Raising a spirited child takes a little extra patience. Raising a spirited child who is 22-months-old (because that is really when the terrible-two's occur) takes an act of God.
K is, and has always been, a relatively easy child. He listens, only occasionally has breakdowns, but they usually last two seconds, and he infuses the day with humor and smiles. O is a hilarious child, but he also has the fastest and most brutal temper I've ever seen. And right now he is very much in the "I'll scream until I get my way" phase. I don't know if this has something to do with making sure his voice is heard or what. The kid can turn his scream on and off, and he knows exactly what he's doing.
He knows that if he screams, he'll pretty much get what he wants because we try to stop the screaming terror. Take today's swimming lessons. He gets pretty bored by the fourth repetition of any activity, and so then he starts to scream. The teacher has gotten so accustom to this, that she prepares him by saying, "Just two more times, O." And, because I am pretty firm, and she follows my lead, we make him continue through the screams. Sometimes, I try to distract him, but sometimes it's not worth it, and by letting him know I am not going to let him get out of it, he'll stop on his own.
Swimming is one thing. The shoe store was another. I decided to give D a somewhat quiet house and take O with me to the shoe store (I am the kind of person that wears my shoes until I absolutely need to get a new pair ... and it was definitely that time ...) So, I plopped the stroller in the car, and took O with me. Leaving K to play at home. Now, granted, I realize that taking a toddler to a shoe store may have been asking for trouble (but K would go shopping with me all the time and was absolutely pleasant.)
The trip started out well, he was patient and chatting and just smiling. I was able to try on a few pairs of shoes. But after a bit, the meltdown came. The kid screamed (and I mean screamed at the top of his lungs) for a good five minutes. I just held him and let him get it out, asking him gently to please stop screaming. I took him to the window to distract him. I sang him a short song. Nothing worked ... until I gave up and took my purchase to the register ... then the bugger calmed down.
The cashier looked at me with pity. "Rough day?", I replied that he screams until he gets what he wants. She replied, "I guess he just wants to leave." Touche.
Lesson learned, I won't taking O on another shopping trip with me alone until he's at least three.
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