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2001-07-23 | 9:46 a.m.

I trip over Jasper's new scooter in the kitchen and blow a fuse. Ranting loudly about how scooters should not be ridden in the house, I fold it up and tell him to take it down to the basement. Wounded, he throws himself on the floor and wails, "Nobody yikes me!" When he judges the response to his display insufficient, he starts rooting around for tricks in his two-year-old sympathy bag. Imitating his Nana imitating him, with unironic gusto he croons, "Boo-hoo-hoo! Boooo hooooo hoo!" mixing in the occasional calculated glance. It is a virtuoso performance, but I've seen it before.

Still, I am his mother. I call him over to me, holding out my arms, marveling at my ability to lure them to me for comfort even when I am the very thing that upsets them. As I call him, Jasper rises to his unsteady feet, but he is still in character. To further persuade me of his deep distress, he "hangs his head," only in Jasper's repertoire this means bending over fully at the waist and walking bent over, as if he has the world's biggest albatross around his neck. And all the while he is haranguing me with his therapy-grade accusations and boo hoo hoos. I am moved to emotion and must cover my face with my hand to hide the giggling. It is hysterically funny. Then he climbs up in my lap and I reassure him of my undying love (as well as my resolve with regard to the scooter, which he reminds me was a gift from his Grandma and Papa, and thus, by his logic, he shouldn't be blamed for it being in the kitchen) until the episode is forgotten and he is on to something else entirely.

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