I had always
heard of the “terrible twos” but I really thought that with my daughter the
terrible twos started when she was about nine months old. But now I really
think I’m seeing a totally different type of terrible… strategic defiance.
I find myself
walking that line again of deciding whether I should choose my battles or
launch an all-out offensive against the anarchy that is toddlerdom. Sometimes
it’s an exercise in absolute futility, sometimes it’s a Pyrrhic victory and
only in the rarest of circumstances is any type of understanding actually
achieved. I am speaking, of course, of the attempt to discipline a two year
old. I honestly believe that the most hardened of criminals have an easier time
accepting right and wrong and understanding the impact of their transgressions
than does a toddler. I don’t get the feeling that it’s my daughter’s lack of
ability to understand, I really do think that she couldn't care less about what
I have to say. And not to say she simply disregards my words, that’s too weak
in its meaning; I think she, in her own inner monologue at least, actually
laughs at what I’m telling her. She may have the form of a two year old child,
but her mind is like that of the most cunning and wily beast ever to roam the
face of the earth.
My daughter is
starting to test the waters, so to speak. She is trying her best to let me know
that she and she alone is at the hierarchical apex in our home and we, her
mother and (especially) her father, will
either bow to her will or face her wrath and be summarily executed for crimes
against the crown. I, of course, must remind her that she is a two year old and
not Ming the Merciless and she, indeed, does not reign supreme over the
universe and all who abide in it. She actually does, though, reign over the
corner of the living room where her baby dolls reside as she likes to give them
their meals, tell them when to go to bed, put them in time out and then beat
them senseless when they disobey her. I think her little corner of an empire may
be inflating her ego and giving her a little, tiny Napoleon complex. I will,
however, meet her at Waterloo.
Recently, we had
an afternoon that saw three trips to time out in fewer than three hours. Trips
number one and two were for hitting me. She thinks that whenever she disagrees
with me, or I suppose more correctly, when I disagree with her agenda, she must
strike me down. This could be for any reason such as: “I’m tired of holding my
cup and you won’t relieve me from the burden”, “The food you placed before me
is not fit to be zoo fodder even thought I specifically asked for it and was
happy with it a moment ago” or, “This is the duckie towel and I will only be
dried with the owl towel”. The first two
time out sessions this day had to do with an unannounced change in her lunch
request that I should have been telepathically aware of, and because it’s her
couch and she will jump on it if she pleases and who am I to demand
otherwise. Whenever there is a violation
that earns discipline, my wife and I always explain the infraction, explain
that there are consequences for actions and that we are not to do those things.
Then, after the time out has ended, we re-cap and re-explain everything in an
attempt to gain understanding on her part. It’s generally a fruitless endeavor,
but we hope to lay the groundwork in her mind. Our daughter, however, is
quietly planning an insurrection.
The third time
out of the day was doled out because of contempt and because she needs to
understand danger. She was playing with her baby dolls in the living room and I
took the opportunity to slip into the kitchen to start cutting things in
preparation for dinner and my wife took the chance to sneak away to the
laundry, unhindered by shouts of “MOMMY’S TURN! MOMMY’S TURN!” to take care of
the million loads of laundry that a family with a two year old apparently needs
on a weekly basis. My chef’s knife was on the board as I was putting some sliced
vegetables in a bowl when my daughter came into the kitchen. She feigned
interest in me and went straight for the knife, as anything within a foot of
the counter’s edge is now well within her grasp. I grabbed her hand and
explained she shouldn't touch that as it is dangerous and she could get hurt (I
actually think her intention was to teach me a lesson, once and for all). She
looked at me, bewildered, as if she could not believe I was telling her what to
do, and she reached for it again. I, of course, a little more sternly this
time, told her to stop and explained again the danger and told her that if she
did it again, it would mean a time out. She stared deep into my eyes, this time
with her brow furrowed and her eyes afire with indignation and slowly reached
for the handle of the knife as I stared back at her. It had become a game of
chicken. I would not be playing the part of the chicken, so up she went and was
transported to the time out chair, which is an extra dining chair that is in
the corner of the living room, opposite the corner where her dolls live. The
result of my asking her if she knew why she was in time out and my attempted
explanation as to the potential danger she faced and why it’s important to
listen to Daddy was for her to literally dance around the issue. She responded
with “Look, I’m dancing” as she stood up and tap danced circles in the chair,
and said “I want some chicken nuggets.” Either
no comprehension or no desire to comprehend, I’m still trying to comprehend.
It’s going to be
a long road. Teaching my daughter right from wrong and even more so, trying to
help her understand right and wrong and actions and consequences is going to be
a lifelong task, and it’s one to which I’m totally committed.
