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YOU'VE GOT TO
PICK YOUR FIGHTS |
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I've sunk to a new low in this global pandemic. I'm having a
fight with a two year old.
Actually, it's a little worse than that. I'm losing the fight
with a two year old.
It began last Friday night, when my daughter dropped off our
3 1/2 year old and 2 year old granddaughters for a sleepover. We're
fortunate to be able to see our grandchildren fairly often because they
live nearby, and usually they like me.
Not this time, at least for the two year old. When they came through the
door, the 3 1/2 year old rushed into my arms. I gave her a big hug and
then turned, arms outstretched, to the two year old.
What is it with kids? Suddenly she decided she wanted nothing to do with
me. "What about me?" I cried as she wrapped her arms around my
wife's knees. "How about a hug for Grandpa?"
She can talk, but she chose not to. So I took the fact that she turned
around and ran in the other direction as a resounding "No."
"She'll warm up to you," my daughter explained, acting as every
parent does in their child's defense. "She talks about you all the
time."
I knew that wasn't true, but it felt good to hear it. I vowed to be
patient, and she would eventually come around. All I had to do was charm
her.
Twenty minutes later, before my daughter had left, I saw the ungrateful
little two year old on the floor playing with one of those kid puzzles.
She was having some trouble fitting the cow into the cow hole and said to
no one in particular, "Help me."
It was a prime opportunity to show her how Grandpa can solve problems and
be a magical influence in her life. I Jumped out of my chair and plopped
onto the floor next to her, eager to feel her everlasting love and
appreciation.
"NOOOOO!" she cried. "I want Grandma to help me."
"Grandma went to the store and will be right back," I replied
calmly as I picked up the cow and expertly placed it in the correct puzzle
spot. "Grandpa is your only hope."
"NOOOOO!" she repeated, turning the puzzle upside down, ruining
all the work I put into it. "I WANT GRANDMA!"
Finally realizing her precious Grandma was nowhere to be found, she got up
off the floor and ran into the kitchen, where she wrapped her arms around
her mother's knees and begged to be rescued from the mean man on the
floor.
And so began our fight. When my wife returned from the store, I told her
all about the indignities I had suffered. Naturally, I expected her to
come to my defense.
"You're fighting with a two-year old?" she replied with more
than a twinge of disgust. "You're ridiculous."
"SHE'S BEING MEAN TO ME!" I whined in my best two year old
voice. "I can't just sit there and take it. I have to fight
back."
"And how do you expect to do that?"
"Well, since she wouldn't understand a philosophical argument as to
how she hurt my feelings, I've decided to fight back by giving her the
cold shoulder, just like she gives to me."
"That's incredibly mature of you," said my wife. "I'm sure
she'll see the light."
Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn't. But at least I'd have my self-respect
back, instead of fawning over a two year old who never reciprocated my
love. The chase was over. She would have to come to me.
Needless to say, that strategy didn't work too well. By the time she went
to bed, no ice had melted. I ignored her, and she continued to ignore me.
"How's the fight going?" my wife asked the next morning as she
watched the two year old fly across the room, bypassing me and heading
straight into her arms.
"I think she's cracking," I replied as I jealously observed her
wrap her arms around my wife's neck. "It's going to take time, but
she'll realize she's been mean to me and I'll graciously accept her
apology."
I'm not sure how it's possible, considering the age difference, but I
swear both my wife and granddaughter had the exact same incredulous look
on their face. Like I said, it's going to take time.
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