Journey To the Finish Line

PR's, 4 children, hopes and dreams; I'm always running after something


terrible twos

Whiny Mc Whinerson

There is something about whining. Something about it that makes me absolutely crazy.

Ladies and gentleman, I have a whiner. I have a kid who reacts to whatever the latest reason I told him “no” (one cookie is enough, please don’t climb on the stove, don’t poke your sister in the eye) with an ear piercing, throw his head back cry or whine or kick or sometimes all of the above. Sometimes, even when he asks for things, he whines. (mooooooooore peeeeeeeeeeeeese)

Unfortunately for me, he isn’t quite old enough yet to understand the concept to “use his big boy voice” or “I don’t understanding whining”. I mean, he is two. And don’t get me wrong, he is truly the sweetest little boy. He keeps an eye on Abby at all times, calls for her when she’s in a different room, brings her crackers and cookies before he gets his own. It’s like that saying or book – when he is good he is very very good, but when he is bad he is……..whiny.

if I’m going to be completely honest, I’m not entirely sure if its the whining that makes me crazy, or my reaction to it. Because I know that I do not react well. It is like fingernails on a chalkboard to me, and after the 2nd or 4th or 239847932th time, I find myself yelling “stop whining!”.

P.S. That doesn’t help. Just in case you were wondering.

Every age has brought with it its challenges, and honestly overall I enjoy toddlerhood much much more than I thought I would. The things they say are hilarious (Miles pointed to my sisters parakeet on my head over the weekend and said “its a bird hat!”), and really, he is just being two.

I just its probably me who needs a few extra deep breaths (and glasses of wine).


In the Mind of Miles

I’m awake.

Mom isn’t here, but that’s cool because there is that other kid over there who somehow ends up next to me, like, all the time. She’s my buddy and I like her, so I guess I don’t mind. Plus this bed really functions well as a trampoline. Jump jump jump jump BOOM!

Oh hey! Mom’s here!

It is at this point that I realize I’ve dropped my pacifier. “Uh oh” I say, pointing at it, hoping that this time she will let me keep it instead of putting it back into that stupid brown thing.

No dice.

Mom brings the brown thing over. Then, she does the craziest thing. She HANDS ME THE PACIFIER, and then expects ME to put it in the brown thing. My moment of hope is dashed. But she always looks happy when I do it, so I do it anyway.

Pick me up now, I think.

She goes over to the other kid. At least she makes her put her pacifier back too, because it would be really mean if she got one and I didn’t. But she’s taking too long, and

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!” I cry, because this really isn’t fair. I want to be picked up, and I wanted it done like, 5 minutes ago. She finally puts the other kid down and comes over to me, and to my horror, puts me down to change my diaper. You’re kidding me, right? I don’t want my diaper changed, I want you to hold me. I WANT YOU TO HOLD ME RIGHT NOW. “WAAAAAAAAH!!!!” I could say “up”, because I know it and use it frequently, but I think I’ll just scream instead.

Mom sighs. Wow, that was quick.

She carries me towards the stairs, but bypasses the light switch. Seriously mom? How have you already forgotten that I MUST turn the light switch on and off over and over again before we can even leave this room? I grunt at her. She MUST know this means that I want the light switch. She says “on” or “help” or some other English word she wants me to use, but come on? I just want the light switch.

Stairs! I want to climb down the stairs! I want you to help me climb down the stairs! Stop chasing that other kid! “down!” I say, trying to prove I DO use SOME English words, “down, down down!”. We get to the bottom and mom – how naive of her, thinks I don’t want to be held again.


“WAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!” “up!” she says. “Do you want up?” I do, but crying is easier. Can’t you see my holding up my arms? Geez woman!

Oh hey! Breakfast! “more, more more” I say, clearly indicating its my milk I want. She gets me blueberries. “More, more more!” I try again, hoping she was listening this time, but she’s cooking eggs. “hot!” I say, excited, but I still want my milk. Fine, I’ll give her one more chance. “More, more more!” I say, and she finally figures it out. I eat the eggs but what I really want is that circle cereal, and now I am done. “All done!”, I exclaim, and wait .2 seconds. She is not here. Why is she not here? “All done!” I say again, and wait longer this time – .5 seconds. This is crap. I start swiping food off my tray. I mean, geez, I told her I was done.

“Ah”, I say, eyeing her coffee. She gives me a sip. See? When you do what I want when I want it, I don’t cry.

Toys! Blocks! Puzzle! Cars! I throw it all! WAIT! THAT OTHER KID IS PLAYING WITH A CAR AND NOW I WANT IT! Now she has a book and I want that!

I’m bored now, so I whine. Mom turns on this weird show, with a colorful worm at the beginning. She says things to me like “horse”, and “blue” and “moo” and I’m like, whatever. I’m bored again. I wiggle. She repositions me. I wiggle and whine. She sighs. “Down?” she asks, and puts me down. NO I DIDN’T WANT DOWN!!!! “WAAAAAAAH!!!!!” She sighs and picks me up, but that not what I wanted either, so I wiggle. And whine, for effect. She sighs. She does that a lot. I dunno why – maybe she should get tested. She takes me outside. Outside! I like outside, in fact its one of my favorite places but I don’t want it now and I have no idea why. Instead of saying “no” I throw a tantrum, because I’m really tired of her not anticipating my every need all day today. Plus my mouth hurts.  And I’m tired because I have a cold, but instead of saying “night night” I keep crying because crying is more fun and I want to see if I can make mom sigh a few more times before nap.

She sighs.

I win.*

Toddlers – 1 Mom – 0

*Brought to you by toddlers cutting molars. And yes, we still have pacifiers at nap and bed. Don’t judge. Unless you want to come care for two teething two year olds. No? That’s what I thought.

Blog at

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: