Teasing of theBoy

Teasing an easily-teased four-year-old is one of life's simple pleasures. You try it and see if it isn't. The instant outrage like they flipped a switch inside because of what you've teased them with is just so satisfyingly expressive that it's totally worth it to do it. But not too much. You don't want to raise a psycho. You can also use light-teasing—light, mind—in an attempt to induce preferred behaviour.

On with the show.

theBoy loves Wiggles-themed medical products. Well not all of them, for example, he's not up to using the Wiggly Wriggly Stopper, ribbed though it is for your lad or lady friend's pleasure (1). He does, however, love the band-aids and, being eczema-afflicted, he often needs their use from when he's scratched until bled. 

Today he ran in, yelling 'I got blood! I GOT BLOOD!' on the way into the end room, and demanded a band-aid. I looked. There was the tiniest dot of blood on the top part of his heel. Like he'd picked off a light scab (2).

I decided a sarcastic rejoinder to the size of his wound versus the enthusiasm behind his Paul Revere-esq announcements of bleeding ferocity. 

'Ahhh!' I screamed, pointing. 'GODZILLA!!!'

And I will do that from now on until his declarations of bleeding strength are more properly aligned to actual strength of flow. 

Teasing; an under-rated selection from the parenting tool chest (3)

(1) C---, D--- and I stopped off at a local chemist the other day. The chemist shop girls there were somewhat blonde and beautiful. Like they should be luring sailors to the rocks. One looked like a young Heather Graham. C--- went in to get something to assist his shits to be more regular but D--- and I started loudly saying things like 'he never gets ribbed for my pleasure' or 'and he always forgets to pinch the tip.' C---, who is not easily embarrassed, grinned like a Viking seeing an Easterner bugger a goat for the first time, then turned around and left lest we score more ribald successes upon his hirsute person. Revenge! (1a)

(1a) etc. 

(2) Once, in school, to horrify a girl I didn't like, I dug my fingernail into a brewed up scab within my scalp and picked it up. I then held it up, a great ripped out scab with blood and hair stuck to it, and dangled it off the tip of my index finger. The look of horror on her face was particularly satisfying. She wasn't very nice to me. Also, she was a tremendously enthusiastic grade-grubber and after every in-class test would run up the front to proclaim miss-assessment and earn herself a 5-10 per cent mark boost from teachers simply too fucking tired to argue.

(3) When done properly. Not, for example, to jokingly call your child a fat, lazy, shit like perhaps some people may have experienced...