AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHH!!!!!

Welp, Scarlett is 22 months now and we have hit the 'horror-screaming-tantrum-throwing-shit-fit phase'. I am not pleased. And apparently neither is Scarlett. She's a lunatic. It's that simple. She's a mini-maniac, no other explanation. I'm kidding (kind of) - she's still a dollie-face. But now that dollie-face has a wide hole where her sweet smile used to be and out of that hole comes a noise that is quite possibly inaudible to some animals. (I wish it were inaudible to me).

It crept up slowly - just over the past few weeks we noticed her temper becoming more and more ludicrous. She would fling herself to the ground and yell for a couple of seconds just to get her frustration out. That's fine, that's typical. But this past weekend she flung that same attitude on a breakneck escalator leaving Gregg and me speechless and knocking back Advil.

I assume it's a combination of factors that have collided at some crucial developmental peak moment to form this monstrous beastzilla. You know, her age, a growth spurt, the start of toilet training, the full moon, her distaste for macaroni and cheese, etc. Clearly a super-cell from hell. Toilet training seemed to be the starting gun for her alarming screaming fits. We started her on the toilet Friday night and she was fine... until she dropped anchor. Yeah, we were completely shocked too. She quickly went from relaxed to terrified. The next day same thing- sitting comfortably, 'reading' her books and then she peed and all hell broke loose. Since then she's refused to get anywhere near the toilet, screaming as if we were chopping her arms off - it is really unbelievable. We figured she isn't quite ready so we put that on the back burner. But now she is boycotting the bath tub. She normally LOVES baths. For two nights she's spewed blood-curdling screams while standing up repeatedly as I force her to sit back down. It's a battle of wills I am learning. She wants to control everything. Sorry, kid - that's MY m.o. If you wanna control something take over the finances for me will ya?

I have considered the possibility that she could be scared of being flushed down the toilet or sucked down the tub drain. However, this behavior shows up in "safer" areas and I know she isn't afraid of having her hands cleaned or waiting to get out of her highchair. But what can ya do? I keep telling myself every day comes to an end eventually.

Today she woke up way early and was - hmm, let's go with ill-natured. So I did what any loving mother would do, I gave her a long beaded necklace to play with. Sure, I was worried that it may break apart leaving seven thousand beads to be vacuumed up immediately before Scarlett digests them but I was willing to take that chance - and that thing has kept her occupied in so many creative ways today! Thank God for junk drawers...

so much for the beach...

See the devilish grin? See the eyes? Those are the eyes of a little beach-loving maniac who is craving independence. Don't be fooled by her seated position. Look closely, you can see the ants in her pants.

I was really really really looking forward to this day. We've had good experiences at the beach so far this season and I felt completely confident that today would be no different. I packed everything up before breakfast. I've got it down to a science. Just one tote bag filled with: snacks, diapers, wipes, sunblock, change of clothes, bags for trash, hand sanitizer, a towel, bottles of water etc. I call it my "to-go" bag and I'm pretty sure every parent has one for a child this age. In the trunk of my car I keep a mesh bag filled with sand toys, a sheet and my beach chair. Ya never know when an impromptu date with the shore will crop up.

Normally we sit and play in the soft sand but today I decided to put Scarlett in her bathing suit so we could sit near the water and she could enjoy splashing around. I brought a couple of swim diapers and chose a two-piece for ultimate diaper changing convenience. We headed out with high expectations on an absolutely beautiful beach day.

We chose a spot right at the water and Scarlett sat in my chair while I dug a little pool for her. I got out her sand toys and changed her into her swim diaper. She sat at the edge of her "pool" with her feet in the water and she was happy. She loved the wet, pebbly sand and of course, the splashing and rushing of the little waves. We shared the beach with one fisherman and a few seagulls. It was just perfect.

And then things took a turn.

After about thirty minutes Scarlett had enough of sitting and playing in her designated spot. She was getting crazy antsy. I took her for a walk being sure to keep her hand in mine. We walked back to our spot and as I let go she bolted. She ran into the sand giggling. Fine. Then she made her way toward the water. I had reminded her often that she is not to set foot in that water without my hand. Oh, toddlers. Silly, funny, defiant, experimental toddlers. She kept inching further into the water until I grabbed her and then came the meltdown. The jelly legs, the screaming, the "no! no! no!"s. Then lying in the wet sand crying. For some ridiculous reason I attempted to get her toweled off and into dry clothes. That went about as smoothly as a plane crash. Trying to get my riled up little scamp to lay flat on a sheet while I pry her wet bathing suit and diaper from her flailing body was not my finest moment. As I'm pulling off clothes she's dumping heaps of sand all over us. I'm trying to wipe the pebbles from her eyes when I notice her sand toys starting to float away. Annnnnnnnnnd here comes the tide. Now I'm demanding that she stay on the sheet while I wade into the sea for her stupid red crab mold. Because a twenty-one month old has no intention of listening to instructions, she clearly rises and runs off in her bathing suit top and drenched diaper covered in little sand stones. I chase her down and we head to the sheet once again. The sheet had seen better days at this point, let's put it that way. I manage to get a dry diaper on her - not without about a thousand pebbles inside it. Enjoy that, honey. Next, I jam a tank top over her head with the promise of a snack at the picnic table. We get her shorts on and with one arm I pack up the nearly sea-swallowed sand toys, the disheveled sheet, the towel filled with rocks, my chair and two bags. With Scarlett on my hip begging to carry her shoes I make my way up the beach, up the hill, onto the grass and to the picnic table. Out of breath and spitting nails I managed to shake everything out, brush the millions of stones from our skin and slip into my flip flops. Needless to say the snack wasn't happening.

We drove away in silence. I felt like I had a teenager in the back seat. She knew I was upset. I asked her if she knew what happened and she told me, "Run away from Mama."  I think she relates the situation to a picture in one of her favorite books, No No Yes Yes. One of the No-No pages shows an open-mouthed boy breaking free from his father's hand and running wild. We have discussed the importance of that page numerous times. I informed her that we can no longer visit the beach without a minimum of twenty five chaperones. I no longer feel confident. Not in such a beautifully dangerous place. I definitely needed a second pair of hands today and I won't even pretend that I had things under control. It was a shit-show... and I was pissed. I wanted to be able to do everything on our own. But toddlers are tough, man. Until she is able to listen and understand fear and danger I think the beach requires friends. Thank God for playgrounds.

The Scarlett Letters #14: the switch-flipper

When you began scratching and hitting my face when it was time for a diaper change. 

When you ripped out my hair as I carried you routinely toward bedtime. 

When you glared directly at me whilst dropping unwanted food onto the floor.

When you screamed and flung yourself to the ground when told to pick up your blocks.

When you decided to skip dinner. Twice in three days.

When all of these things cropped up in rapid succession I knew.

The times... they are a- changin'.

Apparently we have entered the newest phase of raising a person and it is by far the trickiest and most challenging. Some say it's an early start of the ole "terrible twos", others say, it's just a phase and it'll pass. My own assumption is that it's just the beginning of a constant battle for power and independence. A strong desire to become an independent little girl. You want what you want. Hey, who can blame you? I still want a Mac - but it's not gonna happen anytime soon. Much like you getting to play on the stairs with the potential of smashing your skull on the slate landing. Sorry, honey, I know you love to proudly exclaim, "I'M TALL!" (rub it in why don't you) but you can be tall by standing on a piece of cardboard on the rug just the same.

It's amazing to see this sweet, little girl - you know, the one who could do no wrong for a solid year - flip her switch and monsterize herself. I swear, it's like the ponytails come out, the smile fades and here comes Crankenstein. I almost ran for cover the other day. Well, for fear of being hit with a xylophone - that thing's no feather.

But in all fairness there are so many moments of extreme sweetness too. Like last night when you wanted to play with your ABC Puzzle. I told you that the floor was too messy and told you to pick up your animals and put them in the little barn first. I lost myself in a blog for a minute and then heard you say, "OK, ABC puzzle!" I turned around and the floor was clear. But where did she put everything? Where's the barn? I looked over at the couch and the barn was sitting on the couch, closed. I opened it up and sure enough there was the whole crew: cowie, horsey, sheep, farmer guy etc. I was SO impressed. I excitedly praised you and we high-fived through toothy grins. I love seeing that pride on your face. Right then I realized it's up to me to set goals for you to reach so you can always feel that pride. Challenge accepted.

You're a little spitfire these days but man, do I love you. I've learned a lot from these past few weeks too. I've learned how to easily handle most of your tantrums. Simply, by the most passive reaction. When you start throwing your crayons - coloring time is over. We pack it all up and put it out of sight for a few days. When you drop food on the floor because you don't want it - the dish is taken away, you are cleaned up and meal time is over. There is no yelling, just explaining. Don't get me wrong, I do yell some of the time out of frustration but I educate you in every situation. And I know you're listening - it's just up to YOU whether you comply or file the reasoning away under Tough Shit, Mama. 

(20 Months)