We knew it couldn't last.
By all accounts, the Dude is a remarkably easy-going toddler. We worried about how laid-back he was, in fact. It just didn't seem normal that any kid could be so nonchalant about his sister snatching all of his stuff out of his hands even as he was playing with it.
Our concerns about the Dude's laid-backness grew out of our memories of the Diva's toddlerhood. She wasn't difficult, either, by any stretch of the imagination. Still, she has always been prone to swanning fits of drama, rather than outright rebellion. Fortunately, those moments of operatic angst passed pretty quickly.
As it turns out, our concerns were for naught. The Dude was just biding his time until he had the mass to fight back and the lungs to scream.
If I've learned anything during the last five years of having kids in my house, it's that you should take nothing for granted. The weather can change pretty darn fast with the knee-biter set. A sunny day should be basked in, rather than probed for coming rain.
Now, a few months after the Dude's second birthday, he's found the groove of enforcing his will. When his sister snatches toys out of his hands, he fights back by yelling, "Stop it" at her as loudly as he can. Which is fine by me. I'm all for making your needs known.
What usually follows the yelling, however, is the hitting. The Dude will just haul off and whack his precious sibling with whatever is nearby at the time. Hitting _ along with his other favorites, shoving and slapping _ is never OK, especially when he does it with a board book or the Diva's Leapster.
The hitting also triggers Wagnerian-level hysterics in the Diva. Not that I blame her, having been on the receiving end of some of those smacks myself. For a critter with arms no bigger than a mini-baguette, the Dude can get some serious momentum with his fists of fury.
And fury is the best word to describe it. His anger is intense but brief, like a tornado that descends out of a clear blue sky, then evaporates shortly after you notice that your house has been swept out of Kansas.
My hope is that the hitting will stop for good once he gets a handle on more words and can better articulate his anguish. Right now, his frustration is almost palpable, as are the welts that he is leaving in his wake.
Don't be concerned that we're just sitting idly by. My husband and I are trying to get the message across that hitting is bad, especially when one hits with an inanimate object. Fortunately, the animate objects in the house, which includes our cats, are too heavy for the boy to lift. Otherwise, his new non-Dudeness would be causing scratches as well as bruises.
"Cormac! No," one of us will firmly say as we're pulling him away from his weapon du jour.
"Cormac," he'll say in an exact mimic of our voice as he looks at his hands as if he can't believe that they would dare be so naughty. "Oh, Cormac," he adds, sounding for all the world like his hands have let him down again. Then he usually starts giggling, clearly amused by how well he can ape us. It is simultaneously mind-
bogglilngly cute and undescribingly frustrating.
With the Diva, discipline was fairly straightforward. She was a kind who would put herself in time out whenever she knew she'd broken a minor rule or two. For major infractions, 10 minutes in her room, which is full of toys and books and princess dresses, was like being sent to the gulag. Never has a parent been so cruel.
Neither of these will work with The Dude, who is still Mr. Mellow when he isn't being thwarted by someone bigger. Time outs and minutes in his room are cause for amusement, not careful reflection on the rules we live by. Our best course of action seems to be separating him from his sister, whom he adores.
Slowly, the message is sinking in. Every now and again, instead of hitting, he'll stick his tongue out at whomever is opposing his will and blow wet raspberries at them. It's a far less painful way for the Dude to blow off some fury. Now, rather than bandages and ice packs, we just need to drag out the mop.
Adrienne Martini is freelance writer, instructor at the State University College at Oneonta and Hartwick College, mom to Maddy and Cory and wife to Scott and author of "Hillbilly Gothic," published by the Free Press.
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