About Parenting Raising a Toddler

My daughter is galloping around the house yelling "sign-a-door, sign-a-door" at the top of her lungs over and over. I'm slightly confused but not surprised at her antics. We are well into our terrible two toddler stage and I'm quite used to her garbled English phrases and amusing sayings. However, this is a new one even for me. I ask her what she is saying, and she promptly holds out her chubby little hand in which she holds a small dinosaur. It's all I can do to keep from laughing.

Scenes like this one happen on a regular basis in my household. In fact, that one is a bright spot in my day, but there are also days when the temper tantrums reign, and I can't imagine how I got myself into this mess (OK that's not true, but that's a story for a far different lens). My darling two year old has put me on first name basis with the poison control helpline people (bless their dedicated hearts). I don't know how many times my husband or I have been cleaning something that she has spilled on a chair, or couch, or pretty much every square inch of the house. Meanwhile little do we suspect, but she has crept up on us and is tasting the detergent we are using. The discovery is always followed by a devious giggle and a good chase.

One of the many things this darling toddler has taught me is that you can never have too much attention, good or bad- it doesn't matter. So now when I'm cleaning the floor, instead of chasing her away and having a poison control speed-dial moment, I give her a rag and enlist her help. Helping mommy is even more attention than eating soap. It has worked like a charm. She is my little helper. No, I don't get any more done than I used to, but now I have fewer emergency room visits. We still have plenty of other toddler and parenting issues, but I think we are moving in the right direction.

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I hate doing laundry. I put it off as long as I can which of course means that when I finally get around to doing it, I've got about a gazillion loads to fold. Last night was the breaking point at which I finally caved to the need for clean laundry. It usually takes about three days of fishing through the laundry room for clean underwear before this happens.

So last night, I'm in the living room almost buried under a mountain of laundry. My daughter thinks it's the best thing ever. A new hill to climb, and a cave to burrow under; she was thrilled. Me, less so, she was slowly spreading clothes all around the living room. Eventually, she is distracted and leaves the clothes pile for some new curiosity.

I was finally making headway, and I started putting things away. It took me awhile to get things sorted and into the right drawers. Meanwhile, in other parts of the house, little tot is helping. When I finally get back to pick up some more clothes, much to my surprise they are all gone. She is staring up at me wide-eyed and angelic.

"I hep." She says. Since daddy's and brother's close all get put away in the basement, she has, very diligently, load by load tossed them all down the stairwell. The clothes I had hauled up from the basement about an hour previous were now back in the basement (well, mostly in the stairwell) in their original unfolded state. Once again a virtual mountain of laundry. I would like to say I took this very calmly, since clearly it was my own fault that she loves to help mommy, but I didn't.

I stomped, and I howled, and I blamed my husband (obviously it was his fault). After I finished throwing my temper tantrum and came to my senses, it occurred to me that maybe that was not the best example to set for my two year old. The little tot taught me many things in that moment. A lot about what I'm lacking as a parent, but also what I've gained: a little girl who no matter what loves her mommy and who is also starting on the path to becoming my own personal laundress. Who could ask for more?

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Raising a toddler will keep you on your toes. When you think you are at the end of your rope, that little toddler will come up with something so precious or memorable. Just the other day one of my friends was telling me how they taught their toddler son to say "pick-up" instead of "truck." Any of you with toddler boys are probably wise to this trick already, but (a few years ago when my son was just learning to speak) I was not. It would have been a great preventative measure; although hind sight is always 20/20. His little obsession turned out to be tractors instead of trucks, but it all boiled down to the same problem.

The incident that sticks out most clearly for me was a shopping trip we took with my mother and sister. My sister was driving with my mother in the front seat, and I was in the back with my toddler son. In order to leave my home town you have to pass an implement dealer; loads of tractors all shapes and sizes. I had forgotten about this minor detail until we were about two blocks away, and it was already too late. My son's little hands were already gearing up. He was wiggling and squirming with a huge beam all over his face. I gave an inward groan and resigned myself to watching my mother's reaction.

As loud as his little voice could shout, "F$&*@ers mommy, f$&*@ers. BIG f$&*@ers, lots of f$&*@ers, mommy look at all the f$&*@ers. His hands are waving like crazy and pointing at all the tractors. I'm holding my breath as my mother's face goes from complete shock, to stunned, and then she turns around to look at me. I shrug my shoulders -what do you do? Then, the dam breaks; she's starts laughing so hard tears are rolling down her face.

Who would have thought tractors would be such a problem? Oh, well- we have some great memories to black mail the kid with down the road. And hopefully if anyone is raising a little toddler boy, they can learn from my mistake. "Loaders" and "bulldozers" people, not "tractors." So when your little toddler has you on your last nerve, remember my son's tractors and have a laugh on me.

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