Friday, May 16, 2008

Temper, temper!

Some time ago (I believe it was around the 13 month-old mark), Charlie and I got a glimpse into the days of the Terrible Twos. Gabriella became a bit rebellious and very adept at demonstrating her frustrations through screaming, crying, whining, and throwing herself on the floor. It seems that once she was able to walk on her own, her sense of independence flourished. If things didn’t always go her way, and you caught her on a bad day, look out!! Temper tantrums were inevitable.

Last month, one of those days fell blindly upon us. Everything was going just fine; Gabriella and Aiden and I had spent the morning running errands, singing songs in the car, and even spending a few moments outside in the fresh, spring air. It was getting close to Aiden’s lunchtime, and I announced that it was time to go inside. That’s when all H-E-double hockey sticks broke loose.

First, Gabriella started screaming and running away from me. Not an easy task, running after and trying to catch a toddler while holding a 5 month old, 17 pound baby in your arms. I did manage to fetch her by the arm before she ran into the landmine field (skillfully laid out by our dogs, Brodie and Tank). We somehow made it into the house, amidst kicking, feet dragging, pretending to fall, and desperately clinging to the front porch banister.

Next came the Nonsense Game, as I like to call it. (That’s when Gabriella points to an object, while saying the name of it through whiney pleads [“Glasses! Glasses! WAAHH – glasses!”]. I have her say please and then I give her the object. She reaches out for it, then draws her hands back and cries out, “No! No! No! No!” I put the object down, and she asks for it again, this time a bit more fervently and with more pomp and circumstance. The scenario is repeated many times.)

The game continued on, with a different object every so often, until I had enough and began to ignore her. That made her really crabby. Pretty soon the Nonsense Game turned into the Oh No You Didn’t Game (her screaming at the top of her lungs and me saying, “Oh, no you didn’t!”). That’s when I picked her up, marched her into her room, and placed her in her crib. I told her I’d had enough and didn’t want to listen to her anymore. By that time, 45 minutes worth of temper tantrum had gone on, and it was only escalating.

I called Charlie in desperation. He offered to come home and I seriously considered it. However, since it wasn’t an emergency, I elected to call the doctor’s office instead and see if this spat was a cause for concern. It just didn’t seem quite normal to me – I often give up on my temper tantrums after a good half hour at the very most.

The automated secretary told me to press option two in order to speak with the nurse at the pediatric office. I was delighted to hear a friendly voice after the torture I had been through. I told her my name and explained my situation as calmly as I could; that I had a 19-month old daughter who had been throwing a horror-film type screaming fit for over an hour, that she wouldn’t calm down, and I just wasn’t sure what more I could do for her. “I can bring the phone in her room if you’d like to hear her,” I offered with all the generosity in my heart.

“No, no…that won’t be necessary. I only have a five month old at home, so I’m not quite sure what you’re going through-“

“Oh, just you wait!” I promised her.

She forced a chuckle, and I could hear her swallow hard. “Ok, I’m going to put you on hold and ask the other nurse what you should do. Just a minute.”

As I waited, I checked in on Aiden (who had gone down for his nap shortly before I brought Gabriella to her room), and then headed outside to breathe in some fresh air. I observed the looks on people’s faces as they drove by our house and hit the sonic boom that was emanating from Gabriella’s window. What a set of lungs that kid has! Finally, I heard the phone click, followed by the confident, matter-of-fact voice of the nurse.

“Ok, Mrs. Williams? This is what you need to do. First of all, make sure your daughter is in a safe place where she can’t hurt herself or others during her tantrum.”

“Ok,” I responded a little uncertainly. “She’s in her crib.”

“Great, that’s a good start,” the nurse said. “Now, take her to a chair. Tell her that is the time-out chair, and that she has to sit in it and calm down. Tell her that once she has calmed down, then you will talk to her. Then you need to explain to her why her actions are unacceptable.

It struck me then how blatantly naïve this woman was. “What?! Ma’am, my daughter is 19 months old. She is not going to understand that at all.”

“Well,” she went on in her sing-song voice, “the other nurse has a two and a half year old son, and she said that’s what works for him. Just give it a try, and if you need help, don’t hesitate to call us back.”

Yeah, because you’re a tremendous source of wisdom and assistance thus far.

“Alright…I’ll try,” I promised. And with that, I hung up the phone, walked down the hall to my daughter’s room, took a deep breath, and opened her bedroom door. There she was, her tear-streaked face as red as a bing cherry, screaming her lungs out. She stood up with her arms out and I picked her up, set her on the floor, and walked her over to her rocking chair.

“Gabriella, this is the time-out chair,” I pointed idiotically to the rocker that once belonged to me. I wonder how many time-outs I had to sit in this chair? Did I even understand what a time-out was? “I want you to sit here and think about what you did. When you...uh...calm down, then I’ll talk to you.”

I was met with a torrent of blood curdling screams that only a temper tantrum can fashion. I quickly exited her room and turned to shut the door, only to see Gabriella running at me with the most pitiful look on her face. It was a look of anger, frustration, confusion, and distress. How could I let that little girl continue on like that? Honestly, I couldn’t stand the shrieking and bawling, but it broke my heart to let her carry on so. Then all of a sudden, it got quiet. What the…?

I cracked open the door and peeked in at Gabriella. She stood there with her binky in her mouth, cradling her blanket, and rubbing her eyes. My heart finished breaking into a million pieces as I sauntered in and scooped up my little peanut. She rested her head on my shoulder and wrapped her arm around my neck. She stroked my hair and let out a shaky sigh. I held her tight and desperately fought the lump in my throat.

“Time-out chair,” I muttered to myself. No, I think the blanket and binky and the hugs work just fine.