Baby Squared : time out

The Reign of Clio

Roper — Sun, 21 Dec 2008 23:24:00 GMT

I am in need of some serious Babble reader advice, sympathy and/or commiseration here. We have the world's bossiest toddler living under our roof, and she's driving us bonkers. True, we have been basically trapped inside by snow for the past two-and-a-half days, so we're all feeling a little cabin-feverish. But this has been going on for some time: Clio has become incredibly high maintenance.

She wants to play with Play Doh now. She wants more milk now. She wants to watch the Baby Animal Songs DVD ("Baby ee-o") for the 4th time that day. She wants me to read Chickaboom to her for the 5th. But mostly, she orders us to hold her. We try to oblige when we can, but it's just not always possible. Making breakfast, going to the bathroom, playing with your other child, etc. are all fairly tricky when you've got a 26-lb. person in your arms. Unfortunately, Clio is also very specific about how and where she wants to be held: standing up vs. sitting down, with mommy vs. daddy, in the kitchen or in the living room. And she most definitely doesn't like to share a lap with Elsa. (I wonder if, in fact, this is all directly related to being a twin -- a sense of competition or jealousy, a need to have her individual desires met...)

When Clio doesn't get what she wants, she cries and yells and screams. If it gets really out of hand, we'll put her up in her crib for a while to chill out, but the effects are typically short-lived. Soon enough, she's yelling "Picka up! Picka up!" or "sitty mommy" (sit with mommy) again. We try to explain that Mommy/Daddy is doing something else and can't pick her up right now. We tell her she's a big girl who needs to walk / play / etc. by herself sometimes. We talk about taking turns so we can play with Elsa, too. We promise to pick her up later. We try to distract her with toys or books or milk or non-lethal kitchen utensils. We try pretty much everything. It works maybe 25% of the time.

My children are adorable and delightful and I love being their mother. But I have to admit: this is a tough phase. When faced with long stretches of time at home with the girls, both Alastair and I are finding it a real struggle. We want to give Clio the sense of control and closeness she's obviously craving, but we have another daughter who also needs our attention and has wants of her own (though usually not voiced as insistently, thank God). There are also meals to be cooked and dishes to be washed and phone calls to be made. We can't spend all our time bowing to the whims of Queen Clio. (Aside: Ooh! What a cool name for a queen!)

As a result of this, we're finding ourselves turning more frequently to videos and TV, since it's one of the few things that can keep both girls calm and contented for more than two minutes at a time. But I don't feel great about it. What I would really like is for Clio to be able to play on her own or with Elsa for even just ten minutes at a stretch without needing me to pick her up or put her on my lap in the middle of it. I would like her to be a little more flexible when it comes to what she does, where, and when. I would also like world peace and for someone to invent a car that runs on water.

Is there any hope? Or is this just typical 2-year old behavior that we'll have to weather as best we can?

Meanwhile, it's still snowing out there.

Two times two equals f#&%

Roper — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 02:02:00 GMT

We had a nice Thanksgiving weekend. Really, we did. There was lots of good food and no family drama. We got some serious, slothful relaxation in, too: the night before Thanksgiving, at my brother's house, we drank wine, ate pizza, and watched five straight hours of Top Chef. I've decided I'm going to start talking to Elsa and Clio like one of the contestants to get them more interested in their food: "What I've done here is taken circular oat cereal, rustled it into a bowl and then quickly doused it with just the right amount of fresh, cold milk. Finally, I've topped it off with some thinly-sliced, ripe banana. Enjoy."

We also had twenty-eight glorious child-free hours together on the Maine coast, which we spent doing the sort of things we used to do way back when: browsing in shops, eating more frequently than is biologically necessary, talking about everything from our college days to our future plans to how Abraham Lincoln won the Republican nomination. (A. is reading Team of Rivals.) We were silly and stupid and flirty. And man, it was nice to go to sleep in a big, soft, king-size antique bed and not have to negotiate which one of us was going to get up with the girls in the morning.

Though I can't say I really *missed* the girls, by the time we headed back to my parents' house, I was eager to see them. They greeted us with bright smiles, said "Mommy Daddy here!", let us kiss them, and then proceeded to have total, screaming meltdowns. Both of them.

I don't remember what exactly triggered said meltdowns -- maybe it was just release of pent up emotion having to do with our being gone -- but I've come to believe that getting at the root cause of a tantrum is not terribly relevant when you're dealing with an (almost) two-year-old. Once they go into that mode, fugghetaboutit. Giving them back the crayons that you took away, letting them eat the third cookie they wanted, picking them back up after you put them down against their wishes -- useless. Pretty much NOTHING can comfort them. Things just have to play themselves out.

This is especially true of Clio, who has more intense and frequent freakouts than Elsa. (Elsa can be a bit of a drama queen, but she's also easier to calm down and comfort, and has been since she was a newborn.) Once Clio gets going, there's no stopping her. (Also the case since day one.) When she's in this state, she doesn't know what she wants, or how to feel better, and rejects everything we try. We pick her up, she screams "Down now! Down now!" We put her down and she screams "picka up! picka up!" She pushes or flings away anything we try to give her -- a toy, a snack, a cup of milk. The only thing to do, it seems, is to put her in her crib with her pacifier until she collects herself. In other words, a textbook "time out."

It felt like there were a lot of tantrums this weekend, both small and large. A lot of intra-sibling bickering. And they both constantly wanted to be picked up, or to sit on our laps. Part of it, I think, was the fact that they're both getting over colds. Also, Clio appears to have a big old bicuspid busting its way through her gums. The change of scene and routine may also have contributed to their fragile states. But I'm afraid the larger truth is that the terrible two's have arrived. And it's going to be rough.

Dealing with one toddler's whining / stubbornness / neediness / etc. is challening enough. But when you've got two going at the same time -- or even one in a bad mood and one in a good mood, but still wanting attention -- hoo boy. Both Alastair and I lost our cool at times over this past weekend. We yelled. We handled inanimate objects more roughly than was necessary. We shouted "Serenity Now!" (Well, I did, anyway.)

I hate that stressed-out, angry, powerless, exasperated feeling. Heart pounding, nerves frayed, temper short. I can almost feel my skin wrinkling, my hair turning gray. I wish I could take it all more lightly and easily -- respond with more humor, grace and patience. I wish I knew how to keep them happy more of the time, or help them more effectively when they're not. But sometimes it's just so damned hard.

And then they go and do stuff like this, and I just want them to stay 23 months old forever:

(Filmed at my brother's house on Thanksgiving Eve. You may hear snatches of "Top Chef" on TV in the background if you listen carefully. And my goofy laugh and dopey commentary even if you don't.)

T-I-M-E O-U-T

Roper — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 02:30:00 GMT

You're probably all familiar with the need to spell out certain words in front of your toddlers once they pick up that pesky habit of understanding English. Woe to the parent who foolishly utters the word C-O-O-K-I-E without the intent of immediately handing one over to any small child within earshot. And don't mention that you're going to take your kids to the P-L-A-Y-G-R-O-U-N-D unless you intend to go THAT VERY SECOND.

But certain words, you would think, are safe to say aloud -- things that kids aren't interested in, like "credit card," "recycling," or "corkscrew." Or things that pertain to them, but that they don't find particularly appealing and aren't likely to start begging for, like "crib" or "time-out." Right? Well, yes. Except ixnay on that last one in the Baby Squared household.

We've been attempting to institute the practice of giving the girls a "time-out" when they push or hit each other, throw food on the floor, or grab toys away from each other in a patently aggressive manner. We haven't had to do it that many times, and when we have, it has tended to be with Elsa.

Unfortunately, the girls don't quite seem to grasp concept of a time-out. That is to say, they LOVE it. They seem to think it's some kind of cool privilege to get to sit on a chair by the window and do nothing. Which is why, if Alastair and I want to discuss the topic of time-outs in the company of Elsa and Clio, we have to avoid the word itself, lest we are faced with two toddlers whining and begging for a time-out.

Obviously, it doesn't work terribly well as a threat, either. The other day, when Elsa was throwing food onto the floor and I warned her that if she did it again she'd get a time out, she started saying "Time out! Time out!" and pointing over at the time-out chair. What was I supposed to do? Punish her by NOT giving her a time-out? Then, of course, Clio wanted a time-out, too. So, after helping Elsa down from the time-out chair (in spite of her protests) I let Clio sit there too. Clio also wanted her baby to have a time out. "Baby sit? Baby time out?"

In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have let them have time-outs for "fun." (Let alone document the incident on film for blogging purposes.) But it was either that or let Elsa sit there and whine and/or continue to fling food, and then risk a Clio meltdown because we didn't let her have a "turn" at timeout. We've been working so hard on the idea of taking turns; how is she supposed to understand that she gets a turn with toys, but she doesn't get a turn at the awesomecool time-out game?

I suppose this is mostly a function of the fact that the girls still find it highly exciting to sit in "grown-up" chairs --- or any chair, for that matter. I'm wondering if it might help to move time-outs to a less appealing, more out-of-the way location. On the floor in the front hall? On the stairs? This would also help solve the problem of the girls bringing each other toys while they're on time-out. (Gates can be closed.) But the challenge, then, is being able to keep an eye on both girls at once. And, ironically, they would be far less likely to actually stay in time-out if it was somewhere they didn't like. See the vicious circle?

And then sometimes I wonder if they're just not ready for time-outs at all. But I feel like we have to start enforcing some kind of consequence for bad behavior, beyond just scolding and explaining, which doesn't seem to have much staying power. Ah well. It's not like they're shoplifting cigarettes or sniffing white-out, or whatever it is the kids are into these days. Hopefully, by the time we get there, we'll have put a little bit of the fear of God into 'em.

Finally, for those of you following the ongoing, not very dramatic saga of this depressive episode I've been having (sorry, couldn't think of a better segue. Something about spelling out S-S-R-I ?) here's the update: I don't want to jinx myself, but I have had two and a half solid days now of feeling darn near like myself. I wouldn't say I'm at 100% yet, but definitely somewhere between 80 and 90%. And God, it's great. It's kind of like being in zero-gravity all of a sudden. Simple, everyday things that were painful to undertake a couple of weeks ago -- making dinner, chatting with co-workers, putting the girls to bed -- seem suddenly, amazingly easy; even pleasant.

And the more serious things that I missed -- having the urge and ability to write (other than here), being able to joke around and be affectionate with Alastair, being able to be a more fully engaged, silly, loving Mom -- feel almost miraculously satisfying. I guess in some weird, backward way, that's a perk of depression? It makes you appreciate just how great life is when you're not depressed (even if not everything your life is great).

I've said it in my comments, but I'll say it again here, because I know not everyone reads the comments: thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all your support, advice and understanding -- silent and otherwise -- as I've struggled through these past weeks. It helps immensely. (And I am so happy to know that I may be helping a few other folks out there, too.)