Negotiating toddlerhood

It's come to my attention lately that there's nothing easy about being a toddler. Really. It happened the other day when Kalina was asking for:

"Flrah?"
"What's that, honey?" (I pretend I didn't hear the first time, but I'm really stalling for more time to try to figure out what a "flrah" is, and then decide whether or not she can have it.)
"Flrah?" (A little louder)
"Yes, that's right!" (Maybe if I just agree, we can move onto a different conversation.)
"Flrah?" (For heaven's sake, Mommy, just answer my question!)
"Umm..." (I scan the area to look for clues. What would a toddler want?)
"Flrah?" (If I have to say this again, I'll cry, and then you'll really be in trouble.)
"Flowers?" (I hazard a guess, based on the fact that Kalina is usually accurate with the starting consonant. Hazard being the operative word, seeing as I'm wrong this time.)
"Flrah!" (Starting to turn red in the face and sob as I frantically search for the right word.)
"Water fountain!" (I proclaim.)
"Eh!" (This is Kalina's word for assent, and it's accompanied by more sobs--this time, of relief.)
"Would you like to see the water?" (I already know the answer, and I've already decided that after all this hassle, we can waste a little water for the child's entertainment.)
"Eh!" (Wide smile and a giggle or two.)

And we head off to dabble in the water, me hoisting Kalina and pushing the button, and then trying to get her close enough to touch the water without touching the mouthpiece (that's not really a mouthpiece, but gets used as such by germy kids).

And so forth. Whereas I, being a capable adult, could just walk over to the fountain, push the button and play in the water all I wanted, easily avoiding the mouthpiece thingy. Except I wouldn't want to, because I'm an adult, but Kalina doesn't understand that yet.

In fact, there's a lot the poor girl doesn't understand. Why did she get Goldfish crackers for breakfast the other day when Mommy had a long bout of insomnia in the middle of the night, but not today? Why do we change from pajamas to clothes to pajamas to clothes, endlessly? And can't we just wash our hair once and be done with it for a year or so?

But then, there are a lot of things she does understand: that Goldfish are tasty for lunch as well as breakfast, and that cats make lovely furniture. And this is where the negotiations begin, with my sanity, Kalina's temper (not to mention well-being), and the cats as hostages.

Due to poor Kalina's confusion (or is it mine?), our days are a lot of give and take. The toddler doesn't want me to cook dinner? Then we'll take a story break every five minutes. I don't want Kalina to disassemble a cheese display in the grocery store? Then I show her how much more fun it'd be to roar at a large stuffed bear an aisle over. I'd rather Kalina not dragging a sopping wet washcloth from her bath around the house? I trade her for a dry one before she knows who's got the better end of the deal. And we manage to compromise through the days together. Kalina does a good job of making sure I keep the balance fair, at least in her direction.

Sometimes there's no room for negotiation, and during these times I have exactly 1/8th of a second to decide whether I'm going to allow what Kalina wants me to allow, and how I'm going to handle the situation if I say no. Do I say an outright "no" and risk/guarantee a mini-tantrum (Kalina doesn't have full-blown ones yet)? Do I use distraction? If so, what with? And blip, my 1/8th of a second is over.

There are tricks of the trade, though. For instance, a recent mealtime showed Kalina a direct correlation between eating mashed potatoes and getting to see the cuckoo pop out of the cuckoo clock. That works great--once. The next day at lunch, I had to inform Kalina that only Daddy can operate the clock. He's also, incidentally, the only one who can push Kalina around in a laundry basket or her toy car. Mommy regrettably doesn't know how, and can't possibly learn. Besides, then Daddy gets to be the hero later on--that is, if Kalina even remembers that she was supposed to "ask Daddy later" (she rarely does).

And then there are the phrases "later," "not right now," and "in a minute." Despite the fact that I don't know off-hand what a "flrah" is, Kalina knows that these phrases mean: "no, but I reserve the right to reverse my decision later without you chalking it up to me being inconsistent and weak-willed." And I follow through whenever it makes sense to (because I never use these phrases if they're not actually possible or advisable to fulfill).

Neither Kalina nor I is afraid of saying no. Well, actually, I'm terrified of it but I try to hide my fear, and so far Kalina has fallen for it. The ironic thing is that the girl likes order in the house, even reprimanding me once with a large frown and furrowed brow for wearing shoes indoors. [They were boots, actually, and at first I thought she was criticizing my taste.] Therefore, we create a lot of new rules to accompany the word "no". "No putting your toothbrush in the trash can," and "No climbing into the dishwasher." This goes over surprisingly well, and word has it that the Olympics are adding Rule-Making-On-The-Fly as a new winter sport.

Kalina, then, has rules of her own. "No pasta for lunch!" she shakes her head vehemently, with cute little "nononos". "Raisins for lunch!" she decides. New rule. Often, I let her win because her rules generally aren't all that bad.

It's taken me a long time to realize that my rules don't have to pass the scrutiny of a hired lawyer for them to convince Kalina. For instance, we have our little routines that help us get through the day. If Kalina truly pressed the issue, I don't know if I'd have a good explanation for why we always have to get fully dressed right after the diaper change that's always right after breakfast, except for the fact that she'll need to get dressed sometime and the longer we wait, the more of a fuss it's probably going to be. How do you explain that to a 17-month-old? You don't, you create a new rule. "No playing until your socks are on," or, if we're being positive today, "You can play when your socks are on!" And that wonderful little rule becomes a habit, and then one day she'll frown at you because you're asking her to run along and play and her socks aren't on yet.

Fortunately, my career has been in advertising, so I'm pretty good at coming out ahead on a lot of our negotiations. "You don't want to play with Mommy's silly old camera that she accidentally within your reach," I convince her. "Here's a bright, shiny spoon instead. Look, you can see your reflection!" And she totally takes the bait--although I think she's wising up and I may have to change tactics lest she grow up thinking I'm uncool enough to really believe a spoon is cooler than a digital camera.

Kalina, for her part, has a career in cuteness and has been known to win the right to stuff Lamby into the bread machine simply by giggling. I call that fair, wouldn't you?