David is lapsing into cliche and is forcing me to be cliché with him. His clichéd behavior is that of the "terrible" two and my cliché response is terribly impatient. Jaime proposed that I behave more originally and try to divert David out of his stereotypical behavior, but I'm not having much luck, which is causing she and I to exhibit some rather trite tension-between-parents-of-a-cliched-two-year-old behavior. I would rather David take the lead on originality and think outside the tiredly proverbial "box," but he really likes boxes--typical. So there is a lot of loud-but-dull crying performances from him and some ham-handed pulling of hair from me.
He went from learning how to jump, to jumping up and down while screaming and clenching his fists. I would see it as somewhat cute if I were not blind with my own rage just at that moment. The whole world can prattle on-and-on about the terrible twos, but it is a very different thing to actually come face-to-face with the hellish fury of a 35-inch tall boy deprived a cookie before dinner. This is why everyone always talks about it--because nothing can really prepare you for it. So, when it happens, you are positive that no one has actually ever experienced it before--they would have described it better. But, if they would have described it accurately, I would have rolled my eyes and said they were over-reacting. Nevertheless, I'll waste my breath on future generations: A two-year-old tantrum is just like sitting beside a serene mountain lake in the summertime and then suddenly being hit repeatedly on the chest with a roofing hammer wielded by an angry momma bear. It is confusing, sudden, scary, and painful.
Without segué, I will report on a great breakthrough in the park yesterday. A friend of his, with whom we often play at the park, had brought a ball. It was lying around and David wanted to play with it. As soon as he picked it up, the friend wanted it and a fight ensued. So the boy's father and I separated them and gave them instruction on how to play catch. They did really well for two or three throws/kicks, until David spied another ball that the boy's sister brought and abandon the game to get it. However, over the course of the rest of the evening in the park, David played catch at various times with his friend, another much older boy, and me. It was great progress.
He went from learning how to jump, to jumping up and down while screaming and clenching his fists. I would see it as somewhat cute if I were not blind with my own rage just at that moment. The whole world can prattle on-and-on about the terrible twos, but it is a very different thing to actually come face-to-face with the hellish fury of a 35-inch tall boy deprived a cookie before dinner. This is why everyone always talks about it--because nothing can really prepare you for it. So, when it happens, you are positive that no one has actually ever experienced it before--they would have described it better. But, if they would have described it accurately, I would have rolled my eyes and said they were over-reacting. Nevertheless, I'll waste my breath on future generations: A two-year-old tantrum is just like sitting beside a serene mountain lake in the summertime and then suddenly being hit repeatedly on the chest with a roofing hammer wielded by an angry momma bear. It is confusing, sudden, scary, and painful.
Without segué, I will report on a great breakthrough in the park yesterday. A friend of his, with whom we often play at the park, had brought a ball. It was lying around and David wanted to play with it. As soon as he picked it up, the friend wanted it and a fight ensued. So the boy's father and I separated them and gave them instruction on how to play catch. They did really well for two or three throws/kicks, until David spied another ball that the boy's sister brought and abandon the game to get it. However, over the course of the rest of the evening in the park, David played catch at various times with his friend, another much older boy, and me. It was great progress.
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