into and they find it as soon as they can. If my kids are in the office and I leave the room for 30 seconds, when I come back my daughter is invariably playing with a letter-opener shaped like a sword and my husband’s checkbook. (The checkbook may not seem like a harmful object, but believe me, if she scribbles on or rips up the last check, her life will be in danger.) If they’re in the playroom and I leave to answer the phone, when I return I’m sure to find one or the other of them attempting to climb up the entertainment center containing hundreds of pounds of books and a large-screen television. In the kitchen, I don’t even need to leave the room, but just turn my back for a second, and two little hands are reaching for the burner knobs on the stove or stretching toward the delicate wine glasses on the sideboard.

Life itself, for a small child, is an attractive nuisance.

After all, to them, everything is attractive. Everything is new, and interesting, and curiosity-inspiring. Unlike me, they don’t know everything that’s in the junk drawer, nor what it is, nor what it’s for. So of course they want to dig and explore and examine. They’re too short to see what’s at the back of the counter, or on top of the fridge, or on a high shelf in the bathroom closet. So they try to climb up there and take a peek using whatever method they can find, be it stacking up toys or boxes, or scaling lower shelves, or swinging like a monkey from a nearby piece of furniture.

And unfortunately, to them, many things are also dangerous. A stove, when you know how to use it and you use it properly, is not dangerous. Nor is a sharp knife, nor a pair of scissors, nor an electrical outlet. These are all extremely useful, practical, even necessary items for modern life. But in the hands of a small, ignorant, curious child, all these things change from necessities to nuisances. 

Katie discovering the principles of elasticity via an attractive nuisance commonly called a bungee cord.

Ryan can even make paint an attractive nuisance, especially since it’s kept on top of the refrigerator.

Hopefully, they will outgrow their ignorance before they outgrow their curiosity, and hopefully before long the attractive nuisances will become attractive learning experiences. But until then, I guess I’ll just have to learn how to manage a couple of attractive nuisances of my own.

Boneless Baby

We’ve all seen the phenomenon: A perfectly healthy, normal baby is picked up by a parent or other adult and suddenly, without warning, the child’s bones seem to, well, evaporate. The child’s body melts and slips through the parent’s hands like unset jello. There are no longer shoulders to hook one’s hands under. There is no ribcage to be clasped. There are no hipbones to grab onto, no tailbone to tuck an arm underneath. The child’s entire body becomes structureless and slides effortlessly to the floor, which is where the child prefers to be. Every child seems to discover this miraculous ability in his first year or two of life. And he learns very quickly to use it to his advantage.

Ryan is no exception. He has mastered the art of dissolving his own skeleton instantaneously in order to avoid being picked up or put down. It’s like his own little superpower. And he has even learned to improve upon it by adding his own twist: the back arch. He goes from being a melted puddle to hurling his head backwards, arching his back, and locking his legs. The combination of the two moves makes it nearly impossible to move him from where he is to somewhere he doesn’t want to be. There’s not much of a choice other than to wait him out. He’s heavy enough that lifting the puddle of dead weight is nearly impossible, and he’s strong enough that sudden arch can rocket him out of my arms. Plus, the unexpected transition from molten lump to heavy, stiff board is enough to lose any tenuous grip I might have had.

So far I’ve managed to avoid dropping him on his head when he pulls this maneuver, at least from any significant height. The trickiest variation is when he pulls it off while I’m carrying him up or down stairs. I’ve honed my reflexes to the point that I can kneel on the stairs and catch him in my lap (barely) before he hits the ground, but one of these days I’m sure I won’t be quite quick enough. Fortunately, he’s getting to the point now where he’s beginning to recognize that when he does certain things, he hurts himself and probably shouldn’t do that again. So I’m hoping that one (gentle) fall on his head will cure him of pulling this stunt, at least in dangerous places like on the stairs.

Of course, by then he’ll probably have discovered something else dangerous but entertaining. And I have no doubt that this is just the beginning. When he’s a teenager, I’ll probably look back fondly on the toddler years and wish all I had to deal with was the possibility of him cracking his head open falling down the stairs, and not the possibility of him cracking his head open while riding a skateboard, or a motorcycle, or whatever other crazy and dangerous motorized vehicle has been invented by then. It’s a good thing I already color my hair – I don’t think I want to know how much more grey he’ll be causing me over the years.