A Strange Country: Navigating the Terrible Twos

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A friend’s twins are turning two next month, so she asked for some tips on dealing with the “terrible twos.” First, I had to give her the sad, sad news that the twos are not so terrible – at least not when compared to the tyrannical threes and F-U fours. [Yes folks, we've survived for a third time and we're in the clear...for two years before the oldest hits her teens...sigh]

Of course, she doesn't have the perspective to appreciate that yet and parenting is pretty immediate – what's it doing now and what the hell do I do with the rampaging heathen wreaking havoc on my life? Join me, friend as we tiptoe through the minefield of a two-year-old psyche.

Tiptoe, Tiptoe, BOOM! 

If I can't see, you can't see me...as I have a hangry tantrum...in a spotlight.
Imagine you’re in the land of Gulliver and you took two years of Gullivarian in school so you get the gist of what everyone is saying, but you can’t make your brain come up with the right words to talk back. You can’t really ask for what you need or express how you feel about anything. But then it doesn’t really matter anyway because most Gullivarians don’t wait long enough to figure out what you’re trying to say – they just decide what they think you meant or never really listen at all.

Then, the huge Gullivarians keep giving you things you don’t need and never asked for. Or they keep ripping things out of your hands just when you're really interested. They keep trying to make you eat strange Gullivarian food, even when you tell them it’s disgusting.

They can’t understand when you try to tell them you’re too hot or cold. They have no respect for when you’re too tired, or not tired at all, or if you just don’t feel up to doing whatever right now. They try to control everything about your day for their convenience with very little attention to whether or not that’s what you want to do.
Got food! Happy! If I flap hard enough it might take off!

Then, when you do want to do something, they get impatient with how long it takes you because you’re a tiny Lilliputian in a land of Gullivers and you’re just not that coordinated or big. And you can’t even find the words to explain how frustrated, or hurt, of angry all of this makes you!

Face it, if you were trapped in the land of Gullivers you’d be a screaming stomping mess in five minutes – wailing and sobbing and kicking the floor. And then the Gullivers would tell you that you were naughty for expressing your frustration in the only way you could, the only way they would really notice, and they put you in a chair by yourself or take something away.

Some Lilliputians will quiet down when they’re punished. They withdraw because the big, dumb Gullivers will never understand, but they still love them anyway. 

Other Lilliputians, more volatile Lilliputians, will double-down on that frustration, go all Mount St. Helens and lay waste to the countryside. After these volcanic Lilliputians recover from the explosion, they hug the big dumb Gullivers, even though the stupid Gullivers punished them, because they still love them anyway.

Map, Please!

Nope - you don't exist in my world while I'm upset with you.
So, how do you deal with a two year old? Basically, treat them like an angry American tourist. They can’t really speak the language, and they get frustrated easily because no one in this foreign land talks like they do (so they shout to be understood – never mind they’re shouting nonsense to the natives).

They don’t really understand the culture or customs and they’re just fumbling through – but sit the hell down and let them fumble until they figure it out or ask for help, or else they will tell you off.

When you feel the urge to take over, rip something out of their busy little hands, or force your two-year-old to do something without explanation – take a deep breath, bring up the mental image of Angry American Tourist in Paris, and approach the two-year-old with caution. They’re a stranger traveling in a strange land and, more than anything, they need compassion and patience.


Finally, if (when) Mount St. Helens blows, remember to give it a hug afterward– you’re just a big dumb Gulliver; your Lilliputian forgives you and loves you anyway.


Inexplicably happy about having sunblock applied?

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