Pterodactyl Tristan

This is a post that I wrote in Mountain View and never got time to edit. Posts about the move and our new house are eventually coming. Right now, I'm being paged.

We play word games at our house a lot. The most popular for the past few months is one where Dane and I go back and forth trying to think of all the words that begin with a particular consonant and consonant sound.

The game often starts at bath time. When I'm finished scrubbing food out of Tristan's eyebrows and ears I might say, "Tristan. Toes. Teeth," pointing to each while he splashes. Then, "Tornado! Toad. Tempest. Tempestuous. Totality. Tickle! Temple. Terrapin. Tarantula. Terracotta. Tulip . . . ."

Eventually, I'll get stuck, and I'll hear Dane shout from the kitchen, "Telepathy!"

I'll call back, "Temerity!"

From the kitchen: "Tenacity!"

And so on: Twilight. Twine. Tinsel. Tirade. Tyrant. Topiary. Topple. Torrent. Torment. Target. Tangent. Terrible. Tortuous. Track. Tractor. Tangible. Tenuous. Telekinetic. Tilted. Tremble. Thimble. Torque. Toque. Timid. Talk. Tall. Taboo. Tree. Tertiary. Territorial. Tiger. Taper. Table. Teleprompter. Taut. Torpid. Tender. Trillium. Tracheotomy.

T's inevitably end when I slip up and yell, "Ptarmigan!" or, more often, "Pterodactyl!" Rather than launching us into P's, this generally causes me to say an S-word -- and then things fall apart.

But "pterodactyl" is an irresistible word around Tristan. If Disney made a movie about dinosaurs, he'd be the baby pterodactyl side-kick. He loves to make an ear-splitting cry -- a high-pitched shriek that would earn him a role in Jurassic Park -- whenever he's happy, mad, or just interested in something. I sit him in his high chair and start making breakfast: shriek. The cat walks by: shriek. Duncan steals his sippy cup: Shriek!! His day care teacher greets us at the door: ShriekKK!!! We pick up his dad at work: SHRIEKKKKK!!!!!!

And so on, all the way to bath time. Water! Shriek!!!

But it's not just the sound that makes him a baby pterodactyl, it's the motion -- arms lifted, fingers curled -- and the tooth-baring grin that comes with it. This kid does everything with the headlong enthusiasm of a winged predator. When he learned to crawl he windmilled each arm in a full circle before deliberately planting a hand on the floor. Since he couldn't quite achieve the roadrunner blur effect, he eventually gave up the windmill arms for speed. All day and all night he careened around the apartment, pausing only to sit, throw up his little claw hands, and shriek with glee. Between Tristan and his brother -- who can do a startling impression of a wild boar -- I was worried sometimes that the neighbors would hear all the noise and call child welfare services. Eventually I decided there was no need to worry -- if the neighbors called anyone about the sounds coming from the second floor, it would probably be animal control.

So, there is your post, little boy number two. And I'll end it the way I ended your brother's post: Tiny Tristan, you terrifying pterodactyl -- you tempestuous turkey! Please try to be tranquil in the twilight tonight. You're terrific -- but your parents are tired!