Telling 2s

We are home. After a week long sojourn in Allentown, Pennsylvania with the grandparents, we are once again tucked back into the bungalow. The boys picked peaches, rolled in the sweet summer grass, rode horses, fed cows, brushed goats, rode a train, saw wild bison and deer, played on Sesame Street, rode down a huge water slide, went fishing, ate treats, chased their grandparents for hours and helped celebrate their great grandmother's birthday. A lovely, energetic week built around making memories. I wiped many little tears off two small faces today after our goodbyes.

I have been meaning to jot the following thoughts down for awhile. Needing to record them for Cubby to look back upon one day, especially if his children are anything like himself or his mother. Particularly since all of his children will eventually be two years old for 12 laughter filled, tear drenched months...

Two year olds.

A two year old can take down the most sensible, rational, patient adult in ten minutes, easy. Its true... year two stinks at times.

I have always strongly disliked the term "terrible 2s," I cringe a bit whenever someone throws that in my face while my two year old is screaming in the corner. I dislike the feeling of having to make some excuse for his behavior. I scratched the term "terrible 2s" from my Mommy vocab even while pregnant with the Bear, declining a relationship to the phrase all together.

And yet, I have seen the anger and frustration year two can bring. It needed a term in my mind. And no, for as well meaning as all the perky women who have piped up with "The TERRIFIC 2s!!!" I can not call it that either. At least not while I live with and care for a two year old twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. When I am their Sunday school teacher once a week I will think of it that way in my mind, but for now, "TERRIFIC 2s!" feels like a tall drink of false advertising.

I have settled on the "Telling 2s" for my Cubby. Because every reaction from him is telling me something about him. His tantrums are the greatest teaching moments for me as a mother. Those moments of frustration for him that can only be verbalized by a Mt Vesuvius of screaming, crying, and wailing. I am given a small window of opportunity to assess, react and then teach. A telling moment for us all.

For example: Cubs needs direction, guidance and trust. He needs me to trust him with big projects, then guide and direct him to finish them. He loves helping out and accomplishing small goals. Whenever there is a fit of tears on the horizon, it can almost always be averted by simply letting him help with some sort of menial task usually done by adults. I will clarify that we do not cave into his every whim or desire, especially if my sweet toothed boy is begging for more treats, we simply look for the Cubs-styled exit sign out of the situation. If he happens to learn a lesson on the way out the door, then praise Jesus.

This afternoon as we struggled with the herculean effort that is passing through airport security with three children three and under, I watched Cubby's line of thinking as he surveyed the scene. Well, I took in as much as I could while taking off 3 pairs of shoes, two laptops out of their cases, handled four bags and removed several jars of medication, and a few sippy cups for TSA. And that was only my share, folks. J was balancing the babe on one arm while working on two more bags, his shoes, belt and other odds and ends. Cubby stood, glancing at the line, and then staring at the stacks of bins.

Now my instinct at any and all airports is to spend every twenty seconds repeating "DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING!!!!!" Especially to Cubby, our button pusher, who pushes all the alarm buttons on elevators, makes a bee line for every fire alarm in sight, and is currently in the delightful phase of wanting to lick everything around him. But I could see the wheels turning in his mind today and my options were pretty obvious. I could let him start removing the plastic bins that held the germ content of a public bathroom in Calcutta or I could say no and drag him through the remainder of security and possibly onto the airplane at a dead weight screaming fit of rage. Hmmmm...a tough one, I know.

We let him pick up the bins. He helped us load our things. He stayed by my side. He waited patiently as our items were scanned and then helped put everything back together. He felt entrusted with responsibility and valued as a part of our family. He contributed to the journey and walked a bit taller next to his father. Did he also make a bit of a mess and slow things down a bit for us? Yes. But really, let the children make a mess. What are four extra minutes in the TSA line when there are tantrums to be avoided and little boys to raise?

I am over the halfway mark of the telling 2s and have had an earful of all the things Cubby needed to say. So far, I can honestly say that 85% (definitely not 100%) of the tantrums were well worth it. I learned hard and valuable lessons from them. They helped me learn about my son. He hit me over the head with his personality, learning style, character, sins, habits, and quirks time and time again.

I always smile a bit whenever other Mommies ask for advice on their two year olds. I wish I had some fool proof method for angelic behavior to offer them, but then if it existed, we wouldn't have the miserable joy of discovering our children in all their sinful human glory. I am glad not to have unearthed a secret instant remedy. I believe I would have spent all my life setting some ill placed, unattainable bar of perfection for my children. They would have gone through childhood misunderstood, uninspired and with the constant burden of feeling like they failed some misbegotten expectation.

So Cubs as you sit and read this one day... I ask of you as your mother... and for the sake of any grandchildren that inherit our passions and tempers...

Listen to the telling twos, they are the guide and map for the rest of those childhood years. And I have a sneaky suspicion, the teenage years as well. I love you and have learned immensely from and about you this year. Keep all this in mind and whatever your children plague you with remember this: You used to lick my shoes and pull the fire alarm, all in the span of fifteen seconds.