Two-year-olds are fun! Dear god, help me!
November 18, 2004A while back Henry turned two, and on that day I said something on this blog about what a wonderful, upstanding citizen he’s turned into, how full of sweetness and light.
And then a few hours after his birthday had ended, we were sitting down for a pleasant Play-Doh filled afternoon when he said to me, “Dearest mother, would you like to see something funny?” and he turned his head away and tugged at his chin and his beaming rosy-cheeked face slipped off his skull and what turned back to me was a screeching demon-boy who went BLALALALALALALALAAAAAIIII.
And just like that, My Baby became The Asshole In the Other Room.
I have dubbed him this because I am often forced to flee from him. Because while I can handle a few minutes of deafening shrieks, hours and hours of it tends to make the nerves itch. It tends to make one want to claw at one’s gums until blood issues forth.
He’s having some tantrums, is what I’m saying.
He’s had a few tantrums before. But not these tantrums. The other tantrums were amusing previews of the epic horror that was to come. Before Two arrived, if he became frustrated he would periodically throw himself to the ground and carry on for, say, ten or twenty minutes. During which time I would endeavor to figure out the source of the trouble, and he would weep and rend his garments and exclaim that no one understood him; eventually communication would be established and we would dry our tears and have cookies and sing, tra la la. La. And oh! What a fine and good parent I was, back then! See how happy my son was! And it was all my doing, hoo-ray for me!
So a few days After Two, he woke up from his nap and was a little out of sorts. The first thing he requests in such a case is TV. But I had decided that he had had too much TV that day, and after all we have baskets and baskets of toys, and maybe we could just cuddle for a while, wouldn’t that be---
But no. He did not want cuddling. Dear god no.
This is when the screaming began. I explained to him that television would not be in the offing. That we had watched enough. That television was “all done.” That the television was “sleeping.” (Why do I feel the need to anthropomorphize every household object? The other day he pulled a stack of towels down to the ground and then kissed them to “make it all better.” I’ve created a kid who is afraid that our dishrags might think ill of him.)
Anyway. He wanted the television to wake up.
Have I mentioned that he’s over 35 pounds? That he wears clothing made for four-year-olds, and he’s almost broken my head on several occasions? Just so you understand—the screaming in and of itself, while painful, is just part of the tantrum experience. The rest of it—the punching and kicking, the hair-pulling, the climbing up my body like a furious toddler-sized King Kong—is what generally sets me to running. And because The Law thinks it’s a bad idea for me to lock him in an apartment unattended*, blar de blar, my only escape is to the other room. Which is where I went.
(*Once, when I was bemoaning being trapped at home because I couldn’t go out with Henry, a friend of mine suggested, “Just light a candle. Because you’re not supposed to leave a candle unattended either, so, you know, you could leave the two of them together.” I don’t know why that struck me as so funny. I clearly didn’t write it funny enough right here. Forget I said anything.**)
(**Note that I could have just deleted it, but leaving it here gives my blog a certain immediacy, a gritty dose of reality that is missing from so many other blogs. Hi! Welcome to Finslippy!)
This entry is quickly losing steam and I have to go to bed. My point is that he screamed for TWO HOURS. (Not all of it with me in the other room, I should add. I left him for all of two minutes. His weeping was too pathetic, and so I was tricked into joining him again so he could punch me some more. Joke's on me!)
And do you know what happened that ended the tantrum? Do you know why he stopped crying?
C’mon. Guess. I want you to guess. Here’s a clue: the answer is not “I didn’t turn on the television, that’s for sure!”
p.s. I hate me.
Reader Comments (51)
i'm sorry for you. i am compelled to advise what you certainly already know: stay calm and as strong as you can be, and remember that this is a stage, not a result. it will get better, really. well, it will get different.
I won't say your post has made me think otherwise, but it's reminded me that there's more than one side to these things :)
Everything I did or said would be accompanied with a ducking type of feeling as I wondered if *this* would be the thing this hour which set off my son's emotional undoing.
Has he ever vomited on your shoulder in public? Because I'll tell you, I haven't felt better about this parenting thing than that time I drove home reeking of puke after a public screaming fit.
Also, my child less sister in law realized the secret of parenting and it is: Tricking them. Which is true, unfortunately children LEARN and so the tricks stop working.
Final thing and then I promise to stop jabbering. A trick that worked here (for about a week or so) was secretly unplugging the television. Then the tv is bad. Look! The tv is broken! Stupid tv. Bad tv.
Oh but then Henry may take out his 2 year old rage on the tv......
Sorry you're screwed.
He's 12 now and we're dealing with a whole new kind of tantrum. The silent, cold-shoulder, uber-private, don't-look-at-me-don't-talk-to-me type of tantrum. But Lila fills in the silences quite nicely with her shreiks and wails and beating of chest and weaving of hair shirts. Oh. Dear. Goddess. What was I thinking doing this again?
I often did what MelissaS did...unplugged that SOB and let him press the buttons to his hearts content (content being not so content, but more bereft and devastated.)
A. has tried all kinds of different things to get us to turn on the TV - "Push green circle," as he hands us the remote; "Baseball?"; "John Kerry? Bush?" during the elections (guess political shows are better than nothing); and now, "News Time!"
My 2 1/2 year old has taken to screaming "leave me alone" a la moody teenage girl and I will take him up on his offer every time.
But then he'll do something like say "I'm dying!" when describing his mild diaper rash or tell me that he "works at the football stadium" and it's so funny I think we'll keep him around a little longer.
nine m.f. times.mommycanihaveit? mommymommycanihaveit? mommycanihaveit? mommycanihaveit? mommymommymommycanihaveit? mommycanihaveit? mommycanihaveit? mommymommycanihaveit? mommycanihaveit?
and so, i think i agree with lynn and everyone else who said that it's best to try not to give in, lest you end up with the mommymommymommymommy kid at the grocery, with everyone sympathetically smiling at (and secretly hating) you.
stay strong, finslippy! we believe in your ability to tune out your child. ;)
Yesterday she screamed such a blood curtling, high-pitched scream that all the dogs in the neighborhood started barking and I honestly thought I might lose my mind AND my hearing.
Lord help me, I have slipped into the 9th circle of hell. Seriously.
I was advised about the whole putting them in a "safe" room for a couple of minutes thing so now I put her in our (beautifully remodeled) laundry room. She has a little stool there and she knows exactly what to do, God love her. We call it "The Chokey" (taken from the children's book/movie "Matilda").
But can you imagine how ridiculous, not to mention CPS-worthy, I sound threatening "The Chokey?"
Kill me now, Lord.
ha ha ha
Seriously, I feel your pain.
Because,you know, I wouldn't put her in just ANY "Chokey." It has to at least be beautiful to make me feel that much better about myself as her (evil) Mother. Sigh.
I have learned an important lesson today, Alice, and that lesson is: just let him watch tv, dammit.
Two is wonderful, and it sucks real bad.
Ah, the terrible twos. Whatever you try, you always feel you lose. I'm at the fabulous four with my two. Can't wait for them to grow up and leave home.
Can I have some candy? Why? Can I have some candy? Why? Can I have some candy? Why? Can I have some candy? Why? Can I have some candy? Why? Can I have some candy? Why? Can I have some candy? Why? Can I have some candy? Why? Can I have some candy? Why?
Within a 10 minute period, I heard my name 300 times, I swear!
Today, cutely enough, I accidentally knocked over the basket of toys I had asked her to pick up, and she said, "Look what you did! I just cleaned that up!"
Don't repeat my words back to me, mini-me! :) Gotta love their parrot-like features.
needed that today.
Laughed out loud.
I ... um ... feel your pain.
1) If you're going to give in, give in RIGHT AWAY. That way you don't build up their stamina.
2) Have some magic phrase you use when you're caving. We use "I've changed my mind." [sometimes adding "Because this seems so important to you" or whatever. And usually--especially now she's older--we make her ask politely and/or stop crying before we actually do it.]
3) Have another magic phrase to indicate that you're not going to give in. Not surprisingly, ours is: "I'm not going to change my mind on this one." Once you say that second magic phrase, you CANNOT CAVE. No matter what: volcanic tantrums, screaming for hours, flinging himself around, whatever.
This gives you a little window to decide whether the fight is worth it at any given time, gives the kid some way to make his voice heard, and still lets you not reinforce prolonged tantrums.
Okay. Done now. Go, go with my blessing.