I Want Candy

Our first born, Emma was quiet, patient, and absorbed each rule we introduced to her without question or argument. She spent her time looking at books and enjoying our company. Within a week of deciding that she should try to begin to use the toilet, she was completely potty-trained. She gave us the false impression that we had this "parenting thing" perfected.

As soon as our second child's head poked out of her mother, we knew we were dealing with a different creature. Ellie was colicky, restless, impatient and refused any rule unless it was her own concept. It wasn't until this past year, after her third birthday that she finally began to simmer down; just a little bit. We bribed, begged, and even gave up the potty training ordeal until she finally decided herself that it was time. She is a negotiator, where her older sister is the good soldier, taking her orders as they come.

Since rules are only speed bumps for Ellie on her road to life, we have been forced to reduce her instructions to three simple concepts:
1. Do not cry over silly things.
2. Do not be mean.
and the last one, which is the one she always "forgets"
3. Listen

Parents, these three simplified rules have worked for every situation we have experienced with our more difficult, ill-tempered little girl. They have even worked with her big sister. I highly recommend them, for you can take any altercation and quickly explain to the irrational offspring why they are in the wrong. It doesn't mean that the child will always care to know what it is they are doing incorrectly, but it has created a small, safe-haven for our sanity, and a sturdy basis for our disciplining for the past month or so.

Tonight Ellie was bursting into flames and crashing hard. She had played vigorously this afternoon, and it was later in the evening before we began winding the girls down for bed. There was one burst of tears when bed was mentioned. Then a second explosion when she was told to brush her teeth. She screamed at her sister to put the toothpaste on her toothbrush and was immediately confronted by me, again, as she stood at the bathroom sink screeching. Her chubby face was blotchy from exasperation when I asked her what the problem was. I knew she wanted someone to turn the faucet on for her, but not a single legible word emanated from her tiring tonsils. I began the three rules to coerce her into asking me for help.

"Ellie, you do not cry over silly things, right? Now, what do you want?" I calmly questioned her.

She refused to answer me.

"What do you do when you want something?" I continued.

Not even a budge from her tense, tiny frame.

Attempting to get her to communicate with me, I tried a different approach. "What do you do when you want a piece of candy?" I figured this would be a "slam dunk".

Without raising her eyes from her toothbrush she answered instantly, "I go poop in da toilet."