Whatever Works

[I wrote this years ago.  Tony was still in diapers, barely able to talk.  I share it now for all those who have toddlers and are going through the terrible twos and the f**ing threes.  I had a riot writing it, and nearly every word is true, including the conversation with my mother.]

Alarmed by the sudden change in Paige’s behavior, I began researching childhood illnesses that would cause a sweet child to imitate the cry of a dolphin being skewered by a swordfish at an octave normally used in airplane hangars, while biting, slapping, mauling and kicking. My research suggested ‘the terrible twos’. Since Paige was nearly three, I was convinced it was more life threatening. I checked Paige’s temperature – normal. I checked her stool – it certainly looked normal although it smelled like she ate and digested a horse’s hoof. I even checked to see that her gums were pink. Paige’s gums were as pink as the bubble gum she rubbed into the crown of Tony’s head.

Putting the book aside, I called my mother.

“Mom?”

“Yeah.”

“Did I ever go through the terrible twos?”

“Did you?! You used to lie on the floor, kicking and screaming. It drove me crazy.”

“What did you do?”

“I ignored you until you passed out. You’d stay down for at least twenty minutes…” My mother sighed.

“Nice…”

She hung up.

I turned to my friend Amy for advice. She recommended a dark, quiet closet, preferably in the basement level of the house to let Paige cool off on her own. Another friend recommended getting a puppy (free to a good home!) to keep me occupied.

I opted to revisit the parenting book, which advised me to always maintain eye contact, to set boundaries and time limits, and if appropriate, to offer a choice. Thus, if Paige wanted to color, I had to look her in the eye, let her choose where and how long, but should not let her choose the marker (permanent) or the canvas (her brother’s upper lip and eyebrows) anymore.

During breakfast the next morning I put a plan into action.

“Okay, here’s the agenda for the day. We’re going to the store to pick up bananas and milk, and then we’re going to come home, eat lunch, take a bath and go for a nap.” I said.

Paige looked up from gnawing the nail polish off her thumb and said, “No.”

I silently counted to three. “Paige, that’s what we’re doing and I need you to be a good girl and get your sandals on.”

With her hand stuck down a half-full glass of milk, she countered with, “Um… no.”

I pulled a wet wipe from the dispenser, and wiped Paige’s hands, remembering the book’s advice: maintain eye contact and offer a choice. I sat in front of Paige to summon eye contact, but Paige ignored me. I soon fell into a daydream about sucking tequila shots from George Clooney’s collarbone while rubbing cocoa butter on his. . .

“Mommy!” Paige was gawking at me.

Nearly forgetting my reason for sitting there, I hastened to ask, “Do you want to put your sneakers on or your sandals?” Please say sandals, please say sandals. Your sneakers have laces longer than the hallway. It takes forty minutes just to knot them up so you don’t trip.


“Sneakers!” Paige jumped from her stool and raced to the closet.

I cleaned the breakfast dishes, changed Tony’s diaper, put his shoes on, let the dogs out, vacuumed the cereal crumbs, cleaned the microwave and guzzled a lukewarm cup of coffee, while I waited for Paige to wrestle into her shoes.

Paige ignored both her shoes and her feet, and was intent on eating the pink polish off her nails. I sat beside her on the floor and raised each sneaker, remembering that I needed to give her a choice.

“Which shoe do you want to put on first, your right or left?” I asked.

“Left!” She said.

I reached for her left foot.

“No. I do it!”

Paige struggled to get her foot in the shoe, and Tony attempted to use my ponytail as a pulley to shimmy up my back and onto my shoulders. I ignored him, he was being quiet and I could handle the pressure of his foot prodding my rib cage for a few more seconds.

“Okay, let mommy tie your shoe.”

“No, I do it!”

“You’re still a little young and it’s really, really hard to tie your shoe.”

“No, I do my other shoe.”

Paige succeeded in getting both feet into her shoes. Tony succeeded in clawing a hole in the apple of my cheek. I swatted his hand away, and he clutched my hair to regain balance.

“Oh, you did a great job! Now let Mommy tie them so we can get to the store.”

“No! I do it!”

“Okay, honey, cross over the laces and pull it through… good, good.”

Tony used the gap in the back of my jeans as a step, and dug his fingers into my eye sockets, mimicking a rock climber tackling Mt. Fuji. I repositioned his hands so that he merely throttled my windpipe. I leaned forward and took hold of the laces.

“Okay, now let Mommy do the rabbit ears and you can pull it tight.”

Paige furrowed her eyebrows, closed her mouth and pushed out her lower lip.

“No!” She pulled the laces apart again and slipped one shoe off.

“Paige Lauren!” My voice was tinged with warning and disappointment.

“I do it, I do it, I do it!”

She spun on her butt so her back was to me and yanked the laces from every hole in the shoe. I reached around her and grabbed the shoe. Tony blew spit in my ear and swung from my ponytail like a bull rider.

I began re-lacing the shoe. I glanced at Paige just in time to witness the explosion: lips pursed, cheeks puffed, face purple and BAM! The monster shriek was liberated – the one that frayed my nerves, made me feel horrible as a mother, made me question my abilities as an intelligent human being and made me curse my husband for ever buying the laced sneakers in the first place when I was completely against them and insisted on the Velcro kind until he said, “But she can learn how to tie earlier than all the other kids,” and I was thrilled with the idea of my genius daughter showing off her motor skills with a class full of snot nosed children who still wore Velcro shoes.

“NOOOoooaaarrgghhh!”

The screech went on and on, and I repeatedly chanted, “It’s okay, it’s okay. . . ”

I visualized my future self, sitting in the middle of a padded room, rocking back and forth, begging “Please stop crying, please stop crying."

Tony would be sitting beside me with every strand of my hair entangled in his sticky fingers.

People would visit me and say, "She just couldn’t handle it.” And then they would look at each other and ask, "But why is she bald?”

I grew annoyed by my own begging voice. “Stop crying right now or we’re not going to the store at all!”

Paige retorted by kicking me in the mouth. Holding my lip with one hand and Paige’s feet with the other, I counted to ten to regain composure.

“We’re putting your shoes on and we’re going to the store now! You keep crying and you’re going to bed. Tony, get off my back!”

I reached behind my back and slid him off; placing him away from Paige’s flailing feet. He began to cry. Paige paused, looked at Tony, gulped more air, and resumed her broadcast.

I shoved both shoes on Paige’s thrashing feet and began tying the laces. Just as I tied the final knot, my hair was torn from my head as Tony climbed on for another ride, snot running out of his nose and all over my t-shirt. Paige, squealing, yanked at the laces I had wrapped around her ankles and tied in a quadruple knot.

“Stop Crying. Stop! Tony, get off me!”

Tony wailed, Paige cried and I sat there, the situation sucking every fleck of patience from my being. I contemplated hiding in the quiet closet down in the basement until they both passed out. Instead, I feigned despair.

“Oh, I’m so sad. Boo hoo hoo.” I covered my face, and howled. I rubbed my eyes, and wailed, my chin quivered, and real tears started to appear. I fell back onto the floor, kicked my feet into the air, and screamed, imitating Paige’s pitch and tone.

The children grew silent. I sat up, my hands covered my eyes and I continued to blubber. I moved a finger away to peek at them.

They sat and stared.

Stared and sat.

And then, miraculously, giggles erupted.

“It’s okay Mommy,” Paige said and patted my knee. Tony, instead of hitching a leg up, tilted his head to my arm for a hug.

They sat on the floor together. Hushed. Peaceful.

The door opened.

“Daddy!”

The kids jumped up and raced to their father. He lifted a white plastic bag and said, “I got milk and bananas so you didn’t have to worry about it.”

I hooted and fell back in laughter, thankful I didn’t pass out.