And lo and behold our little negative nancy has (at least temporarily) disgarded 'Naaaahhhooooh' in favor of 'Yah!' and all was once again right in the universe. What was once only elicited by cupcakes has gradually picked up speed like a rolling rock of positivity and is now doled out for any old thing - whether it's solicited or not. Whether it's a yes or no question or not. "Would you like to take a bath?" "Yah!" "Would you like to read a book?" "Yah!" "It's raining outside." "Yah!" "Donald Trump is a raving nut bar and if he's elected President I'm moving to Canada." "Yah!" "Would you like to watch Barney?" "Yaaaaaaaahhhhh!" (Yes, I'll even tolerate Barney, that gelatinous mass of syrup and sunshine, to hear him say it).
Having my little monkey see the glass as half full lately has been nothing short of spectacular. I've found myself eagerly scrambling on the optimism bandwagon - no easy feat - and wanting to embody much of the enthusiasm I've seen in C. I'll give the little guy credit - he doesn't half ass anything. If he's happy, he's happy all the way (excitement is inclusive of, but not limited to, squealing, dancing, spinning, giggling, "dancing" and general merriment). If he's angry - well let's just say that I'm genuinely surprised that this child has not yet managed to open up a fiery crack in the earth. If there was an Oscar award for temper tantrums - C would not be happy just to be nominated. C is winning that Oscar and thanking himself, all the little people that helped him on the way to temper tantrum, who live in the city of temper tantrum, of which he is the mayor. This morning I asked C if he enjoyed his trip to the zoo this past weekend. His answer? "Yah!" Which is a monumental lie as the only thing he could possibly remember about the zoo was his epic throw down in the middle of the "Trail of the Vines" orangutang exhibit and the bench which he refused to move from thereafter. It was one of those episodes that was so egregious that G and I just stood there collecting snide 'stink eye' from the various passers-by like it was going out of style. What kid doesn't like the zoo? Turns out - ours. And let me tell you - it's not a good sign when all of the other families, the ones with the caravan of three or four whining, screaming, snot dribbling, sticky kids dripping off of them, are looking at you like they're one itchy dialing finger away from calling Child Protective Services.
As evidence that our child is not perpetually angry, see Exhibit A (pre-tantrum at Zoo):
And Exhibit B (post-tantrum at Zoo):
G and I have put our heads together on this tantrum issue. We've brainstormed creative solutions. I've done research. I've actually returned to our dear friend Dr. Google and searched for C's "symptoms" - you know, whining, aggression, lack of co-operation and the like - somehow expecting that this was stemming from some kind of medical condition like an ear infection or the flu and that some good old fashioned antibiotics and an exorcist would solve the problem. I kid you not that I was actually surprised that my search produced about a million hits all titled "The Terrible Two's". So surprised in fact that I made a point of sending the link to one of the million articles to G. And then we shared in our joint surprise. Other people go through this and survive??! We were not alone in our plight. Our child is not possessed. All is not lost! But my relief quickly degraded. Hold on, does this mean we've got an entire year of these episodes coming our way? I read a little more. As it happens we don't have an entire year of 'terrible two' behavior coming our way. We have, like, two or three. Yippee.
Still, this round of terrible twodom has seemingly dissipated for now. The zoo ordeal really only lasted about twenty minutes. It plodded along from general unrest and bellyaching until it hit stride right around complete body wailing. I had heard that walking a safe distance away from your tantruming toddler can help - but soon learned that walking away is impossible when the tantruming toddler is attached to your leg like a rabid koala. What did I learn from this experience? The grave importance of snacks. A few crackers later and it was over. So help me I am going to be a walking pantry from now on if that will prevent a single one of these incidents in the future. In fact, the very next day we were in church for Easter service (which came to pass despite my overarching fear that due to the prior day's events my child might sizzle as he walked through the door) and he was as good as gold. He was angelic. He was so good that the rest of the families relegated to the "crying room" (a sound proof room for parents and children to take part in the service without disrupting the congregation) were dispensing looks of awe and admiration and "isn't he so cute?" and "you ought to be nominated for parents of the year!" And the difference? Snacks.
Our little angel:
So I've taken this appreciation of the value of snacks coupled with the want to exemplify more of that enthusiasm I so respect in C and decided to throw myself into a new hobby: cooking. I've racked up a bevy of new healthy recipes so I can have great snacks and meals on-hand. G seemed a bit skeptical when I came home with armloads of groceries earlier this week - but what could have been disaster turned out to be an excellent pesto dish that C ploughed through (C is a lot of things but a picky easter is not one of them!). So good on you C - you've got your Mum looking squarely on the bright side (which will hopefully not be the bright side of an exploding stove - I haven't had the best luck with cooking). I've got a new interest, a stocked fridge and a pack of new dishes to try - to which I say: "Yah!"
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