The Art of the Negotiation: Toddler Edition

Hi!  My name is WELCOME.  As in, "what's printed on your doormat."  Do you see the footprints all over me?  They're cute, huh?  Yeah, they're small.  That's because they belong to a two-year-old.

My daughter has an Elmo fascination obsession.  And though I'm loathe to let her watch television for hours on end, I'm ok with a small dose every day, mostly because it makes my life easier is enriching and educational.  To be fair, she really has learned a great deal from Sesame Street: numbers; letters; colors; and the most irritating, makes-me-want-to-poke-my-eardrums-out-with-a-sharp-stick songs about penguins, bananas and hats.  So imagine my surprise when I recently ran out to do a quick errand, leaving Pumpkin home with her dad and his brother (in town for a family event, and himself a father of four) watching Elmo, and came home to find her, nose to the television, Cheerio-encrusted hands pressed to the screen, watching this. 

Have you seen Tom and Jerry?  Of course you have.  You grew up with it, like I did.  But have you really watched it since your kids came along?  I knew old cartoons were violent.  I knew that "Itchy and Scratchy" was created with T&J's raging, bloodthirsty history in mind.  But holy Acme dynamite, how much I'd forgotten.  There isn't an episode that doesn't feature tails being severed, paws being burned, skulls being cracked open... and don't even get me started on the anvils.  How do one cat and one mouse manage to find an anvil to drop on the other's head, in every single episode?  My brother-in-law rationalized it as "broadening her horizons."

But now, it's too late.  Pumpkin's hooked on the "cat and mouse!" cartoon, which she requests almost every waking moment of her young life.  And most of the time, I can redirect her attention to other, less homicidal distractions, but when she's in the frame of mind to beg, plead, and cry those big, fat, hysterical tears, I'm likely to cave.   

It's not because I feel sorry for her.  It's because I feel sorry for me.  I just can't handle the tantrums.  I am a lover, not a fighter, despite what I'm teaching my kid through my television programming selections.

Let me not forget the cookies.  Oh, holy mother of God, how could I forget the cookies?  Trust me, I can't, because "COOKIE!" is the constant refrain of each day of my life on this green earth.  I started giving Pumpkin a "Special Big-Girl Cookie" in place of one of her feedings when we were weaning six months ago.  It worked--so well, that now Pumpkin manages to score a cookie for the smallest of accomplishments, including such achievements as not pulling the cat's tail, and the always-popular screaming for "COOKIE!"

We were at the grocery store today when Pumpkin decided that her cookie intake levels were dangerously low.  I picked out the healthiest least-terrible-for-you variety I could find and let her have one.  But nooo, one wasn't good enough.  Pumpkin needed to hold the entire 16 ounce tub so she could cut down on all that wasted time in between arguing with me for a cookie and shoveling one in her piehole.  I protested, she protested more strongly... and since we were in public, I acquiesced.  We walked around the rest of the store with Pumpkin clutching her cookie bin, eating from it as though it were a trough, but by the time we checked out, I decided she'd had (more than) enough.  I pried the container from her hands and put it in the bag while she shrieked and threw herself on the floor.  "I'm strong.  I can do this," I thought, though all eyes were on us.  I scooped her up in my free arm but as I did, my bag broke.  Vegetables and cookies tumbled to the floor, and Pumpkin escalated the display of unhappiness, blocking the exit as she mourned the loss of the handful of cookies on the floor.  A store clerk asked me if there was anything they could do to help--could they take my groceries to the car for me?  I asked if perhaps they could take my toddler instead, and then I'd head to my car with the groceries, presumably never to be seen again.  Ha ha!  This kid cost too much money to turn back now.

I grabbed a free balloon from the store and we headed out to the parking lot.  When she wasn't looking, I dumped the cookies in the trash.  Score one for the mom.  This time, anyway.

This is an original DC Metro Moms post.  For more humiliating tales of parental woe, please visit Diana's blog, Caffeinated.