Cold Turkey

About ten days ago, David stopped watching the garage door close. He did not push the button on the way into the house and wait in the doorway until it closed completely. He did not come screaming through the kitchen when Michael came home from work, pushing him out of the way to get to the button, which if you have seen my husband, is quite an impressive feat. He just came home from school one day last week and marched straight into the house without even a backward glance. It was amazing to me because we have not been working to "extinguish" this behavior (really we have bigger things to worry about.) He just quit on his own—cold turkey.

Now, David has been the sole operator of the garage door for more than half of his little life. For three plus years, I have patiently (or not so patiently) waited at the door for David and now—no more waiting. So, how did I react to this development? I just stood at the door. It was like my garage-door-button-pushing muscle had atrophied. Like I had let my operator's license expire. Like I had some vague recollection that there used to be a way to get the door to come down, but I couldn't quite remember. I stood there until Andrew came to the door to see what was taking me so long, slapped the button with his open hand and asked me to make him some popcorn.