Extra! Extra! Wet Noodle Strikes Again

News flash! My child defies the laws of physics. He's learned to bend all the bones in his body, defy gravity, and cast aside rules of sanity and decorum. My son has become a Wet Noodle.

Little man is standing by his toy box. "Diaper time!" I declare. I go to pick him up. Poof! He transforms. He doesn't quite resemble a strand of spaghetti, a half-moon of macaroni, or a spiral of rotini. But there he is. Barely squirming, but impossible to hold into. A Wet Noodle.

I struggle to pick up the 28 pound toddler. He's the same boy I can push one-handed in his stroller, or carry up a flight of stairs while dragging six grocery bags and a gallon of milk. I can even balance his thrashing frame under one arm while transporting him to his time-out spot. Why can't I manage the Wet Noodle?

I think he conferred with the other kids at daycare about this approach. I'm convinced of it, actually. How else would he have perfected this means of eluding capture?

There I stand, literally on top of him, struggling with both arms and usually a leg or two to simply pick him up and get him going. Wet Noodle will not be moved.

It's not as if I could just request and receive compliance. "Come hear" translates into "Run away and laugh like a hyena." in toddler-speak. "Get off the dvd player" means "jump up and down on Daddy's electronics, and then pull the wires out of his Wii for good measure." The dreaded "Go to sleep!" means "pull the sheets off your mattress, rip your pajama pants off and throw your diaper at mommy's head."

Until he learns English, or I speak Toddler-ese, we're at an impasse. I thought I could rely on my mommy-strength to circumvent the language barrier. I thought wrong.

Last week at a ball game, Little Man insisted on kicking at the lady in front of us. She was genuinely gracious about receiving a nasty boot to the head, but the behaviour HAD to stop. Little Man and I had to go home early. The stadium was packed, and I had to get past about twelve people in order to reach the stairs. The last man in the row refused to move to let us by. He was too busy balancing a plate full of cheesy nachos and a frothy beverage across his impressive beer belly. This temptation was too tantalizing for my frustrated toddler.

The Wet Noodle struck again. We were moving along nicely until he spotted the nachos. Then he lost muscle tone in his entire body. I lost balance. It was like being in an airplane during a sudden drop in altitude. Wet Noodle created Toddler Turbulence in the grandstands.

He was suspended, head down, hovering two inches above the tortilla chips. For a moment, nobody moved. He just hung there like a marionette, deciding whether to remain in noodle mode or go into quick toddler attack.

Then a miracle happened. Nacho man morphed into macho man. He leaped from his seat like his pants were on fire. Before Little Man could decide whether to attack or keep playing dead, Nacho man was halfway up the staircase. Beer splashed everywhere, but he managed to save his nachos from certain demise at the hands of Wet Noodle.

Extra! Extra! Wet Noodle strikes again. Hold onto your tortilla chips, folks. Little Man is just getting warmed up.