Tantrums

You've heard of the 'Summer of Love', well apparently around these parts it is the 'Summer of Tantrums'. I would much prefer it to be the 'Summer of Love' but unfortunately I do not think my darling daughter will oblige. You see, at some point, inevitably, Mother and Daughter reach an impasse. Daughter beings to question Mother's motives, her wisdom, her ideologies and realises that she doesn't need that gently guiding hand anymore. Mother, of course, then feels deeply hurt, unsure as to what she can do different and makes a number of attempts to make amends with Daughter. Generally speaking, this whole senario usually occurs somewhere between the ages of 13 to 18. I am writing to tell you that it apparently happens from age 2. The question is no longer, 'What as a mother am I doing wrong?' it is now, 'What as a mother am I doing right?'

Something as simple as breaking up her weetabix with a spoon sends her over the edge. She believes that forewarned is fair warned and is constantly reminding me, 'Mommy, no do like this.' Then she makes this stabbing motion in the air with her spoon, just in case I should ever forget that one time I had to pour out two bowls of cereal. She also requires that no blankets be pulled over her little legs if she manages to sneak her way into my bedroom at some ungodly hour. If I forget, I pay. Usually the price is a couple solid kicks to my sleeping back until I am reminded, there is a penalty for doing things 'my way'. I am also slowly learning the art of bribery. After nearly 2 and 1/2 years of keeping my daughter (and her pearly whites) juice free, I am offering a glass of smoothie when we come home from creche, usually because she is having some kind of insane 45 minute tantrum. The good news on that front is that one of my only clear successes is that my daughter loves to brush her teeth and brushes them quite well. So at least I know I am getting one over on tooth decay.

Yesterday she partook in what I have been terming the 'Juanita' size tantrum. Let me explain by saying that usually she throws what we call the 'Marcelina', a very dramatic tantrum aptly named after my deceased, grudge-holding Italian grandmother. The 'Marcelina' includes throwing oneself down on the floor and beating the ground with balled fists while kicking the legs. It is best to avoid the vicinity when these occur as someone usually ends up with a solidly planted kick to the ankle. Now the 'Juanita' appears to be a new style of tantrum, less angry but way more dramatic than the 'Marcelina'. Let me digress into this little story of how this came to be so named. Juanita was my great uncle's wife who had two children from a previous marriage (one though was apparently his) and one by my uncle. She, over the course of many years, managed to turn the family bar business into a battleground for the epic family fight which resulted in my Polish Grandfather and his two Italian brother in laws literally having a punch up in front of the premises. Juanita promptly tried to have my Grandfather and one uncle arrested. As a result my grandmother did not speak to her older brother for 13 years. When Juanita's husband became ill, she divorced him (wonderful woman that she was) and at his funeral, dressed all in black, she threw herself over the coffin sobbing hysterically screaming, 'I always loved you.' Her daughter stood up and clapped demanding to the gathered mourners, 'Oh please somebody give her an academy award'. So the 'Juanita' entered family the annuals. The 45 minute tantrum at 6 am yesterday morning over the way mommy was holding three Peppa Pig books (not like this, like this mommy) certainly classified itself as a 'Juanita' full of tears and play acting which I think Juanita herself would be proud of.

As I look forward to the joy of having two children I can't help wondering to myself - will I ever make it through the 'Summer of Tantrums' alive? Will Mother and Daughter ever see eye to eye? Will Mother ever do anything right? Have the teenage years come this early?

Only time will tell.

Bribery is the sincerest form of parenting...

Controversial no?

Let me set the stage for this tale of frayed nerves and limited patience.

My happy go lucky husband is away for the weekend in Paris. What is he doing in Paris? He is there for a bachelor party. Apparently Paris is the new... Vegas? Somehow I can't imagine 12 'lads' swirling their glasses of old world bordeaux. But I digress.

That leaves me and my little darling full blown toddler who is not two until next month but certainly demonstrates all the characteristics of a budding two-year old. As in TANTRUMS. I was lucky in that last night I got a 'break' before the weekend began. My sister in law watched darling for an hour and a half while I went to de-stress at my pregnancy yoga class. Feeling energised and zen I decided that I would cease to greet this weekend with trepidation but rather view it as a chance for darling and I to have some fun together.

Fun began at 12.15 AM. Cue crying and a little stuffed up voice calling, 'Mama' pathetically from her room. Apparently she does take after her father when sick. He is completely helpless when he is sick and often says,'But baby, I'm sick' in this whiney, sort of annoying voice. This was all conveyed through the calls of 'Mama'. Rather than sit up and try to get her back to sleep I took the easy option. Welcome to bed a la mama. We snuggled and she promptly fell back off to sleep. Job well done you say. Her little coughs kept me up most of the night and her horizontal position in the bed and constant kicking me in the boob finally convinced me that two could not sleep comfortably in our KING size bed. I moved to lay horizontally across the foot of the bed. At about 6 am I heard a worried voice, 'Mama?' searching for me. 'Yes down here!' Darling was relieved and fell back asleep for another hour.

Despite my lack of sleep and early 7 AM wake up call on a Saturday (so wrong, so wrong...) I decided let's have a big bowl of oatmeal and take her bike to the park.

Too bad it was FREEZING outside. And darling refused to let me push the back of the bike but instead insisted on scooting herself along (she can't use the pedals yet). Our progress to the playground was severely hindered by what some may term as 'wrongfootitis'. Or more commonly known as darling put her shoes on the wrong feet but refused to let me change them the right way around. We also forgot our gloves which meant every two seconds we had to stick our hands in our pockets. By the time we actually finished on the swings darling was cold, snotty and miserable. I had to carry her while pushing the bike and that is not easy to do in a huge puffer jacket, carrying a backpack, while pregnant and gimpy on a frosty path.

Was there anyway I could turn this excursion back in my favour? I desperately needed to get a coffee at the farmers market and decided a big cookie would make her forget her woes. Of course she picked out a mini pecan pie. I gently tried to dissuade her from her choice which was met with resistance and embarrassment as several 'good' parents with their angelic kids watched as both mother and child proceeded to have tantrums. Ok no not really just her, but I was DANGEROUSLY close. And when I get going no form of cookie will turn this ship around! I quickly ran to the muffin stall and bought the biggest double chocolate muffin I could find. Sitting her in my lap I broke it into pieces and we both began to shove the chocolately goodness into our mouths. While this feeding frenzy/ mutual bonding over chocolate was taking place a brief pang of guilt (my previous mantra I will never use sugar to parent) flashed across my brain but then I realised that it was either this or my sanity. Oh sweet chocolate. How could you ever compare with sanity.

The good news is darling is now passed out taking a nap. The bad news? It is only Saturday lunch time. A day and a half left to go.