Defy Me And You Shall.... (*gulp...I don’t know)

how many times do I have to tell you? they're not toys!

I am desperately trying to beef up on my knowledge of parenting a child whose sole interest is in resisting parental guidance.  “Charlie do it hisself” has been an oft-uttered phrase lately.  I get independence and mastery.  That’s cool.  I can dig it.  But when he goes limp and refuses to stand so I can pull his pants up after a change - well it really boils my blood.  I don’t like gritting my teeth or boiling over, but I immediately go there.  Its like I have the shortest fuse known to man.  

Logically, I understand he’s testing the limits.  He’ll sweetly watch our reactions as he throws books over the railing and down the stairs batting his eyelashes or as he goes into drawers we’ve told him a hundred times not to empty with a little devilish smile on his lips.  I continually trip over chopsticks, bag clips and napkin rings in the weirdest places.  

I think it was my over-reaction when I noticed he’d pulled every tissue out of the brand new Puff’s box and put it into the toilet with the stealth of a CIA operative which was the event that set this whole phase off.  When I saw what he had done I growled “No! What have you done? No thank you! That is such a waste and will clog the toilet.” I paired this with a somewhat aggressive interception of the final tissues, I picked him up and I carried him out of the bathroom and slammed the door in his face as I unplugged the toilet. (Never think you’ll reach into toilet water with bare hands? Have a kid - it will happen at some point, I promise you.) He cried as if I’d dismembered him or drowned his puppy.  I’m sure neighbors thought the worst.  As I mopped up the drips and disposed of the mushy kleenex I calmed down, washed my hands and composed myself.  I opened the door, picked him up, wiped his tears and apologized.  We read some stories and I realized had I been giving him this attention, he wouldn’t have sneaked off to do that.  

Its my reaction in the moment of discovery that I need to work on. Its just short of Homer Simpson choking Bart ("Why I Oughta!")  My husband is the most calm and patient man you’ll ever meet (except when I’m parallel parking) but the second Charlie does something that might endanger him (like playing with a cord at the electrical socket or hugging a christmas tree as it teeters on its stand) he’ll go completely ape-sh*& and yell in scary daddy voice: “Charlie NO! Stop that right now!” or something to that effect which usually results in instant crying.  It even scares me.  Is fear mongering the right way to curb the behavior or does that make it all the more desirable?  I’ve heard of ignoring problem behaviours so that they become less appealing.  I’ve heard of redirecting kids instead of scolding.  Of positive reinforcement and rewards for good behaviour.  Its the punishment thing that’s hard to swallow.  I recently talked with my sister-in-law about the “time out” corner or “time-out” chair idea.  Her friend does it paired with counting to 3 and it really works to keep her kid in line.  What do you do to let your kid know you mean business?

Check out what I’ve been reading lately on the subject:

http://www.caringforkids.cps.ca/handouts/tips_for_positive_discipline

http://www.oprah.com/relationships/Some-Good-Ways-to-Discipline-Children

http://www.parenting.com/tags/toddler-discipline?cid=searchresult&curatedresult

http://www.aacap.org/cs/root/facts_for_families/discipline

http://www.askdrsears.com/topics/discipline-behavior/10-time-out-techniques 

http://www.professionalparenting.ca/articles/PPTimeInNotTimeOut.pdf

Prepping For A Dinner Party: 2 Year Old Godzilla Edition

The scribblings of a mad woman/ wannabe foodie mom

On the last Saturday before I had to return to work from winter holidays, we decided to invite our whole family over for a “fresh feast”.  We had recently bought a juicer after watching a frightening documentary on weight gain and processed foods (knowledge we already had, but paired with some foggy new year’s resolutions and packaged in a really convincing way, this documentary scared/ inspired us into trying to be healthier - at least for a little while).  The fresh feast was totally vegetarian (except for a small salmon filet for those not willing to go “all the way” with our idea).  The recipes were all from a vegan chef’s website and require a lot of preparation.

My husband was working all day and so I was alone with Charlie.  This is usually a pleasure, but on a day when shopping, cleaning, planning, cooking prep and actual cooking is required for a large group, entertaining a 2 year old can be extremely daunting.  I know, there were plenty of (and still are) women who can manage this day in and day out (an image of a 1950s octopi-supermom with 15 arms in a gingham apron comes to mind).  But I don’t do oversized family calendars and coloured sticky notes.  I’m not that person.  When cooking, I don’t have mise en place and I don’t keep a hot soapy sink ready to plunk in dirty dishes as I cook.  I don’t have a garbage bowl ready for keeping my work space clean.  Well, not normally.  

Having to manage Charlie (or atleast keep him out of trouble) while I prepped was a big task.  I needed a game plan.    I reminded myself to be positive, upbeat and oozing joy the entire time, else Charlie would sense my true stress levels and be B-A-D (we're talking: sneak into the bathroom and squeeze out all mommy's expensive-ish shampoo onto the tile floor or throw tin cans down the wooden stairs = previous behaviours which will go down in the books as maniacal).

Here are some activities that I successfully did which kept him occupied, happy and maybe interested him in one day being the next Tyler Florence.  I only burned the candied nuts on the first attempt! I call that a job well done!

• Get out play food and a variety of stuffed animals and allow charlie to use “grown up” and safe kitchen utensils to make them a “fresh feast” or “brunch” (pronounced “fesh feest” and “bunch”).

• Pull up a chair to the counter and allow your kid to be your sous chef minus the sharp knives, microplanes, food processors, and cheese graters. (Charlie was an excellent radish picker, scrubber and passer).

• Teach him to repeat the following phrases:

• Mmm! This is delicious white bean dip!
• Wowza! Have you been slaving over a hot stove all day to make this risotto? I can tell!
• Is that Tamari in the dressing? It gives it a real whole-mouth feeling!

• Cave and let him sit at my feet while I chopped playing ABC Food and Toca Kitchen on my iPhone.

• Let him wear oven mitts, apron and any other kitchen apparel while pretending to do pantry inventory.

• Let him pour dry pasta into a variety of bowls (that you’ll mark - DON’T EAT - EVER! in a ziplock bag afterwards for re-use) and use the swiffer and dustpan after to clean up.  Stepping on dry pasta is a little like DIY reflexology.

Klepto Kid

a natural place to store trains

On my way to work last week, I stopped for my usual coffee and when I went to pay, I opened my wallet and noticed that it was completely empty.  I figured I’d been robbed and knew exactly who the culprit was, my nearly-two year-old son, Charlie.  I smiled politely at the woman and awkwardly told her I’d be right back, thankfully I only live around the corner.  When I returned home, I entered the house and politely asked my son, “Where did you put all of mommy’s cards and money?” (I hoped that his answer would  not be: I flushed them down the toilet or I ate them).  He smiled coyly and vacated the room, his hands together, whistling, nonchalantly, and looking around for something new to get into.  My husband and I spent the next 10 minutes frantically tearing the family room apart and when we found nothing there, proceeded to do the same to the kitchen, bathroom and bedrooms.  It sounded like a chant, we were repeating in unison as we searched: Where’s the stuff from mommy’s wallet? Oh where oh where can it be? Hoping the sing-song, you’re-not-in-trouble-as-long-as-you-show-us-where-you-buried-the-treasure, game would entice Charlie to play along, or at least jog his memory.  Finally, the hero that he is, my husband found the missing cards and money inside an unpacked overnight bag, backpack really, from the previous weekend’s excursion to a bachelor party.  Inside the backpack, along with the cards and money, were a roll of toilet paper, our chopstick collection and an unpeeled naval orange (thankfully not punctured by the chopsticks, nor rotting).  And so I kissed my husband, gave my son a heart-not-in-it, gotta-hurry lecture and rough hair-tousle and headed back to pay for my coffee and be (only slightly) late for work.

Its funny really, how any organization, or attempt at it, goes out the window when your kids gets to a certain age.  Its ironic, that now, I can actually manage to label things, sort them and keep them orderly on my own (not like when I had the baby blues and couldn't think straight nor wanted to do any of that), but now that I want to alphabetize my spices and line up my books by genre and colour block the spines on my bookshelf, my son is like the tasmanian devil, whirling about the place and throwing things everywhere.  All cutlery is out of the drawer and in a variety of spots from toilet brush holder behind the toilet (yeah, probably don’t accept that invitation to my next dinner party) to inside the cold air return register grate.  All my tampons have been removed from their packages and are in a variety of handbags in the closet (highly sanitary I believe) as well as a welcome surprise inside my husband’s sock drawer.  Its not that I don’t watch him and supervise him.  Its that he’s lightening quick - especially if he’s undertaken a job he’s not supposed to be engaged in.  One minute he’s singing Twinkle Twinkle and reading in his room and the next he’s moved his crib to the other side of the room and has lined up every sock my husband and I own around the perimeter of the baseboards.  If only I could train him to enjoy putting things back, where they belong, and not in the most random and inconspicuous place known to man.

I Know What I Want and I Want It Now

Operation: Tantrum Management

Charlie has recently started expressing very strong preferences for things.  Some might call him willful.  Others may say he’s domineering.  He’s almost two.  No, I will not let myself call it the “terrible twos” that’s so cliche and I’m not there yet so I haven’t really technically experienced it and can’t assume the label.  I’ll paint the picture.

6:30 AM Wakes up, opens door and, from crib, sweetly coos, “Oh, Moommmmmy!”

6:33 AM Mom shuffles sleepily to the doorway and says playfully and with an intent to start the day off on a whimsical note, “Who’s there?”

6:34 AM Charlie screams and yells no and throws himself onto the mattress in his crib, mom tries to cajole him and rubs his back.  “Are you still sleepy? Want to go back to sleep?”

6:35 AM Charlie hits mom’s hands away and moans, “Arghwahwahwah” Like a wounded, whimpering mule.

6:36 AM Mom goes back to bed, from bed she says, calmly, “Ok, Charlie go back to sleep then.”

6:37 AM Charlie is silent and then screams a foundation-rattling wail which knocks picture frames off their nails throughout the hallway, “UP!!! NOW!!! PEEESE?”

This is how we BEGIN our days.  

He’s also mastered the “wet noodle” maneuver whenever I need to pick him up to move him out of harms way or dress or undress him.  Diaper changes? Forget about it.  Its like he’d rather sit in his own refuse than humor me to lie still for a mere 30 seconds.  I swear I could probably do it in even less time if he’d just HOLD STILL.  Socks? Rather go barefoot.  Shoes? Are you insane? Brush your teeth? Ok, yes, I’ll take the toothbrush, oh wait, I thought I heard you say to brush the tile grout!  “Here Charlie, have the last bite of your chicken finger” He coyly takes it and then hurls it to the floor, tiny specks of breading becoming lodged between every nook and cranny and luring neighbourhood ants into our home.  

I know that this is a phase, a milestone even, if you look it up in What To Expect The First Two Years: Toddler Edition it likely foreshadows this set of behaviours rather accurately and calls it Displays of Attitude.  I’m fine with it.  Its cute at times.  He’s developing his personality, his likes and dislikes, he’s expressing himself and communicating and what’s crazy is, its up to me, and how I react that is teaching him, in the moment, whether or not that behaviour is tolerated.  I’m socializing him and this terrifies me as I’m a rather sarcastic and impatient person.

He’s also a bit of a parrot recently repeating back everything I say.  “Is there an echo in here?” he just said with (if not perfect pronunciation) perfect intonation.  Earlier today it was, “Darnit!” and “What the HECK?!” We really have to kindergarten-ize our expressions.  What a little potty mouth!

Patience Is A Virtue

Charlie Shake: 2 parts odds and ends, 1 part mom-patience

There are times when I question the hypocrisy of my never-ending patience for the children I teach and my serious lack of patience for my own 2-year old son.  Is it because he is my progeny that I expect him to be compliant and obey my commands at all times?  Is it because I get paid (or will when I get a job) to be patient with the children I teach? I don’t think so.  Why is it that I get so flustered when he goes limp noodle and throws a tantrum or when he decides to take all the tampons out of the box in the bathroom and line them up down the hallway like railroad ties?  Why is it that I can’t smile and shrug when I notice he’s taken every piece of folded laundry out of the basket and strewn them across the room?  Why do I blow a fuse when he puts all his scrambled eggs inside his glass of apple juice when I turn my back for two seconds?  I think I need a reality check.  At times like these, I think: he’s healthy.  I’m healthy.  He’s curious, learning, experimenting, testing the boundaries.  These are all really good things.  Why should I care that he’s a Tasmanian devil leaving ripped, dismantled, wrinkled and wrecked things in his wake?  

I suppose it is because I find myself unable to catch up with the messes that present themselves in every corner of my house and instead of laughing about it, I let it put me in a crabby mood.  Today for example, there are puzzles everywhere.  The dishes need to be emptied out of the dishwasher for the next load of crusty ones to go in.  Charlie’s clothes are all over the place and he’s removed the entire contents of my pantry and put two items per kitchen floor tile like a grocery store checkerboard.  When I open the lazy susan to find my coasters, can opener, plastic cling wrap and a pair of socks inside my empty juice pitcher, I feel my shoulders hunch tighter.  Maybe I do need that Eucalyptis roll-on anti stress stick I was given.  If only I could find it.  As I empty the contents of the pitcher to put the items back in their respective places, Charlie comes around the corner protesting wildly.  “No, mama.  Benda.”  He takes the items, returns them inside the pitcher and puts on the lid.  Suddenly he begins to make a blender whirring sound.  “See? Benda.”  Mr. Messy is a genius.