Tag Archives: Tiny-Small

Tiny-Small Gets Angry, Really, Really Angry

 

Tiny-Small has always been vocal about her wants and needs. She’s been that way pretty much since the moment of birth. She is always crying, talking, screaming or singing unless we plug her mouth with her beloved Binky. It’s a good thing though, because I can leave the room and still know she is alive merely by the sound of her voice bouncing off the walls of the house. She has never been one to just sit back and let things happen, so you can imagine the kind of temper tantrums we have been experiencing ever since she figured out the proper way to have one. She’s been screaming and doing the stop drop and roll for a while now so I know when she visits the firehouse, in the future, she will be familiar with how to put a fire out. At least, if she happens to be the one on fire. She has that part down like a real pro. Luckily, over the last couple of weeks she has started to change…a little.

She is still throwing tantrums, but not as often. The only problem now is they are seriously intense. She screams so loud and so long that I sometimes think her head might just pop right off and blow away with all of the steam she is letting off. Her little fists ball up, she turns red and she shakes all over. We just back away slowly and giver her some space. It’s kind of stunning to watch and you can’t tear your eyes away  (kind of like in a suspenseful movie when the bad guy or creepy ghost is about to pop out of nowhere). I always want to shout, “Back up people, we’ve got a live one here!” The worst part is she looks like some type of comedy theater and so when she screams like that some of us (I won’t name names, but you know who you are, daddy) can’t help but laugh out loud. Her screams have so much force that it kind of blows us away. If she ever goes into the theater business she will not be needing a microphone.

 

Those screams probably blow everyone away. I am actually surprised the neighbors haven’t called 911 to report a murder in progress. The only explanation I can come up with for why the police have not arrived at my doorstep (yet) is that all of my elderly neighbors are most likely hard of hearing (probably from raising their own kids). Tiny-Small is very powerful and I keep imagining her career as an opera singer or maybe a professional window shatter-er and how much success she is going to have. I have to admit, I am privately proud of her energy and in awe of her strength and capability. Also, I might be a little scared of her too. When she is throwing a tantrum she seriously looks like a child who has been raised by wolves or maybe an axe-murderer. That probably isn’t nice to say about your own child, but I want it on record (in case there are any future investigations into the screaming coming from my house) that my child is an expert in the field of temper tantrum throwing. I’m certainly going to experience hearing loss in my old age. That will be my only revenge, at least that is what I cling to while she melts down in the cereal aisle at the grocery store because I won’t let her talk on my phone, walk instead of ride, or eat the food we have not yet purchased.

 

Her communication skills have started improving dramatically over the past two weeks. She can verbally leap tall buildings in a single bound and often uses full sentences. For example, just the other day I heard her say, “I washing Lucy. I washing the dog.” Now when she says “washing” it sounds more like “washy” but I get what she is saying. I was reading a book, “This Little Mommy Stayed Home” by Samantha Wilde because my mom said I HAD to read it because the main character sounded just like me (I hate to admit my mom was right. The character is a bit of a neurotic new mommy who gets involved with some crazy antics). I wasn’t exactly paying complete attention to what Tiny-Small was doing until she came up to me and said, “I washing you leg.” Then, she poured a glob of generic Cetaphil facial cleaner all down my leg and started rubbing it in with the towel she likely borrowed from the bathroom sink. The same towel she had just washed Lucy’s with. I looked up in time to stop Lucy from licking the generic cleanser out of her fur. I’m starting to realize that I have to actually listen to what Tiny-Small is saying now because she is usually warning me that she is about to get into some serious trouble. For instance, when I hear, “I right. I OK. I do it.” coming from the other room something really naughty is probably about to go down. That is my cue to run as fast as possible (as if I own tights and cape) and stop the mischief making in progress. Or, when I hear, “Oops. I careful.” preceding a loud crash I know I am in for a doozy when I poke my head around the corner.

 

So, Tiny-Small can tell us what she wants: “Drink.” “Hold.” “I watch Elmo. T.” “I hungy.” “I walk outside DaDa.” This reduces the tantrums, but then when we don’t understand what she is saying it’s really, really bad. She gets ANGRY! She mumbles nonsense syllables and then waits for 5 seconds exactly. If I don’t respond she acts like I just chopped her Binky into a million pieces or threw Elmo out the window of a three story building. We’ve started reading the book, “When Sophie Gets Angry-Really, Really Angry” by Molly Bang to Tiny-Small in the hopes that she will absorb some of Sophie’s coping skills and not feel so alone in her frustration. Tiny-Small likes to say, “Sophie Angy,” while she nods in a solemn, all knowing way.

Tiny-Small is about to turn two in just a few more weeks. I don’t know if I can still call myself a new mother. I still feel like one, but I do have some experience under my belt. At least, I have enough experience to know that this phase will pass just like all of the others have. It won’t be long before Tiny-Small is verbally running circles around us and will, no doubt, be assaulting us with her expert grasp of the English language. I have a feeling someday, in the not so distant future, I will be longing for the days when all she did was scream at me.

The Best New Thing Since Sliced Bread

The best new thing around here (since sliced bread) is climbing. Everyone is doing it, even the dogs. I must have missed the memo that went out to my family exclaiming “Let The Climbing Begin.” That’s not really surprising because I am always behind the times when it comes to the latest trends and fashions.

Tiny-Small has proven to be an excellent climber. She’ll climb anything, anything at all. Her dad left his truck door open and she climbed right in. Now we just have to worry about her trying to drive off into the sunset. That may sound ridiculous since she can’t reach the pedals, but it has happened to people before. Besides, she already knows where the keys go and how to work the windshield wipers. If that isn’t enough to put fear into a parents heart I don’t know what is. From now on all vehicle doors will be closed, locked, with keys hidden.
Rosie thinks she should be able to eat at the table with us. I am sure Tiny-Small agrees. This is why I never take a vote on anything going on around this place. I would lose for sure.
Now that she can climb so well, Tiny Small has computer and Internet access each and every time an adult leaves the room for 30 seconds. Of course, being the toddler that she is, Lucy wants computer access too. This causes a few power struggles and upset feelings. Lucy has become a bit of a toe-licker (it’s her revenge for having short legs) much to Tiny-Small’s disgust.
This has lead Tiny-Small to perfect the art of simultaneously scrolling websites in search of Elmo while shooing the dog away with her foot and free hand. There is usually nonstop screaming which eventually brings a flurry of adults into the room and a lot of “Get down from there! You’re going to fall. Stop kicking Lucy. Lucy, stop that!” It’s almost as good as a new party game, except nobody seems to be having all that much fun.

Standing on the glass topped, wagon wheeled, coffee table (that is perpetually covered with sticky finger prints and spilled juice) is always a fun experience. Well, except for any mothers who happen to be lingering around the room. Mother’s just watch horrified and imagine breaking glass and crashing to the floor babies sliced up by broken glass. I shiver just thinking about it. Unfortunately, even Lucy thinks standing on the coffee table is an inside adventure worth checking off her bucket list. I am not sure how she endures the higher altitude, but I’m no biologist.

I’m just an over tired frantic mother desperately trying to keep everyone alive for the next 24 hours. I take the AA motto “One Day At A Time” to heart in this situation because imagining trying to keep Tiny-Small alive for 18 years can be a little overwhelming and may lead to me locking myself in the closet, lying on the floor and burying my head under a sound proof pillow. I don’t really have time for that sort of self-indulgent melt down so I keep repeating the mantra, “One day at a time. One day at a time.”

Climbing into things can also be fun, at least until you try to get out again. For a good portion of each day I usually hear, “Help! Help! I stuck!!! I stuck!!!” coming from some part of the house. Sometimes Tiny-Small gets stuck in her clothes, under the bed, or in her toys. There are endless possibilities to be explored and she seems determined to explore every single one.

On this beautiful Monday I hope you get a chance to climb something besides the walls. It does seem to be what’s “hot” right now and I would hate for you to miss out on following one of the latest trends. Some people, as they age, will outgrow popular trends much like I gave up black gummy bracelets and jelly shoes in the 80’s. Some, however, never move on. My husband, for instance is still obsessed with climbing things like rocks, sides of mountains, and trees of any kind. I am sure his mother had a few sleepless moments while he was growing up. Me, I just keep repeating: One day at a time.