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All of these stories have happened in the third year of Tanner's sweet little existence - which must mean I'm a pretty decent mother for a few years, then I lose my grip . These stories were all early in Tanner's precious third year, and now that we're rounding the bend to the big F-O-U-R, there is a different kind of Tanner to deal with (thankfully only on occasion, otherwise I might be well-known to the Colorado Family Court System) - (Ok, the poop story was just a funny story, not necessarily about Tanner, but I had to mention it)
Today's Tanner is much more adept and spiteful with her fighting, with a ton of temper but no real conscious to back it up. It is ALL id and ego. There are glares (OH, the GLARES!), eyerolls, and facial contortions. And somewhere along the way she has learned how to throw, kick, scream loudly and shrilly - AND whip her Bubble (the beloved blanket she has had since infantdom) at my head, apparently.
Which is where today's battle begins....
At 2:40pm exactly, roughly 60 minutes after Tanner first laid down for her nap, she comes out to the loft and yells down:
Tanner: Mommy! There's a four on the clock! I can get up now.
Me: No, Tanner, the four has to be the first number. Right now a two is the first number, it is time to go back and lay down.
[sidebar: we have been working on the concept that Tanner has to stay in her bed at naptime until there is a four on the clock - even if she doesn't sleep, as long as she's in bed resting. We're also working on staying in bed in the morning until there is a seven on the clock - that isn't having too much success, either - YET :) ]
Tanner takes her crying, tenderheart back to her room and fusses for a bit, but eventually I hear her turning pages of books. Back to the norm. .....But then I start to hear interesting sounds - the sound of her stepstool moving, the sound of drawers opening - these sorts of things. Puzzled (but not really), I go up to her room. There I find about 50 books on the floor and Tanner standing on her stepstool, bow drawer open and strung out, hairbrush in hand.
Me, calmly (I SWEAR): Tanner, you are supposed to be in bed. Enough playing, get back in bed.
Tanner is a crumpled, broken heap again, her crying face buried in Bubble.
Me: Tanner, you're not in trouble, but you need to stay in bed until there is a four on the clock.
Tanner (loudly, shrilly, with fury in her eyes): NO I WILL **never** STAY IN BED!
(you have to understand that "never" was said in the loudest, shrillest voice any 3-year-old can possibly muster).
Me: Excuse me?
Tanner: I WILL **neeeeevvvvveeeeerrrr**!!!!!!
Me: Tanner, you just lost book privileges.
Tanner: NO, MOMMY, *you* just lost book privileges.
Me (not quite as calmly now): Tanner, you need to lay down in your bed and stop screaming. You are being inappropriate.
Tanner: NO, MOMMY *you* ARE BEING INAPPROPRIATE!
At this point, Tanner's feet are in the air, kicking, and I try to hold them down, get in her face, and tell her she's about to have big consequences. In response, she tries to kick me and screams the obvious, "NO, YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE BIG CONSEQUENCES!"
At that point she sits up in bed, looks me square in the eyes (with the glare of fury, of course), and cocks her arm back like she's about to launch Bubble at my head.
Me: Tanner, you are about to make a VERY bad decision, would you like to think about that and make a better decision?
I use this alot, and every time (except this time) she has thought about it and chosen the good decision. Today, however, she is just that much closer to FOUR and does NOT chose wisely. Bubble comes whipping at my head.
Obviously, with my cat-like reflexes, I snatch Bubble.
So what to do now? This could be like a "Choose-Your-Own-Adventure" book - if mom decides to take Bubble away because Tanner was given a chance to think about it and still made a bad decision, scroll down. If mom chooses to give Bubble back but with a stern lecture... well, you're gonna have click to another blog. :)
Yes, oh yes, her beloved Bubble is now in the top of her closet. But it doesn't end there.
Me: Tanner, did you make a good decision or a bad decision?
Tanner (through tears): A bad decision.
Me: Would you like to calm down now and lay in your bed?
Tanner rolls over with force, avoiding the question but, realistically, giving me her answer. She seems calmer and seems like she understands her consequence, so I tell her that she can't get up until she has calmed down completely AND I have given her permission to get up. (i.e. no more "four-on-the-clock" rule).
Tanner: NEEEEEEVVVVVVEEEERRRR! (the loud, shrillness is back. W. T. H.)
Me: Excuse me? (my usual response when she acts out of line. 80% of the time I say this she corrects her own behavior).
Tanner: NEEEEEVVVVEEER WILL I GET UP WHEN THERE'S A FOUR ON THE CLOCK!
(today is obviously the 20% of the time she doesn't correct her own behavior, and now she's just not making sense).
All the sudden, the bear she has been clinging to since I took Bubble away goes flying across the room. I won't leave you hangin'....the bear is now sitting nicely in the top of her closet, snuggling with Bubble.
Me (again): Was that a good decision or a bad decision?
Tanner (yelling): A BAD DECISION!
I can tell she's thinking about launching more of her stuffed animals and babies across the room but ... a moment of sanity FINALLY comes over her and she puts it down on her bed, rolls away from me, and starts to snuggle with the remaining bears, mermaids, and pillows on her bed.
Mom 1, Tanner 0. (OK, not really, but at least we didn't continue down this road).
When did 3 1/2 years old become the new 16? Has it always been this way and moms before me have hidden this heinousness, like a secret rite of passage I'm not supposed to be prepared for? Have they tried to warn me and I just plum didn't listen? Or (*gasp*) is my 3 1/2 year old more heinous than all other 3 1/2 year olds out there?
*Sigh*
I need someone to tell me, stat, how to prevent this from happening, because I can't have this happen to Ellery, too!
Oh screw it. They're both upstairs screaming now. ULTIMATE FAIL!
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| Sometimes she is so cute. Thank Goodness. |
1 comments:
Oh that sweet, sweet girl. And her sweet, sweet mother.
I finally read this and I got every inch of the flashbacks of my own "tantrums" (which is why I hesitated) that I was expecting.
I remember the fury, the hot fury of a thousand suns, that I used to feel when in the throes of whatever it was that irked me to begin with. I remember the power I felt too, how getting madder and madder actually felt really good and the hotter and madder I got, the better I felt. It was a weird kind of better. It was a terrifying, empowering, fearful and awesome kind of better. I would get even more mad because I couldn't scream louder. I would just spiral out of control with my skwee little finger on the "go" button to see just how far the ride would take me.
Ultimately, I'd run out of gas and lie face down on my bed, soggy and rough-throated, and defeated. Epic? Probably not by today's standards. I always felt so much smaller after those events. I felt cold and lonely when I woke up from my 'nap'. My folks were always good about telling me (in thier own victorian way) that I was being a little jackass and need to get the hell over that stage already and then hugging me and feeding me and letting me go back to my business.
Little T seems to need some more tools to deal with her anger. She needs a steering wheel, of sorts, for the ride. She needs to learn to say "I'm so mad I just can't stand it" and then learn to get past the "so I'm going to make the whole world hurt as much as I do" stage. That, sadly, will take time. Her brain is a hot zone of emotional electrical storms and she's trying really hard to muscle through them just like you are.
It's a totally lame thing to say, but hang in there. With your (EPIC) patience and (EPIC) motherly talent, this too shall pass and you'll all be stronger for it.
That is, until Little E gets there.
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