Forging the Rapids of Parenthood



Living with a two-year-old is like going down the rapids. One moment everything is fine; the next, you have milk hurled across the room and “Don’t want that!” projected into space like an oncoming train.

People are out there climbing Mt. Everest, running Fortune 500 companies and doing extreme sports. But, I tell you, if you want your pulse to race and the adrenaline to rush to your head, just try feeding lunch to a two-year-old.

On this particular day I had served my daughter milk. As I said, she suddenly cried out, “Don’t want that!” and the glass slammed into the wall behind me. I looked at the milky way in my kitchen and at the little 36-inch body standing rigid with fury in her chair and wondered what I possibly could have done to incur such wrath. And then I realized, It’s over. I’ve started the slippery path to child-domination. I am going to ask her what she didn’t like. And I am going to hate myself in the morning.

But, what could I do? You see, two-year-olds can’t be reasoned with. If I were to punish her, do you think she would recall that punishment the next time I offended her sense of righteousness? No. Two-year-olds have a mental deficiency. No foresight. Two-year-olds are like cars with engines and no steering wheels. They have suddenly come into opinion but with no mental ability to confine it to reasonable standards. This is just a Divine Joke on the middle aged so that we won’t have a mid-life crisis later on. Really, the only thing to do is to ride out the rapid and wait for smoother waters, doing what you can to minimize damage. The good news is that two-year-olds get a “steering wheel” around three, “brakes” around four and a “roadmap” around 7 years of age. The bad news is that I suspect this is all training for adolescence.

As I wiped up the milk all over the table, kitchen, floor and walls, I asked her what was wrong.

“Don’t want purple milk,” and as she held a bowl of mac’n’cheese, I thought quickly. Right! The glass was purple!

“Do you want red milk?”

“Yes. Red Milk!” I quickly handed her a glass of milk in a red glass.

And as I stood there, a humble servant waiting for the next rapid, she smiled at me and said in that sweet two-year-old resonance “Thank you, Mommy.” The words sounding like they had just been born, sweet and pure. My heart swelled! I surely loved this little wild creature of God, and progress was being made after all.



© Copyright 2002 Catholic Exchange

Christy Wall is a homeschooling mother of six who enjoys surfing with her family on warm Sunday afternoons. She earned a B.A. at Thomas Aquinas College and later a Paralegal degree so she could help her husband with his law career.

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