Our niece Button Baby — or Banshee Baby, as I like to call her now — is 2 1/2 and there are some seriously unappealing personal issues going on with her. I babysat her a few Saturdays ago and, frankly, I am still traumatized.
It started during lunch. She sat there, playing with her cup straw, waving it around, shoving the straw in and out, spilling milk, flinging milk, doing anything but drinking milk.
Ohhhh, no. Tee Tee don’t play that, Crackie.
“Button, you may drink it or not drink it. You may not play with it. I will take it away if you keep playing with it.”
She understands me quite well. She continues playing, spilling.
Second warning.
“Last chance, Button. I will take it away if you do it again.”
Continues.
“All right, Button. I’m sorry. I think you’re done with that.”
I take it away from her and she begins to waaaaiillll literally like a banshee. It is horrible. God-awful. The tone of it — the tone. It is a shiv gouging my eardrums. I wait for the spurt of blood signifying my head has exploded.
“NONONONONONOOOOONONONOOOOOOOONONONOOOOO!”
I hold my ground, put the cup in the sink. She is howling at me, hating me with her entire shaking little being.
I come back to the table, sit down.
“I’m sorry, Button. I told you what would happen.”
“NONONONONONONOOOOONOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”
A pause while she actually breathes and hiccups and then discovers heretofore untapped reserves of terrible. Her tone becomes desperate, like she needs a drink or a smoke or some crack.
“I NEED A WIPE! I NEEEEEED A WIIIIIIIIIIIIPE!!”
Um, what?
“I NEEEED A WIIIIIPE ‘CAUSE I’M CRYING!!! TEEEEE TEEEEEEEEE!!!”
I grab a napkin. Dab her cheeks, her eyes. I keep my movements even, unhurried. At this moment, I am her polar opposite. A goddess of calm confronted with a yowling demon.
But …… hullo. What’s this? This itchy feeling I’m having?
Yeah. What IS that?
Why, that’s just the palm of my Spankin’ Hand, itchin’ and twitchin’ and beggin’ me to use it!
Oh, I feel it, but I ignore it. I don’t spank my nieces and nephews, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t ever wanted to, like now. I make my voice smooth, but somewhat cool.
Goddess of calm:
“There you go, Button. I’m sorry you’re upset.”
“NONONONONONOOOOOOOOOOO!! THAT’S NOT A WIIIPE!! IT’S NOT A WIIIPE!! I NEEED A SPECIAL WIIIIIPE!!!
Huh?
A “special wipe”? What in tarnation is a “special wipe”? Who made her think there’s such a thing as a “special wipe”? I begin to question my brother’s parenting, start to inventory all the ways he bugs me. This could be one of them. Meanwhile, she is still flailing and screaming.
Sheesh. Look, Banshee, the fact that I’m wiping you at all during this gross unravelling of your entire personality is special enough.
I use the sleeve of my hoodie. I mean, it’s soft, right? And special enough. Cotton is comfort, you know. The fabric of our lives and all. Dab, dab, dabbity-dabb.
She cracks apart with renewed vigor.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”
Well, that’s it. I have broken my niece. She is, quite simply, ruined. Maybe ruined forever — all because of my cotton sleeved hoodie.
Goddess of calm, Trace. Goddess of calm.
“All right, Button. Let’s get you down from your chair. I don’t know what a special wipe is. Why don’t you get down and show me?”
As I reach to lift her out, she declares, insane with blubbing:
“IF MOMMY AND DADDY WERE HERE, THEY WOULD HOL’ ME AND GIMME A SPECIAL WIPE AND MAKE ME FEEL GOOOOOD!!!”
Oh, no, she dihn’t. Ohhh, ho. I am agape. I understand that she’s 2 and all, but that, right there, that thing she said — it’s everything that’s wrong with the world and it came from the mouth of a baby: “I have a right to feel good always, no matter what I do or say.” I feel that crazy itch in the Spankin’ Hand again.
For the first time in my life, I think I actually want to spank a child because I utterly disagree with her philosophy of life.
Which is insane. She is two.
What happened to the goddess of calm??
I stare at her. She glowers back. Lifting her out of her chair, I say, drily, “Uh-HUH.” The second her little feet hit the carpet, she streaks to the bathroom, shrieking from me the entire way. She cannot get away fast enough from Tee Tee, that terrible woman who makes her feel so SO BAD.
I follow at a leisurely pace. At the bathroom door, I can see her, reaching up to the counter, grabbing a sanitary wipe from its box, smushing her swollen face deep into it.
I roll my eyes. Between gulping sobs, she chides me, waving the wipe at me:
“THIS is a special wipe, Tee Tee!! THIS IS A. SPECIAL. WIIIIPE!!”
I pick her up, move toward the arm chair.
“Uh-huh. Well, you may take that special wipe and stay in this chair until you are all done crying.”
I deposit her in the chair and turn away.
Pause, heavy with doom.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”
GOOD. LORD.
Later on, after this harrowing day of babysitting was finally over, I went home to My Beloved, damaged on a molecular level, threw myself in his lap, and yowled:
“YOU NEED TO HOL’ ME AND GIMME A SPECIAL WIPE AND MAKE ME FEEL GOOOOOD!!!”
He stroked my head for a while, then said it:
“Uh, what’s a special wipe?”
as for the 2 year old thing…well…you just pretty much summed up why I work with the OVER-10 age-group at church. And why I became a college prof instead of a primary school teacher.
(But I meet adults who STILL are stuck in a metaphorical “YOU ALL NEED TO HOL’ ME AND GIMME A WIPE AND MAKE ME FEEL GOOOOOD!!!!†stage.)
Okay, first of all:
//I think I actually want to spank a child because I utterly disagree with her philosophy of life.//
hahahahahahahahahaha Brilliant
It’s so hard not to laugh sometimes – to watch them go into apoplectic fits of rage because, uhm, they have a smudge on their little finger. LIke: dude, it’s a SMUDGE, come on, get a grip on your emotions.
Oh, that’s right. You can’t. YOU’RE TWO.
ricki — Thanks! And I know LOTS of adults like that, too. More often than not, I think.
red — I know. The whole time, you’re just trying to keep it together, because you’re the adult. You gotta keep a grip. Somehow. The problem with Banshee is she’s freakishly bright, speaks probably as well as a 5 or 6 year old, but, EMOTIONALLY, she’s TWO. I keep forgetting that because she just articulates herself so well.
The problem that I find with a wailing child is not laughing at them. I look at them and just want to laugh (this didn’t go over very well with my son and only made the fit worse). I try with all my might not to snicker, but eventually it comes out.
BTW – I actually found that 3 was a worse year than 2. Don’t know what that means for you!
Happy blogiversary – not so happy visit with Button the Banshee, but hopefully that will mellow in time. I love how you stood your ground. In the end she’ll be happier that way.
Oh, Tracey –
I’m crying with laughter.
yes, it’s so hard to keep the bright ones in perspective. I’ve spent the g-daughter’s whole life repeating this litany to her mom: “But honey, she’s ONLY one (or two or three or four)”.
Happy blogiversary. It was a happy day when I stumbled upon here. You are a bright, bright spot in our lives.
(Somebody agreed to costume the ensemble for “Les Mis”, plus some of the named characters without first reading the script to get an idea of how many there are. Yes, somebody is an idiot. Bring on the special wipes!)
tracey – Yeah, I knew a little boy who – when he was 2 – looked about 5 or 6. HE WAS HUGE. And I have to be honest. He was a terror. And I kind of disliked him, intensely – because I kept forgetting that he was 2, and just assumed he was the biggest 5 year old brat I had ever met in my life.
One night, after my sister-in-law had read 2 stories to her son and tucked him in (despite his protests) she calmly shut off his light and closed his door. About 30 minutes later she came back down the hall and saw his light on. She opened his door and found him sitting up in bed, reading. He regarded her (from atop his throne) by simply stating, “Oh. It’s you.” He tsk-ed, then asked “Did you come to apologize?”
He’s four.
Good luck, kiddo.
And many happy returns. 🙂
Happy anniversay! My first is just around the corner.
You should have told Banshee that you eat eyeballs. At least, I thought there was a post up here about that …
Word Girl – hahahahahahaha that is hysterical!!!
Oh Tracey! That is too much!
I’m with Kathi, I tend to just laugh–because sometimes there’s no pleasing them and you can’t do anything else. Mark has become overly aware of this; now when he gets mad he tells me, “and don’t smile!”
Happy Blogiversary!
De-lurking to say happy blogiversary. I’ve been enjoying your posts for a couple of months now–guess I need to go back and check out the glorious beginnings.
I have a 2-year-old niece, too. Yesterday my mom was laughing about “getting the horns” from her granddaughter–probably the most EVIL face from a 2-year-old (when she doesn’t like what you’re doing) that stops us in our tracks! And yes, we try to wait until she’s gone home so we can laugh.
NF — Thanks for the kind wishes — and the support in the Banshee ordeal.
Sal — Oh, you are so sweet. Thank you! And I guess “somebody” will just have to keep us posted on the whole Les Mis ordeal. Poor “somebody.”
red — /just assumed he was the biggest 5 year old brat I had ever met in my life./
Somehow that is just cracking me up.
WG — Your description is perfect. I am dying! I can just picture it. Oh, that poor woman. Hahahahahaahaha!
Cullen — Okay. That’s weird. What did I do to that post???
Missy — Thank you!
Kate P — Hey, welcome, welcome! Thanks for de-lurking to say hello!
And I just want to say thank you to ALL of you who have come by and read and offered support and encouragement and wisdom and laughs here for the last two years. I am blessed to have each one of you as readers and even more blessed in the way you share your lives with me here in these comments. You have lifted me up in so many ways over these last months in particular — things that may have seemed small to you but were huge to me: kindnesses that gave me hope, laughs that gave me perspective, truths that gave me faith. So I thank you all, from the bottom of my sick little heart. 😉
Thank you!!
Hilarious, Tracey! I think you did a super-human goddess of calm. I couldn’t have held out on that itchy spankin’ palm like you did!
I wondered where the ‘oh boy, here I am, I’m bored, and I’m eating eyeballs” post went as well.
I need to see what I did with it!!
Happy Blogoversary Tracey!!! So excited that you continue to blog. I love to camp out here.
My hand was a-twitchin’ just reading this. Patience really is a virtue, eh?