This Explains Everything, I've Been Playing the Wrong Sport!

This is my 10th time with a two year old.

The battle of the parental will against the irrational mind or is it the irrational parent against the indomitable will never ceases to surprise.

My daughter is a dumper.  She plays with the stuff in a basket, releases everything in it from captivity and then cavorts onto her next mess.  Today, I thought she should assist in picking up the plastic eggs she helpfully scattered across the entire living room after I'd just set them aside.

Now I know all the Parent magazine approved tricks.  Sing a song. Set the timer. Let them do half, make it a game.  She apparently knows them too and wasn't buying any of it.  She went rigid as only a Pilate's instructor or a two year old about to lay down the law can do.

Sensing that this is somehow an important battle, I dig up my special ed tricks, hand over hand, physical prompt, verbal prompt, lots of praise.  Again, I've held children in restraint before who raged, she wasn't raging, she was simply absolute refusing.  Hand over hand, we got down to the last egg, not without her trying at some point to swipe at the basket to show me not only am I not going to do this, I'm going to undo all you made me do so there.  I was fortunate this did not happen.

We got to the last egg.  She refused. I'd tried. I'd offered treats, praise, hand over hand, she would only throw the egg away to show she wasn't doing it.  I placed the basket on the table and the egg next to it.  "Nap time."  I declared.  She knew, this wasn't over.

My only question is is it wise to let her get refreshed before starting on round two of Easter Egg Rumble.

As I ponder this, the bus comes with her brother.  He is upset his sister is asleep.  In a fit of sibling solidarity, he dumps the entire basket and kicks it about with great abandon.  

I didn't realize this was World Federation Wrestling and I'd just been tag teamed.  

Pillow Talk

Sometime after a child manages to climb out of the crib, he or she decides that Mom and Dad’s bed is the only place to hang out after dark. Consider our latest two-year-old, who views head butts as a means of greeting a sleeping adult. At four in the morning, usually one is only dimly aware of having the covers invaded. Most of our earlier two year olds were content to snuggle up to the parent of their choice and hope general fatigue would prevent eviction.

Not so this one. She Who Would Be Two must have an audience on which to work her kewpie doll toddler magic, so Mom or Dad must wake up.

Wham!****

Curiously, the intensity of pain increases as one becomes more alert.

Oh, ow, ow, Ow, Ow, OW, OW, OW! I’m up. I’m up. Ow! I’m up.

She Who Would Be Two, having accomplished objective one, has started phase two of her plan, singing a soft sweet lullaby as if nothing happened. She hopes to melt any potential irritation brought on by a throbbing head and tender nose with cuteness. She looks at me and giggles. It works. Her Father and I the Mom have a standing rotation of alternate nights as to who gets to handle wandering monsters. Nothing happened last night.

It figures.

“Come here.” I the Mom take her in my arms and pull the covers over us both, hoping she will drop off quickly and then I can carry her to her own bed. I the Mom am completely gone in less than a minute.

It’s boring sitting in the dark with two sleeping adults who should be up and playing games with She Who Would Be Two.

She dimly recognizes that if she pushes too hard, either Her Father or I the Mom will carry her back to her own bed. So She Who Would be Two tries finding a comfortable position. For the uninitiated to the world of toddlers, this involves stretching to one’s maximum height and lying down perpendicular to the adults, ensuring that most of the real estate of the mattress is in the toddler’s domain. (It’s just more comfortable that way).

Adults vaguely aware of losing property rights, scoot and contort their bodies in an effort to remain unconscious for as long as possible, even allowing legs or arms to drape off the edge or surrendering all covers and pillows as a concession for being allowed to continue sleeping. Alas, appeasement seldom works. She Who Would Be Two remains listless.

There is a phone next to the alarm clock, keys, wallet, a CD player and a lap top. She Who Would Be Two has watched her parents use these. They look like fun. I the Mom somehow register that in the middle of the night, something is not right and open one eye to discover the wallet has been emptied. She Who Would Be Two has also turned off the alarm and placed a call. She is still talking on the phone. Someone is answering her back.

Fully alert, I snatch the phone from her hands. "Hello." I say into the phone a bit too loudly. "I'm sorry my daughter..." It is a recording. I hand the phone back to my tearful daughter and tell her to hang up. She is satisfied with an "How Rude." look at me as she hangs the phone up.

Taking back the keys and the wallet, she pouts at me. She's in the wrong and I feel bad. She sucks her thumb and shuts her eyes in a contented smile and pulls the covers up. I was going to move her. Looking at her sweetly almost sleeping, I can't believe I would be so cruel. Then I'm mad I'm such a sap.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The early get up and agoing alarm has sounded, waking She Who Would Be Two but not Her Father. She cries.

The conscious adult I the Mom must then make the calculated judgment, difficult at a predawn time. Should I get up? Should I take her to her bed? Can I go back to sleep? If I get up now I could….insert tedious task here.

Changing diapers, offering water and tucking in doesn’t earn much time in the morning, but it does stand the outside chance of predisposing She Who Would Be Two to go to sleep or at least lie quietly in the bed for a little while. Following the dutiful adult routine, the now completely zombified I the Mom returns to bed, just in time for the second nag alarms to sound their evil call. Hitting the snooze, I crawl under the covers, sleep is coming fast, I the Mom can feel it.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! I wake again, feeling the tender part of my nose, a parting gift from She Who Would Be Two. Making a fist to smash the alarm, I the Mom blink and survey the room. There is a new trail of toys showing the path the toddler took to get to Mom and Dad’s room. Picking up a stuffed monkey puppet, naked Barbie, three shoes, sippy cup and bed spread, I the Mom swallow a yawn while considering the morning ahead.

Can I collapse the schedule to grab another fifteen minutes or will slowness now result in a hectic day where every event would be easy if only I had fifteen more minutes then. Just as I’ve abandoned common sense and put my feet into the cave of the still warm blankets, She Who Would Be Two is back.

“Breakfast.” She Who Would Be Two says expectantly with all the innocent sweetness and full sincerity she can muster.

It’s not going to work this time I the Mom think as I set my will. I’m going to sleep.

“Breakfast.” She Who Would Be Two repeats.

When she ages, maybe I'll rechristen myself I The Mom Who Sleeps.

The Queen

Most of my stuff is slightly altered to create fiction out of what would otherwise be embarrassing reality. I want my kids to still speak to me when they're adults. Some of the crafting of stories for blog entrees are hard to polish. Others are easy. Then there are those that quite literally, get dropped into your...

My nearly two year old often mistakes me for a chair. Being a toddler, she considers herself the Queen of my lap.

I am her favorite spot to think.

She also is considering the prospects of testing pottying. More than once, she has "tested" the seat in imitation of her older sister.

Today, she sat on me and after giving a fierce hug, said, "Spssssssst." "Spssssssst."
Then she got up and toddled off.

"I think she was pretending." I said as I got up in a hurry.
"So do I." My husband responded.

"I may substitute for a throne but not that kind."

"Cheer up, at least it was number 1."

Long live the Queen.

The Sun and also My Daughter Rises

It doesn’t matter what time of night it is, if a door creaks or a light switch flicks, my toddler’s wide awake and comes a calling. So desperate am I for a night without the uninvited two year old guest, preventative measures have been taken.

The other day, I left the door to the bathroom ajar such that a late night visit would not cause the tell tale squeak that summons her from her stupor to my bed. Unfortunately, I had neglected to brief my husband on said plan, and as such, he closed the bathroom off, rendering my plan of stealth moot, in that it was no longer mute.

Her daddy sleeps through these late night visits, thus he did not understand the scope of the problem. Our lovely daughter only rests fully stretched out, perpendicular to the bed, giving Mom a measurable five inches of fighting room, which at six months, is insufficient to the cause.

So, we had a briefing on the issue two nights ago and the door remained ajar. Alas, I had not reckoned on maternity to be inflicting me with 2 am hiccups, necessitating not only a door opening but a light and sink tap turning. She was in my bed before the water graced the cup.

Now I know people are thinking, just take her back to bed.

We’ve done this. I have even gone to the extreme measure of waking her father to carry said toddler back to bed multiple times in a night. She views being deposited there a second time after dark as license to run wild in the home as long as she doesn’t wake you. Juice boxes have been discovered in odd places. There are Hansel and Grettle type trails of Oreos up the stairs from the kitchen.

Once, she figured out the Nintendo and awakened her four year old brother to join in the fun. I have independent verification from our phone bill that one night, she placed a long distance call. If we would guarantee the maximum number of minutes not conscious for adults while maintaining property damage to a minimum, my bed is her bed if she so chooses after 1 am.

There had been talk of getting her a toddler bed, but the idea of not having those four lovely barred walls that sort of hem her in at times, well, I can’t quite give up my crutch. It is true, she climbs out at will. It is true they no longer serve as a reasonable deterrent to her wandering. It is also true that I am not yet up to facing the reality of a range free two year old 24-7.

Last night, I surrendered and went to the couch. She joined me. I returned to our bed. She joined me. I took her upstairs to her crib and curled up with my five year old on her bed.

In the morning, she was in my bed, spoon feeding Daddy a chocolate ice cream breakfast.

In my next life, I’m coming back Dad.