Chip and I were discussing the evolution of Connery's stall tactics today. When he doesn't want to do something--whether that's take a bath, go to bed, get into his carseat--he is developing an elaborate set of ways to SLLLLOOOOOOOOWWW down the process. Chip tells me that during his nighttime story ritual (which used to include me but no longer does due to Connery's preference for Daddy these days), he has started wanting to get down from the rocker, walk around the ottoman in the longest possible fashion, retrieve the book (which, because of the size of the room and the size of the queen guest bed therein is approximately 12 inches from the rocking adult's fingertips) and then retrace his steps back to finish the story. Last night he also demanded to see Mommy in the midst of everything.
But my favorite technique has to be the one he unveiled over the weekend, after grocery shopping. The parking lot was windy, cold, and fairly dark. I wanted to get into my heated seat as quickly as possible. Connery, not so much. He pushed play on one of his musical toys--which happens to be desperately in need of batteries and so sounded like the world's drunkest band trying to get through Baa Baa Black Sheep--and when I tried to pick him up, he said, "No, Mommy! I need to dance."
I can't argue with that.