If you are expecting advice on how to deal with a stroppy toddler then Google again.
This is not the blog you are looking for. Move along.
I have a serious parenting issue and I’m asking for help.
Dramatic music kicks in:
Sometimes my 2 year old son refuses to eat toast on the blue plate because he wants to choose another colour plate.
CUT TO: Close ups of people running screaming down the street.
OK I know it doesn’t sound THAT bad.
Remember how the entire nation got their knickers in a twist over an old lady taking a beardy guys ice cream out of the freezer on The Great British Bake Off?
Yeah well this is like that – but with toast instead of ice cream.
Oh hang on. Does that make me the old lady or the grumpy hipster?
Shit I don’t want to be either of them.
Ignore my attempt at an analogy.
Back to the toast.
Usually my reaction to the demand for a different plate is to ignore it.
No pissing about with fancy plate choices in my house.
This is a brilliant no nonsense system.
Well it would be. If only it worked.
Instead the toast on the blue plate is ignored and starts to curl up at the edges in fear.
Now I’m stuck I don’t want to give in as I’m worried about the message this sends to my son. That he can dig his heels in and eventually get everything he wants?
But if I don’t swop the plate the toast will remain un eaten and I will have wasted my time, some bread and I will still be left with a hungry child.
It would have been easier to swop the plate in the first place.
Do I retreat or hold the line?
Why does it require a degree in child psychology/modern warfare just to serve toast?
Supernanny would know what to do. That’s why she is super.
I’m just Mummy I have no superlative prefix to help me.
And I need help.
What the fuck am I doing wrong?
As I see it there are 3 ways to deal with this situation:
A) Comply with the original request for a change of plate.
B) Stick to my guns and deal with a ridiculous level of fallout for what is essentially a bit of hot bread.
C) Redesign the house so everything is one matching colour.
Toast is not the only battleground.
My son insists on carrying his favourite toys with him everywhere he goes.
This includes (but is not limited to):
5 plastic models depicting the entire life cycle of a frog.
2 Fisher Price helicopters with matching captains (both male: another contentious issue to be dealt with later)
A fire engine.
A large Duplo plane with detachable wings, engines and captain (male) in a seat.
Dinosaurs – various, medium to large.
A squeaky crocodile plus replacement non squeaky crocodile we acquired when we thought we had lost the squeaky one thus adding another item to the list.
Massive cuddly Gruffalo toy.
A plastic bucket.
He wanders round the house dragging everything with him screaming ‘I can’t do it!’ at the top of his lungs every time a bit falls of his plane.
As you can imagine it’s brilliant fun.
Who wouldn’t want to live with a tiny hoarder with anger issues?
Every time we leave the house we have a fight about leaving stuff behind.
Because – guess what? When we take all this stuff out with us we lose bits.
My options are:
A) Have him lose his shit because he can’t bring stuff with him.
B) Take all the stuff with us and deal with him losing his shit later when we literally lose his shit.
Please someone come up with another option that doesn’t involve anyone losing any shit.
I’d very much like to keep my shit together please.
Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.