185. Terrible two's

Miss Organiser is is thousands of miles away and she is driving me mad with her suitcase problems (i.e. the suitcase is too small, the suitcase is too heavy, the suitcase is broken, etc). I say 'give stuff to charity or shove it all in some recycling bank'; she says 'mum, you're not funny'. The thing is I am not even trying to be funny. I mean it. 

I also have to admit that her zig-zagging and criss-crossing the width of an entire continent while we are all home-bound and locked-in is seriously grating on me. 

'Make the most of it, my adorable daughter!' I said cheerily. This must have been the first time she has taken my advice so seriously.

I remember when she was not so easily convinced. All those years ago, one bright winter day, I decided to take her for a stroll around town while my exhausted husband and her tiny baby sister could enjoy a well-deserved nap after being up all night. She must have been about two or three years old. The fair was on and I was looking forward to sitting her on one of the merry-go-rounds, curious to find out if she'd want to go (adventurous?) or if she'd be scared (cautious?). 

So off I went and ventured out to the town square. There were a lot of people strolling around, some proudly carrying gigantic soft toys won at the shooting gallery, others eating candy floss clouds, little kids standing in line patiently waiting for a Hook-a-Duck game ... The little town was abuzz with activity. Each attraction was playing a different tune, as loud as possible to compete with its neighbours and all these blended into a happy cacophony while the aromas were all alike, all sweet and sugary and sickly. To my toddler in her pushchair this was heaven, a paradise of lights and colours and noises. She was sitting upright in her pushchair, kicking her legs in excitement. As expected she soon started to point at the merry-go-round and I went to buy tickets, very much looking forward to seeing my first-born playing her part in this giant party. I gave her the ticket and asked her to chose where to sit. The ability to make decision was already showing in her: she took a look around and went straight to the big swan. I thought this was the worst thing to pick! The colours were wrong for a swan and too bright: glossy oranges and yellows, the animal's beak was blood red and its huge head truly scary. Yet my toddler kept patting it thinking it was so cute and fantastic! She went round and round once, then twice, then after a third go I decided this was enough.

However Little Darling Girl seemed to be in complete disagreement with her mother. This was for her mother the long-awaited moment to put what she had read in The Great Guide to Parenting Skills into practice. Gently but firmly Mother was going to tell her child to get into the pushchair because it was over for today, we'd had a wonderful time but now it was time to go home. Little Darling did not give a monkey's toss about all this philosophy and was ready to challenge the educational theories her mother had selected. She looked me straight in the eyes, took a deep breath and started howling so loud that all the parents turned to see what was going on. Never mind. I was ready to show these parents how reading books about parenting made all the difference! Give in? Bribe my little one with toys? Or worse, sweets? Not me! I was going to do it the proper way. 

'All right!' I said, softly yet firmly. 'You must be cooperative now, please, come out of the swan.' 

As I was saying this I was trying to get her out of the stupid orange swan but she was holding on to the stupid reins and as I pulled her out of the toy the reins came with the girl and I then had to pry open her hands to make sure they did not come off. All this with Darling Girl howling. Of course a lot of parents were staring, horrified at the nasty mother who would not let the cute little girl ride the swan some more.

I persisted, still determined to be mother in control. I lifted her out of the swan and into her pushchair where she arched her back (already a great classic of hers) and so I had to push her down (gently but firmly) while trying to manage the straps and the clasps in order to secure her in her seat. All this while she was still howling and kicking her arms and legs. I felt more than heard the click of the buckle and felt I had won the battle. I sneered at all the gawping parents and, head held high, I turned the buggy around to head back home. Baby had stopped howling. I was the perfect educator. I had not covered any ground at all when I felt a tug and the wheels dragging. I must have caught my coat or scarf in the wheels. I looked down and dearie me! My precious little bundle had somehow managed to slip under the tight straps! Her little hands were giving the seat the final push while her body was turning sideway and out she was! Running away back to the swan!

None of these handbooks had prepared me for this. One step and I caught her, lifted her in my arms (more howling) and  carried her all the way home.