So… Is it Cinco de Mayo Yet?

So… Is it Cinco de Mayo Yet?

I only ask because it would seem that the Terrible Two’s has begun, and a margarita of the non-virgin kind would be MUCH appreciated.  You heard right, folks.  Tantrums, fits of rage, & blood-curdling screaming has become a way of life since this past weekend.

I hate those moms who deal with the “Terrible Two’s” like it’s no big deal.  Like, “Oh hey.. my kid’s been screaming for an hour… let me paint my nails.”  What the hell?!  I love Gabe… you all know that, and you’re all probably sick & tired of hearing me go on & on about how much I love spending time with him.  Well, here’s a couple of things:

1) I love spending time with Gabe.  When he’s not screaming.  kicking.  hitting.  and being a typical sufferer of the Terrible Two’s, thus making me and anyone in a ten-mile radius a sufferer of said Terrible Two’s.

2) Lately, although not always, that’s what I’ve been treated to.  A case of the TT’s.  Whoop-eee.

Can I handle it?  Well, sure.  But do I know what I’m doing?  Pfftttt.  Not a smooth chance in hell.  Someone could hand me a manual on child-rearing & I’d either shove it up their behind or use the pages as ear plugs.  So of course today his bed would choose to malfunction.  Which led me to believe that I could fix the damn thing.

Did.  not.  happen.

For a moment (five moments) the bed was 1-0.  Who won in the end?  That’d be me, sir.  I took that dude apart & now it lays against the wall… still arrogantly taunting me.  Looks like I’ll be purchasing another one tomorrow (because, of course, I can afford it).

(insert Jaws theme here)

Oh, the Terrible Two’s.  Whoever coined the phrase ought to be ashamed of themselves.  EVERYONE knows that the TT’s range from 19 months to 19 years of age.  Perhaps they meant the terrible two digits?  I dunno… just throwin’ ideas around a bit.

But can someone, anyone, please verify that this is just a horrible phase?  That one day I’ll wake up & Gabe will be back to his old self again?  Or at least more human?!  ‘Cause you know, in the grand scheme of things, instincts don’t mean crap.  And even if they kind of do… they don’t.  But let’s review some of my favorite parenting “techniques”.

1) Counting.  You know you’ve already lost the battle… so now you’re making sure that at least you can still count to five.

2) Time out.  I’ve actually succumb to this.  Only because he’s still too young for a spanking, counting is most certainly a last resort, and child protection would come get me if I stuck him on the roof for a few hours.  Oh, come on.  Like I’d ever do that.. don’t make that face.

3) First name.  First name, again.. but louder.  First AND middle name even louder.  First, middle, AND last name so loud the people down the road can hear you.  Repeat until the child either A) rolls eyes or B) acknowledges your existence in some other smart ass way.

4) Taking the toy/game/phone away.  This sometimes works with older children… but younger kids?  They don’t care.  Toddlers can make a toy out of anything.  Boxes.  Paper towel rolls.  …lint.  Whatever.

5) The “Stay-in-your-room-so-mom-can-go-outside-and-scream-at-the-gods-for-cursing-her-with-such-an-unruly-child” technique.  Word to the wise:  fussing at God never, EVER works.  He’s got a vicious sense of humor… and he’s comin’ for you.  Only joking.  Partially.

6) Hold the face & speak calmly.  This worked for me the first few minutes… only because Gabe was shocked at how (falsely) calm I seemed (wasn’t).  Then he realized it was a bluff and proceeded to scream.  Louder.

7) Reinforcement.  Sure, this works.  If you want to give your kid a gift every time he or she misbehaves.  “SUSAN!  You pulled the curtains down again?!  Here.  Have a damn cookie.”  Yeah.  NO.  Of course, you’re reinforced, too.  Temporarily.

Oh, yeah. Happy as a clam.

I’d think of more but I don’t care to.  I was in Target today and laughed silently to myself (not so silent, and not to myself) at a couple of parents about my age who were allowing their little girl (about 2.5) to scream at & hit them because she didn’t want to be in the buggy.  They were there for about 30 minutes.  I know this because the store finally got quiet, so I figured they either killed her or left.  For obvious reasons, I opted for the “they left” option.  Karma’s a bitch, ya know?  I should never have laughed at that couple because I certainly got mine this evening.

I love him.  I love him.  I love him.  But, oh… I hate, hate, HATE the Terrible Two’s.

Wish me luck, folks.  I might not survive this one.

I NEED that shirt.