On tantrums

Parents always hear about the "Terrible Twos."  Two wasn't so bad... Had a few little fits here and there, but they were easily controlled, and a two year old is easily distracted.

But no one warned us about the Threes. I'm convinced that Three blows Two out of the water.

This is not my favorite stage. How my angel-child can go from sweet, tender and completely compliant to absolutely possessed in less than 10 seconds is unbelievable.  There are times when I watch him in the throws of his fits wondering how on earth this is the same child. And I'm not talking about a little fit every once in a blue moon. I'm talking all-out, red-face, screaming from the bottom of his diaphragm, kicking, hitting, flailing, stuff-throwing, head-tossing tantrums every day, sometimes several times a day, which can last upwards of 45 minutes a piece.

To top it off, Jeffrey is stubborn and willful. If the idea doesn't originate with him, he pretty much wants nothing to do with it, just simply for the fact that he didn't come up with it on his own. Take a nap? No way. Use the potty like a big boy? Not a chance. Stop grabbing things from the baby? You're kidding, right? It just doesn't matter what the request is, if he doesn't agree with it, on flips the freak-out switch, and here we go again.

I keep telling myself this is just a stage, and this, too, shall pass.

But, when? How long, oh Lord?

If there is anything these days that drives me to my knees, it is this. How on earth do I parent this child? There is nothing more frustrating than a toddler screaming at the top of his lungs directly in my ear when I'm just trying to put his shirt on so we can play ball in the front yard, which, by the way, was his freakin' idea.

Know what else if frustrating? When I hear, "Funny, he never acts that way around me...." Really? No kidding. Wanna know something? I'm glad. Just for the record, when I hear that, I take it as a compliment. It means that I'm actually doing my job as a parent. I'd much rather have my child be a perfect angel around everyone else than the alternative. It means he has learned to be polite and do what is asked of him.

I'd like to think that I'm a good mother. I'm patient. I give my children all the room in the world to be who God created them to be. I give them room to experience the world in their own way.  I spend all my waking hours that I'm not at work with them - on the floor, wrestling, chasing, reading, playing games, or whatever they want. I pray with them and for them. I assist them when they need it, but give them the opportunity to make their own mistakes - trial and error. Jeffrey likes to pour his own drinks. Fine with me! He gets the milk out by himself. I just help him get a sippy cup from the cupboard and take the top off the milk jug. The rest he does by himself. Sure, he has spilled before. But, it's just milk. It cleans up.  He likes to splash around in mud puddles and run through piles of dirty leaves. That's part of the fun of growing up. I'm not the kind of mom that doesn't let their children get a speck of dirt on them. They're kids, for cripe pete. Hell, I like to splash in puddles and I'm almost 40.

But I do expect my children to be polite. They don't get a dang thing unless they ask politely, which includes a "please" followed by "may I" or "will you" and their request. I don't respond to demands. I also expect my children to listen. I ask them politely to do this or that, and I expect them to follow through. If they don't, I don't count until they do. That, I've learned, just gives them license to not listen until I get to 3 or 5 or whatever arbitrary number you've chosen for your kids. If they don't listen, I get down on their level, ask them to look at me and I explain their options. Option 1) They listen and do as I ask, and they are rewarded appropriately (often with something that they have previously requested), or Option 2) They don't listen and they face the consequences, which sometimes means having their toys taken away, or whatever. I'm not unreasonable. I know what is age-appropriate. I don't expect anything more of them.

I'm seriously at my wit's end with this stage. I'm done with being smacked in the face, kicked at, hit in the back with some flying object after I've carried my son to his room (which is where he gets to cry if he wants to) and I'm walking out to leave him be. I'm sick of the whiny voice, the constant response of "NOoooOOOOO!!!" and the screams that could shatter glass.

I've tried just holding him. I've tried time-outs. I've tried sitting him in a corner for 1 minute for each of his years. I've tried taking everything away. I've even tried spanking his little butt. None of it works. In fact, they all lead to further tantrums.  I am well aware of the need for consistency. We are consistent in terms of what he is allowed to do and what is unacceptable in our home. Acceptable: jumping off furniture. I don't care. It's just furniture, and really how much damage can be done to the chair when he just stands on the cushion and jumps to the floor? Unacceptable: hitting the baby.  I don't need to tell you why this is unacceptable behavior.

How on earth do parents get through this stage? It is seriously exhausting. I can't help but wonder how I'm totally screwing up his little soul or feeling like a total failure as a mother because I can't control my child.  I just so look forward to the moment he finally dozes off after he has crawled out of bed for the 12th time telling us, "There's something wrong" or "I'm thirsty" or "Where's my kee-kee?" 

Is it wrong that I've contemplated sending him to grandma's house permanently?

If anyone has a tried-and-true method for dealing with a willful three year old, I'm all ears.


But I swear if I hear, "He never does that with me...." one more time, I'm gonna lose it.