Tough Lovin' Two's

We are in the middle of Age Two in all its schizophrenic, drama-infused glory at our house lately. My daughter Madelyn turned two this past September, and although she gets measurably cuter each day, we are never quite sure which version of our daughter will emerge on a minute-to-minute basis: Maddicakes or Madditude.

I have a longer history with Maddicakes, thankfully, and find her to be utterly endearing and charming. She carries a book around with her wherever she goes and channels John Travolta when she dances and asks for “just a little bit of chocolate” nearly every day. She says “Thank you for my yummy lunch, Mommy” and “What a pretty outfit you have on, Nana” and “I love you, Daddy” all on her own without any prompting. She likes to snuggle with me while we dance to her favorite songs (currently Glee’s rendition of Lean On Me), and I bury my nose in her gorgeous curls and inhale her warm scent while carefully cataloging this precious moment for the sob-fest that will inevitably be her first day of college. I love, love this girl.

In recent weeks, however, I have become all too familiar with Madditude. At her best, she is feisty and sassy, and truthfully, I’m ok with that—a little (harnessed) spit and vinegar serves a girl well, I think. But at her worst, she is oppositional, histrionic, and downright domestically violent. She looks away when she’s being asked to pick up her toys and runs away laughing every single time we need to put shoes on and head out the door. She gets within inches of my face and screams “NO!” and thrashes on the floor like a fish out of water if she isn’t allowed to do something totally by herself. She has also been known to look me straight in the eye and slap me across the face, just to see what I would do about it. I challenge anyone who does not believe in an inherent carnal nature to spend one day with a toddler and see if that theory stands. She is capable of voice inflections and behaviors that she has never witnessed, certainly not in her own home, and yet they come as naturally to her as her newborn root reflex once did. There is a very specific reason that humans were designed to enter this world as chubby-cheeked, wide-eyed babies and not pimple-faced, snaggle-toothed adolescents: we are much less likely to harm something that is cute.

I wasn’t spanked often as a child, but the few times I was, I remember my parents telling me after the fact that spanking me hurt them much more than it hurt me. When your bum is still stinging from the wooden ping-pong paddle that, I swear, had holes in it for aerodynamic efficiency, this is not something you want to hear. I’m learning, however, that along with most of the parenting observations my parents shared while I was growing up, that statement is absolutely true: disciplining my child and making her cry when all I want in the world is for her to be happy and at peace just breaks my heart. Tough love, indeed.

Here’s another thing I’m learning about discipline: laughing at your child’s misbehavior grossly undermines your authority as a parent and confuses her understanding of right and wrong, but oh my goodness is it hard not to. Hitting, biting, kicking…those offenses are easy to swiftly consequence without a hint of amusement, but most toddler misbehavior is just plain hilarious.

Awhile back, Madelyn got a lollipop from the man pumping gas at our local station. (Ordinarily, accepting candy from a stranger is not something I would condone, but it was Christmas time, he was jolly, and it was an all-too-rare root beer Dum-Dum. Please don’t judge me.) We were on our way back to our house for lunch, so I told her that she could hold it but she couldn’t eat it until after she finished her lunch. The whole way home she beamed and held that lollipop like the Olympic torch for all to admire and covet. Immediately upon entering our house, my phone rang, so I quickly took her shoes and coat off and then sat on the couch to talk to my mom for about five minutes which, evidently, was long enough for Maddie to get into trouble but not quite long enough for me to notice. After calling her name several times with no response, I finally found her lying on her tummy in a slightly hidden corner of the kitchen with her hands covering her head and the end of the lollipop sticking straight out of her mouth. My hand barely made it to my mouth in time to stifle my laughter. I must’ve stood there for two full minutes desperately trying to conjure a depressing enough image to regain my composure (and I work in child welfare!). She lay there the whole time utterly silent and motionless except for the frantic suck-suck-suck of the lollipop. I’ve been known to have similar, clandestine escapades with the last chocolate cupcake or, heck, the last third of a pan of brownies, so for a moment I wondered if I had any right telling her this was against the rules. (Although, if we’re going to use that logic, I would also have no right to tell her not to tantrum. I, not infrequently, pitch quite an artful tantrum. I just try to limit them to times when she’s not around to take notes.) “Madelyn,” I finally squeaked. “What is going on here?” She told me, and then I told her that because she disobeyed, the lollipop would have to go in the trash. I even made her throw it in there (tough Mommy!). We both shed tears but for very different reasons.

Ah well. Being two is hard sometimes, as is parenting two. But our Maddicakes moments far outweigh our Madditude moments, both in quantity and quality, and really, two hasn’t turned out to be nearly as terrible as its reputation would have us believe. Nevertheless, as I close my computer and prepare to slumber for the night, I can’t help but wonder who will greet me in the morning…