Terrible Threes

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

I feel we may have entered a new phase now that Kate has turned 3. For the past several weeks she has started testing me and invariably will do the opposite of what I ask. All with a gleam in her eye and a smirk on her face. If year two was “terrible” (which it wasn’t) what will this year be? The year of “let’s push mommy’s buttons until she screams like a crazy person”

Last week Jon had a meeting after work down at the Bahia on Mission Bay. To save him some time I met him at the hotel for the Kate hand-off. It would be a fun, impromptu adventure for Kate and me down by the water. We could frolic in the sand, find a playground, maybe even have a ham b’ger (this is her pronunciation) al fresco to watch the sun set over the water.

First thing after saying good-bye to Jon was that Kate demanded chocolate from yet another birthday goody bag brought home from school. She negotiated like mad to convince me she should eat the chocolate “right now” instead of for dessert. Then, she argued she only wanted to hold the chocolate in her hand to save it for daddy. It’s going to melt, Kate. No, it won’t she replies as its rectangular shape began to resemble more of a half-empty tube of toothpaste. I was feeling a little hungry myself so made a deal with her that if she gave me half she could eat the chocolate. Okay, but I am going to open it. Sticky, brown goo squished out the holes she made in the wrapper. She put the top edge of the wrapper between her teeth and pulled. I grabbed it away from her and carefully opened the rest of the wrapper to let her suck out the chocolate. She handed me the remains of the chocolate toothpaste. “Here you go, mommy!” Thanks and tossed it in the nearest garbage can.

She’s a mess. As she heads for the water I realized she’s only going to get messier. It’s low tide. The mushy sand was kicking up behind her as she raced around. She plopped down on her knees and started digging a hole in the blackish-brown muck. She looked up at me. Her face was now covered with chocolate and black sand. Ugh. I really wish we had gone to the beach instead of the bay. I started thinking about last year’s sewage spills and noticing random trash left behind by the receding water. I didn’t have a single towel to wipe her down before climbing back into my car. Double ugh.

What happened next was purely my issue, not hers. I changed the game-plan. I decided I didn’t want her in the water and would like to go back to the playground where she would avoid getting muddy. Her response was no, I want to play here. Understandable. But then I lay down the “law” that she must start walking and follow me, right now. Instead, she ran the other direction. We weren’t anywhere near the road so I wasn’t exactly concerned for her safety. But she blatantly acted out by doing the exact opposite of what I had just asked her to do. I started walking towards her and realized it’s the chase she’s after. So, I planted my feet and started yelling things down the beach at her. Kate, get over here right now. If you aren’t standing next to me by the time I count down from five we’re going home. Geez, did I really just say that? I sound like such a mom. Five, four…did you hear me? Ugh, I hate the way I sound right now. Can’t I just forget all this and let her be a kid and get messy? Do I really have to keep with this countdown?. Kate, when I get to the number one, you’re finished. Three…two... Man, I really don’t want to leave. The sun is just starting to set. Why didn’t I say she’d get a time-out instead? One.

So, I ran towards her as she made a last dash for the water. I finally snatched hold of her arm while avoiding a tumble into the sand myself. She flopped down in the sand and flattened. I extracted her from the sand risking back injury while picking her up by her waist and tucked her under my left arm. She has this way of putting her arms over her head so there is no armpit under which I can wedge my fingers. So the under-the-arm carrying technique was the only available method. She started flailing with her entire being to get down. I trudged through the sand with my crazy three-year old in tow and saw a few of Jon’s colleagues heading for the meeting at the hotel. Maybe they won’t recognize me with my short hair. We advanced about thirty more feet before I gave up and plopped her down again on the sand. I was so frustrated and upset that I was forced to stand by my threat of taking her home. We’d only been there for 7 minutes max. She, on the other hand, didn’t appear upset at all. She was not crying or pitching a fit. Just wiggling and arguing, but still smiling.

I got her into the car and complained about what a drag it was that she forced me to leave the beach early. Great job, Kate. We were going to have a great time, but you wouldn’t listen to mommy and now we must go home.. Why don’t you listen to me. I turned around at this point to give her my most disappointed look. She replied, “What’s wrong?” as if this was the first she heard of my frustration. I’m upset because you were misbehaving and now we both have to leave the beach early. She smiled at me. I turned around because then I was really pissed and afraid of what I would yell back at her. Instead I just put the car in drive and drove out of the parking lot towards our house.

I opted for the silent treatment on the way home. About three miles into it she started singing in the backseat to a tune resembling a combination of Here We Go ‘round the Mulberry Bush and Down by the Station, “Mommy is mad, mommy is mad, la la la la la la…the mommy song, the mommy song, this is the mommy song…mommy is maaaaaad…(repeat)” I kept staring straight ahead. I suppressed the urge to laugh. Laughter from the backseat. Maybe she saw my face in the rear view mirror. It seems that laying down the law at the beach only hurt me in the end and did nothing to teach her a lesson.