Hello, Sybil

The Terrible Two's - the supposedly horrible time in a child's development when they become impossible to manage. Your once angelic child becomes willful, defiant and makes you seriously consider the cost/benefit of selling your offspring into white slavery. Imagine the smug look on my face as I watched my peers struggle with their ill-behaved brats while my daughter continued to be her sweet, placid self. Imagine that look being smacked off my face by the karmic gods as she turned the corner into what I like to call The Theatrical Three's.

Apparently, my more experienced mom friends were already aware that for some kids, most of them girls, coincidentally, it's the year between turning three and turning four that is truly parenting boot camp. So here I am with daughter #2. I now spend my days with a being so mercurial I begin to question my own sanity. Even though I have been through this once before with #1 I am still at my wits end. It's like dealing with a schizophrenic who won't take her meds. Let me give you an example of our daily interactions.

ME: What would you like for lunch?
#2: No lunch. Goldfish.
ME: It's time for lunch and Goldfish aren't lunch food. We can have them for a snack later.
#2: NOOOOO!
ME: If you talk back again you'll sit in your chair. Now what do you want for lunch? A peanut butter sandwich or peanut butter crackers ( Triscuits with PB on them)?
#2: A pumpkin sandwich.

This requires the pumpkin cookie cutter I used to make sandwiches during Halloween which has now been put away with the holiday stuff since I don't run a damn bakery. I grit my teeth preparing for battle and attempt a bait and switch.

ME: It's almost Easter, how about a bunny sandwich?
#2: No. Pumkpin.
ME: We put the pumpkin away, lets' use a new shape.
#2: NOOOO! (Now with tears for added drama)
ME: You have two choices, the bunny or the flower, you pick or I pick.
#2: (sniffling) The bunny.

I carefully cut out the bunny making sure no trace of crust is left lest I enrage the beast again. I place the sandwich in front of her on her favorite Nemo plate. She takes one look at my offering, bursts in to tears, wailing:

#2 :"I wanted peanut butter crackers!"

I swear to you, I am not making this up. What I neglected to mention is that all the while this is going on my older one is impatiently asking for juice and the baby is screaming in the high chair for his lunch swatting his arms and scattering Cheerios everywhere much to the dog's delight. This is why I have aged ten years in the last six months. I spend my whole day trying to be patient and nurturing when really I want to scream, "Are you friggin' kidding me?" Is it any wonder when my husband comments, "I'm not really feeling Mexican" on Friday night I scream back, "Well then what do you want?" Ask my older daughter where Mommy is going to end up and she'll tell you - The Loony Bin. Ask her what that is and she'll explain, "A place where mommies go to rest, read books, watch movies and drink wine." And they definitely do not serve peanut butter sandwiches.