The ‘The Time of TAM-paw’ has arrived

I couldn’t have agreed more.

Well, these days, he gets his tongue around the word “pipsqueak” pretty well. And that means we’ve moved on to the sequel to “The Time of the Pup-Geek,” under the working title, “The Time of TAM-paw,” his current rendering of my name.

I’m keeping track of all this, because I fear that, before I turn around, he’ll be in in school, and I’ll have missed out on these things.

Like the previous stage of development, “The Time of TAM-paw” has its challenges.

The little guy is pretty sure that Mommy and Daddy are connected with one another in the same way as TAM-paw and GAM-ma are.

That’s progress.

My wife and I have helped to solidify his understanding of the common spousal connection by purposely arguing with one another in ways we assume our daughter and son-in-law argue with one another when we’re not there.

To help other families, in fact, I’m thinking of coming out with a series based on “The Farmer Says” toys called “The Male of the Family Says.”

That way, future Atticuses can listen to a male voice say: “Dear, you know I can’t hear you when you’re vacuuming and I’ve turned up the TV to avoid your requests for assistance.”

As solidly as he has the Mommy-Daddy, Tampa-Grandma thing down, Atticus seems to consider dodgy, if not outright ridiculous, my claim that I’m his Mommy’s Daddy.

Whether he’s sitting in the high chair or the Big Boy chair, when I repeat the assertion, he says, “No, you TAM-paw” in a tone that makes me wonder whether he’s a federal district attorney in the making.

And I must confess that, a week ago Friday, I didn’t do anything to help my case.

In my defense, it all happened in the sticky aftermath of a particularly juicy watermelon party, or maybe the aftermath of a party with a particularly juicy watermelon.

He and GAM-ma are always having them, and this one turned out to be a trap set just for me.

When it was all over, I hoisted him up to the sink and tried to run water where the watermelon juice had run, after which he launched his customary attack on the towel hanging from the handle on the stove with a face plant.

We then went for a change of shirt and pants, done TAM-paw style with Atticus standing on the changing table and both of us struggling to keep him relatively upright while putting the arms and legs through the appropriate holes.

This was all done, of course, without illustrated instructions from IKEA or a check of an online DIY video.

All this somehow triggered what I brilliantly diagnosed as a mood change a few minutes later. Instead of just hopping up on the couch himself, which he’s perfectly able to do, the child whined about needing help.

As a policy, discourage whining by whining back at him, another sound that will sound when an impressionable child pulls the string of “The Male of the Family Says” toy.

Whines notwithstanding, however, we’d had such a good day, however, I decided to cut the little nubber some slack and heft him up on the couch.

Despite this humanitarian gesture, moments later, I noticed the distinct and not rare sound of my wife laughing not with me but at me. (Near the end of a fourth decade of hearing said laugh, I’m familiar with its haunting tones.)

As it turned out, the poor little guy really hadn’t been able to get up on the couch because some villain had stuffed two of his real legs into one of his pant legs.

Of course, from Atticus’ point of view, this is not something Mommy would ever do and made my claim to being his Mommy’s Daddy seem seedier than a rotten watermelon.

I immediately marched off to the bathroom, looked in the mirror and said: “No, you TAM-paw.”

Then, in the spirit of making lemons into lemonade, I wrote down what a third recording for “The Male of the Family Says:”

“I am your greatest risk for arrested development. Get over it.”