Monday, August 07, 2006
Black and White
My son was a pretty affable little fellow. I can recall on one hand the amount of tantrums he has thrown in his life. Unfortunately, I can't count on two hands the amount my little two year old girl throws every day.
"She's a firecracker!" everyone says. "You will be so happy to have a strong woman in your family one day!" others mention.
Maybe so, but right now I just want to get out the door without fear of her hurtling out of my arms down the stairs because the shoes I picked out for her are akin to me making her walk on hot coals barefoot.
My strategy thus far has been to explain once, then ignore. "Pipsqueak, I know you want icecream for breakfast, but I am attempting to keep this house scurvy free." Then I just let her scream and scream and scream and scream. The downside is my son cupping his hands like ear muffs screaming "Woman! My ears!" The upside: I just might be raising an opera singer.
The crying jags are harder in stores, because people think you are ignoring your bratty child, when in truth, by not paying attention to the insanity, I'm attempting not to add fuel to the fire. As Rex and I are fond of saying, there's no negotiating with terrorists or toddlers. Like the balloons above, my daughter is very black and white. There's no calming her with "You can't lick the shopping cart right now but how about a fruit leather?" Like a tornado, there's lots of fury and kicking of dust, but in time it passes. And yes, that might be me holding on to dear life on the check stand pole for a better grip while she blows.
Despite her insanely willful nature, I have to say I adore this gal's spunk.
And Pipsqueak, some day if you're reading this, know that I love you more than any tantrum you can ever throw. And no, I don't mean that in any shades of grey. That issue is black and white.