Posts Tagged 'Stress'

At this rate she’ll be married at 12

Eirinn hit her terrible twos at about 15 months.  At that point she was moody and emotional and demanding and all together hard to deal with 75% of the time.  The other 25% of the time she was sweet and charming and cute; just enough so we didn’t sell her. 

This continued at a regular pace until a week or two ago.  Then, as normal toddler progression would have it, she jumped head first into that wonderfully un-terrible-twos stage known as the Three Year Old Questions and…More Questions Period.  Everything that comes out of her mouth is a question, but she hasn’t learned (or she chooses to forgo this half of the process) the ‘listening to the answer’ portion.  Instead she just asks either the same question again, or throws you for a loop and asks a completely unrelated question.

It goes something like this:

“Mommy, what doin’?”

“I’m ma…”

“What doin’?”


“What doin’?”


“Where Bossy?”

This is the part where my eyes roll back into their sockets, my brain begins a slow-leak out of my ears, and I collapse into a pile of rotting (and very confused) goo on the floor.  I mean, I would totally take a twenty minute long question and answer  question period over a twenty minute long temper tantrum (which has happened before) any day.  Hands down.  HOWEVER, they didn’t teach how to deal with this in Toddler Prep 101 and I have never really been known for my patience.  I’m not too bad, but when trying to field 15 questions in 15 seconds, I think anyone would explode just a teensy, tiny bit.


Aaaa! Ti! Tude!

A summary of our weekend.  ‘Cause all I can take is a summary.  If I got into more detail, I would likely fall to the floor into the fetal position, rocking myself and mumbling something about Calgon.


My leased car was due for an oil change.  I don’t know much about cars, but I do know that if you asked Big Mama, she would tell you she was nowhere near in need of an oil change.  But according to the dealership, where we get the oil changes done, it was time and if we don’t get it changed pronto, they’ll make us pay dearly at the end of the lease.  Like with a pint of blood.  Well, they may not have used those exact words, but it was totally implied.

We didn’t have a babysitter.  This meant we had to take Eirinn to a car dealership.  If I were to make a list of the Top 100 Places I Wouldn’t Dare Take Eirinn, a car dealership would probably be in the top ten, wedged between the Grand Canyon and a funeral. 

An oil change, I was promised by those who will remain Anonymous, is only supposed to take a half an hour.  Mine took almost an hour.  While waiting, Eirinn was pretty darn good for the first half.  The second half contained a lot of yelling (of course), crawling on the dirty, dirty floor, running (of course), and trying to push over the towers of display tires.  And, of course, fits of rage when we tried to stop her from doing any of these things.

Unfortunately, after the oil change we weren’t going home.  We were going to purchase something I’ve been waiting a long time for.  My new camera!  *yippy!  annoying-Valu-Home-Center-happy-dance!  yippy!*  I’ll introduce you before I go on.

World meet my Nikon D80 baby, Nikon D80 baby, meet World.


The yelling and rage continued in the camera store but she also kicked it up a notch and added crying and fidgeting and “MAMAMAMAMAMA!!!!!” to the mix.  She also, somewhere between the car dealership and the mall, learned the art of manipulation using the ol’ poopy diaper trick.  Obviously I would have to vacate the store, leaving Anonymous Husband alone to make life changing decisions about the purchase that was costing us more than a used car, if Eirinn told me that she pooped.  WHICH WAS A LIE!  But at least we didn’t get kicked out of the store without the camera at all, which is probably what would have happened if she kept up with the Grumpious Maximus act.

On the way home I was able to keep her awake until two blocks from our house.  Two blocks.  And she was so asleep that we were afraid she had slipped into some kind of rage-induced coma.  No amount of arm-shaking, cheek-pinching, Diego-theme-song-singing, neck-tickling would wake her up. 


Wow, I promised a summary and it turned into a novel.  I guess I needed to vent.  The rest of the weekend I will actually summarize.

Short Nap


Thrice Awake During the Night


One Hour Nap

The Grumpy Old Troll

And some more Grumpy McGrumperton, just to round off the weekend nicely.  All of this less than favourable attitude left me in a less than favourable mood and very, very exhausted, physically, emotionally and mentally. 

You’ll also notice that nowhere do I mention the well documented fairy princess portrait session.  That is because THERE IS NO WAY ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH I will subject a) the photographer, b) other mall patrons, or c) myself to That Which Is Grumpy Eirinn.  She also has a bruise on her left cheek, fingernail cut on her right cheek, a scrape on her nose, and a mean looking teething rash on her chin.   Her face matches the ‘tude. 

I’m probably going to drop Eirinn off early tomorrow just so I can start my week of vacation, or “work” as most people call it, ten minutes early. 

I swear, she was thisclose to being stuck out at the end of the driveway with a sign around her neck “Free to a Good Home – No Exchanges or Refunds.”

The big “no”

How I know I’m in trouble – Eirinn has learned the meaning and the cause and effect of the word “no”, and she’s not afraid to use it.  LOUDLY.  For everything at any time.  Her response to every question is “no”.  Oh, sorry.  Not just “no”; “NOOOOOOOO!

“Eirinn, let’s put on your shoes.” “No.”

“Eirinn, I’m going to cut your fingernails.” “NO!”

“Eirinn, it’s time for a baba.” “Noooo.”

“Eirinn, do you want to go to Bugba’s?” “Nnnno.”

“Eirinn, can I have a kiss?” “NOOOOOO!

All answers are accompanied by a deeply furrowed brow, kicking, arm-thowing, and the occasional giggle when she sees me copying how rediculous she looks throwing a temper tantrum over doing something she probably wants to do anyway.

My response?

“No.” “Yes.”

“NO!” “YES!”

“Nooooo.” “Yeeeees.”

“Nnnno.” “Yyyyyes.”


Thus far I’ve been able to handle this back-talk and the tantrums because right now, and not for very much longer, I am bigger and stronger and have the gift ability to ignore (just ask Anonymous Husband).  But that will change.  Almost every generation is bigger, faster, taller, stronger than its predecessor, so she will someday soon be able to out-maneuver me.  Then I’ll be in big trouble.

Tornado Eirinn

The life and times, trials and tribulations, crimes and punishments, lessons learned and scores settled by my daughter, Eirinn, AKA The Tornado.

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When I Wrote

October 2018
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