My own housing/stadium experience stretches back to my graduate education at the University of Georgia.  When the athletic department planned a football stadium expansion near an already too-close residential building, things became interesting. The expansion brought the stadium precipitously close to the residential community.  As expected, enterprising young students who chose their assignment carefully benefited enormously from the situation.  Rather than be bothered by the stadium noise, they simply brought in an extension ladder to breach the 8 foot gap between the stadium and their room, and charged fellow residents an entrance fee on game day.  Obviously safety measures were enacted soon after detection, but I was still impressed with the brazen ingenuity.

Needless to say, karma did not disappoint. My son arrived happy, healthy, and ready for action. Before he could walk, we knew he would be independent. We’ve already got countless stories of him testing the limits. At this point in time, his current standard operating procedure when he does something wrong is to wait for our reaction before deciding what to do. He knows if he can get either Kristen or I to smirk, he is in far less trouble. He also knows that a correctly timed turn of the head, pop of the dimples, and a toothy smile will get him out of many sticky situations (especially with Momma). Side note, I have a college sophomore currently on staff who uses the same MO. Seems to still work for him, so things are looking good for Aedan. Either way, I am quite pleased with Aedan’s independence. He likes to find his own way through the world, and I couldn’t be happier. I know good things will come, but his independence is not without it’s moments.

A wonderful example presented itself last night after dinner. Kristen and Aedan were arguing about something insignificant (and since no one likes to lose a battle in this family, this happens fairly frequently). After Aedan pronounced himself the winner of yet another argument, in humor I said to my wife, "You know, there is a template for every conversation with Aedan. He acknowledges your point of view, claims it's wrong, and then tells you the right answer." Kristen and I laughed for a brief second, and then, as if on cue, Aedan pipes up from the back seat, "No. That's not how it goes. I'm always right." That's my boy.