With all our children, we started responsibilities early with something simple: shoes. WE come home; YOU sit on the stairs; I take off your shoes; YOU put them away. Simple, repetitive, effective. It was also the first real power struggle we encountered with each child. At some point they refuse to do this task. Merely because they are 18- to 24-month-olds and want to flex their sense of self-control. Contrary, resistant, maddening.
A few weeks ago, Lucas hit this mark. As the third child, he had the most personal flair added and the most all-out defiance. In his defense, he did make it the longest, avoiding a case of the You Can’t Tell Me What to Do’s until 23 months into his sweet life. “Alright, Buddy, here are your shoes,” I said, holding them out to him, like every other day. “Mommy do,” he said, looking me squarely in the eyes. “No, this is Lucas’s job. You put them in the closet,” I prompted, holding the shoes out again. He turned his head, intentionally looking away. “Lucas…” A grin spread slowly across his face. He turned his head ever so slightly so that I was in his peripheral vision. My hands didn’t waiver. I waited. He raised his arm, and with one swift flick of the wrist, knocked the shoes out of my hand. They tumbled to the floor. He turned his head back to look at me, smile still spread ear to ear. I picked up the shoes and placed them firmly next to him on the step. “That’s okay, you can take your time. But you can’t play until you put your shoes away. Mommy hangs up your coat; you put your shoes away.” Before I could even stand up, off the step the shoes flew, landing next to me once again. Lucas stood up, sauntered over to the gate between the entryway and the living room. Hands on both sides of the gate opening, he glanced coyly over his shoulder. Then he stepped through the gate, looked forward, and waved dismissively in my general direction. Having lived through two toddlers already, I took a deep breath and thought, Game on, Kiddo. I placed the coat next to the shoes on the floor, stood up, and walked over to where Lucas now stood playing a recorder he found on the couch. “There’s no playing until you put your shoes away. You can either put your shoes away now, or you can go sit in timeout.” He ignored me. “No recorder, Lucas. Shoes first.” His eyes flashed, and he turned to run. I snatched him up and plucked the recorder from his hands. Back over to the stairs. “Timeout, Lucas. Sit on the stairs. No getting up. Mommy’s job is your coat. Your job is your shoes.” He arched his back, laid his head on the stairs behind him, and howled. I stood up, hung up his coat, and headed down the hallway to the kitchen. Hiding around the corner to listen. Within five seconds his crying stopped. I rolled my eyes. Crocodile tears. And then I heard footsteps. Little Stinker, I thought. I turned the corner ready for round two. Of course, there was Lucas, halfway to me. He stopped and then beamed at me. “Lucas… You need to put your shoes away before you can play.” “Shoes. All done,” he said. “Really? Show me.” I held out my hand. He led me back down the hallway, around the corner to the closet, and pointed. Indeed, there they were: a pair of size 6 toddler shoes, sitting on the top shelf of the shoe rack. “Good job, Buddy! I knew you could do it all by yourself. Give me a high five and off you go.” And just like that, we’re into the battle royale phase with our last kid. May the odds be ever in our favor.
2 Comments
Leah Koch
3/20/2023 10:29:43 am
OMG, the way you describe this battle is hilarious. I love the suspense, anticipation, and his little mischevious grin! There are many more to come!
Reply
Melanie Andrew
3/20/2023 06:43:21 pm
Such a great story, with a perfect ending! Your little guy's spirit came right through your words.
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AuthorHeidi. Archives
March 2022
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