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Month: October 2016

Toddler Tantrums: How Do YOU Respond?

10 / 21 / 16

No, really. That isn’t a rhetorical question. I need to know–my sanity depends on knowing: how do you respond to tantrums?

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Finn is 14.5 months old. That’s a very specific age, I know. This week, a student asked how old Finn was and, when I said he was 14.5 months, my student rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Why can’t you just say that he is one?”

“Because, at this age, one week can mean the difference between a demon and a kitten,” I replied.

And it’s true. We read–and talked–a lot about Wonder Weeks and the various developmental stages during the first year. Finn followed most of the predicted patterns; we’d have weeks that were blissful and weeks where it took every ounce of restraint not to throw myself out of a very high window. Mostly, we survived the latter.

Still, though, Finn is experiencing a lot of mood swings. He’s had a lot of change in his life, lately, and some of the change can be attributed to those shifts.

When he started daycare, we experienced a couple weeks of serious separation anxiety, accompanied by a significant uptick in the quantity and intensity of tantrums. We’re talking full-on, body-goes-limp, dragging-himself-on-the-floor, head-banging tantrums.

“This cannot be happening so soon,” I thought. Don’t tantrums generally start when toddlers turn two? Isn’t that why they are called the “terrible twos,” after all? Is Finn just so intellectually advanced that he’s displaying two-year-old behaviors at one? (Yeah, okay, so I was trying to make lemonade out of lemons.)

So, of course, I became obsessed with trying to figure out how we should react. And, of course, there are approximately 1, 872, 098 theories about this. Ignore him. Don’t ignore him. Smother him with hugs and affection, letting him know he’s safe. Stick his ass in a closet and close the door. Put him in a corner. Put him on the couch. Put him in his crib. Talk to him. Don’t talk to him. Laugh it off. Don’t show any emotion. Don’t make eye contact. Call a priest.

If you can name it, there’s a book about it.

Mostly, we’ve decided to try and ignore his behavior as much as possible, unless he’s banging his head on a hard surface. Then, we move him to a less-hard surface and let him go to town. Surprisingly, this has been pretty effective.

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See what we have, there? We have Finn getting over a tantrum, just as I’m grabbing my camera. Minutes earlier, he’d thrown himself face-down on the carpet, protesting something ridiculous. I can’t remember what, exactly. His truck probably looked at him the wrong way. Or I said “kitty” instead of “cat.” One can only imagine.

Anyway, there he was, banging his head on the carpet, when he realized it didn’t have quite the dramatic effect he’d intended. So, he does what any maniacal toddler would do: he scooted out jussssssst enough so that his head would pound against the wood floor, instead.

Then, he got over it. Until he saw I was photographing him. At which point, he threw himself down all over again in truly award-worthy performance, peeking up to make sure that I was catching it all. (I was.)

His tantrums have waned quite a bit since he’s gotten accustomed to daycare, but he still has them. And I’m sure there are a lot more coming. This is possible the least patient, most independent and willful child I’ve ever met.

He’s also starting to really challenge our authority.

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He’ll knowingly do something we’ve just told him he can’t do, all while looking us straight in the eye, waiting for a reaction. We can only say “no” so many times. And then remove him from the situation. And then, guiltily, give him a little smack on the hand when he’s really not listening. We both feel pretty icky about that last one, and we’re not sure it’s effective, anyway, but sometimes we go there.

I’d love to hear tips from more experienced parents. What do you all do to respond to tantrums and mischievous behavior at such a young age? Other than down bottles of wine in the pantry, of course.

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It’s Fall, Y’all!

10 / 18 / 16

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I’m home with some kind of severe stomach funk. So, I thought I’d capitalize on the opportunity and get a blog post up. I haven’t exactly been a prolific blogger, lately.

Nonetheless, even though I haven’t been doing a lot of writing, we have been doing a lot of living, and that’s really more important, right?  It’s my favorite time of year, and we’ve been taking advantage of it as much as we can, despite a month of colds, Finn’s first bout of pink eye, and, now, a stomach bug.

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Finn is full-on walking, now. I alluded to that in the last post, but I haven’t said too much about it. It happened SO quickly, but I guess it always does. Within a couple of weeks, he went from never having taken a step to refusing to crawl or hold a hand or seek any kind of assistance. My step-dad jokes that he’s like a drunk frat boy, stumbling around aimlessly, slapping helpful hands away, and running into walls.

The truth is, it is unbelievable how steady he’s become. Yet, his confidence still outweighs his ability. He’s a cocky little sucker like that.

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Walking has made some things more challenging, yes, but it has also made a lot of stuff more fun. He can explore on his own. Parks are a whole new ballgame. He runs up the stairs and throws himself down the slide–and then does it all over again.

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There are some downsides to his being fully mobile, too, as any parent knows. Of course, there’s the whole has-a-death-wish-and-must-be-watched-constantly thing,  but  what’s worse is that he has become even more fiercely independent. Finn has always been an independent little guy. If you’re feeling a little less charitable, you might even call him willful. (We all knows where he got that.)

Walking has only fanned that fire. He’s even more emboldened. Like, you can tell he’s thinking, “Screw you people! I don’t need your strollers or your hands or your wagons. I’m out of here!” And so, he absolutely refuses to be restrained. He’s pretty good, riding in the stroller. But try to hold him, cuddle with him, or grab his hand and he will arch his back, his body will go limp, and he’ll have a full-on temper tantrum.

Exhibit A:

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What awful torture were we asking him to endure, here? We had the gall to request that he sit still for 20 seconds so that we could get a photo with his bestie, Veen. Oh, the humanity!

Speaking of Veen, we took the boys apple picking for the second year in a row. You may remember my post from last year’s apple-picking adventure.

CAN YOU EVEN HANDLE HOW MUCH THEY’VE CHANGED? I CAN’T.

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That first trip was a little tricky because Finn absolutely refused to drink from a bottle, forcing Sona to whip out a boob in the middle of the orchard.

The good news is that no boobs made an appearance at the orchard, this year. The bad news is that tantrums did. Mostly, we had a great time, but Finn was his usual antsy, independent self. He didn’t want to linger at the animal pens in the petting zoo. He didn’t want to wait in line for the “Moo Choo” train. He wanted to run.

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Bye, Felicia.

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Luckily, he did pretty well in the wagon once we got out to the apples.

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These boys. I love them so.

We tried, yet again, to do a couple quick family photos while in such a beautiful fall setting. Veen cooperated.

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Finn? Not so much. #oneofthesethingsisnotliketheother

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But even with all of the toddler antics introducing themselves, it’s more fun doing things with Finn, now. He understands what is going on, and he engages in our family activities. He’s like a little person–and not a little drooling blob. Granted, he’s a pretty cranky person, sometimes, but he’s our crank. And we love him.

And because we’re starting to lap Finn’s first year, there are lots of opportunities for side-by-side comparisons. So, here’s one more of our little cranky pants. Does it make your heart stop? Because mine sure does.

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Surviving Daycare: Week 1

10 / 3 / 1610 / 4 / 16

It’s a good thing I didn’t write this blog post last week, cause it would have been all “woe is me.” Actually, “screw you, world” more accurately describes last week’s mood.

Rock hits Sona’s windshield and it needs replaced? Screw you, world!

My fender bender, the following day, in which the man at fault fled the scene? Screw you, world!

Air conditioner on the fritz–but not on the fritz enough for our warranty to do anything about it? Screw you, world!

Having to explain to co-workers for the 20th time why I can’t/won’t just spontaneously stay late to have yet another meeting during the week? Screw you, world!

This blog crashed, and I had to have four chats with my hosting agent to get it back up? Screw you, world!

Having to walk away from a screaming Finn, whose separation anxiety has flared up in the midst of our first week back at daycare? Screw you, world!

Yeah, it was bad.

Finn’s first week of daycare actually went better than we’d expected, despite all of this hemming and hawing. Yes, the separation anxiety is rearing its ugly head, again, but we can’t really blame the little guy. He’s had a few childcare shake-ups in the past month, and it’s a lot of change for him. Daycare, we hope, will bring with it some consistency.

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But for a while, he’s probably going to scream his head off when I drop him off. And for a while, I’ll probably carry around a lot of guilt and bitterness because of that.

The first day wasn’t so bad. Finn hadn’t yet realized that this place was his new version of prison. He was so shell-shocked by all the newness, he barely even noticed when I left.

It also helps that his daycare is super tech-forward, and there is an app where Sona and I can follow Finn’s daily routine. We know what he eats (or doesn’t eat), when he sleeps, and we even get photos.

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When I got this picture of him napping. On the first day! On a cot! In a room full of other kids! I was SO relieved. He’s a spunky little guy, and we just couldn’t imagine him napping outside of his crib, in a new environment, without a bottle, or a sound machine. We just figured there’d be at least a week of missed naps before he got worn down.

Yet, his daycare teachers are miracle workers, and they’ve managed to get him to sleep–pretty effortlessly–each day.

Still, there have been some adjustments. He’s wearing shoes for the first time. He’s in a class full of kids 15+ months old, meaning he’s the youngest. He’s the only one who can’t walk. He’s not allowed to crawl, here. He’s drinking half as much milk as he’s accustomed to getting at home. He can’t have a snack whenever he wants. He’s not the center of attention. I could go on.

Those things have made for a bit of a bumpy transition, and we’ve had a cranky monkey on our hands. Oh, and a starving monkey. Lord help the soul who picks Finn up without a snack in hand. He DEVOURS his snack before I even put him in the car.

It’s also tough on mommies, as is any change. We worry and fret and wonder if we’re doing what’s best. I carry a lot of stress about those things, and being preoccupied by them makes it difficult for me not to be resentful about anything that comes between me and time that I could be having with my son.

All other obligations become that much more burdensome and frustrating in the context of my wishing I could be there for Finn all of the time. There’s so many feels.

I have a well-meaning co-worker who often asks me to stay late for a conversation or a short meeting, and it really is just a matter of time before he unleashes the Mom Monster. I will give him a tearful 30-minute lecture about how difficult it is to balance work and home life, especially with a toddler, before the semester ends. I see it coming.

And when, on the second day, I got this photo from the daycare, I seriously almost lost it:

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I’ve obscured the faces of all the other kids, for obvious reasons. But let me paint you the picture: It’s daycare. There’s a birthday party. There are even cupcakes! All kids are smiling, in an ignorant icing-induced bliss. Enter: Finn. My son, who looks like he’s been tortured all day. Whose said face says, to me, only one thing: My momma makes me come to this horrible place because she would rather be at work.

I know how unreasonable that sounds, but that I how it feels. That is exactly how it feels 90% of the time.

On Friday, I took Finn to daycare, even though I was off. I had a lot to get done, and his teacher said he needed to come as much as possible at first–just to get settled in. I had a lot of guilt about taking him while I was at home, of course. So, excitedly, I went to pick him up early.

I practically ran to his classroom, only to find they had already left for the park. I went to my car, rushed to the park, and couldn’t find them. They were somewhere in transit. I knew what I needed to do: I needed to just take my happy ass to the grocery store, let him have some outside play time with his friends, and then come back in 30 minutes.

But I called Sona, sobbing, anyhow. All my guilt had bubbled to the surface, and I was just really, super bummed. It was silly and senseless, but I felt like I couldn’t give anything in my life the attention it deserved: not my wife, not my job, and definitely not my son. I felt so defeated.

Fast forward to today.

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Finn’s teacher said he’s “improving immensely.” Hardly any crying. He’s playing with the other kids. He’s painting! And participating in music classes! And going on hunts for leaves! All things he’d never do at home.

It’s good for him. My logical brain knows this, my emotional brain resists it.

And guess what? He’s walking! That’s kind of huge, right?! His teachers have really been working with him, and he was walking after having been there for only three days.

So, yes. I know this will good for all of us. I know he’s happy, mostly, and he’s cared for. It’ll get a little easier each week.

And until then, I will just sit in meetings, pretending to pay attention to conversations about whether or not we should have attendance policies, when I’m really just obsessively refreshing my phone notifications, hoping to have an alert that Finn ate “NO broccoli.”

Shh–don’t tell, Mamas. I know you get it.

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