But this particular night, that all changed. She deliberately threw her cup when Daddy asked her to take it to the sink. Suddenly his stern voice took over:
"Miraclegirl, pick it up."
She looked at him as if he could not possibly mean it.
"Miraclegirl, pick it up now."
"No!"
This was hardly shocking to me. I'm home with her 24/7. I've heard that defiant, toddler "No!" many times before. My husband, on the other hand, looked stunned. His little girl was talking back!?
I so badly wanted to step in. Her and I have battled it out in the past and now-a-days she obeys me quite promptly as a result of me always winning those battles. But I knew I had to stand back for this one. This was her battle with Daddy.
"Miraclegirl, pick. up. the. cup. now!"
"No!"
Daddy walked her to time out. The broken hearted sobs commenced.
It wasn't time-out that broke her little heart. It was that Daddy--her playmate, her hero, her buddy---put her there.
I knew she had to be there. I've put her there myself. But somehow seeing her put there by Daddy made it harder. I wanted to step in. Rescue her. Soothe her broken heart. But this was about her and Daddy not about her and Mama.
After the prescribed two minutes, he got down to chat with her about why she was put in time-out and ask her again, to please pick her cup up.
"NO!"
It came out in a red-faced toddler scream this time.
Mind you, by this time, I'm dying. I'm trying to get supper wrapped up and in the fridge, but I am dying. I wanted to take over and rescue them both.
More time-out ensued. More sobs. More chances to make it right.
Finally, she picked up her cup.
Then, the ultimate test came. She ran to me sobbing, with her "blankie", holding up her arms, and calling out my name, "Mama, mama, mama!" with her little broken heart. I stared down at her. Everything in me shouted, "Pick her up and comfort her!"
Instead, I looked down at her, paused, and then said,
"Miraclegirl, you need to go work this out with Daddy, not with me."
She stared up at me and then looked at her Daddy. Suddenly, she ran after her Daddy pell-mell to be snatched up in his arms. She clung to him tightly and cried into his neck. He clung just as tightly and told her how much he loved her. Restoration complete. An energetic horsie-ride was started soon after and her sunny smile once again shone as she shouted with laughter. A little while later she had him doing Ring-around-the-Rosy with her collapsing into giggles as they collapsed onto the floor.
It was a vital lesson I learned that night. Not to step in and rescue either of them and not to be her comfort after her "fight" with Daddy. Even though the mother instinct in me was fighting against it, my gut instinct told me that if I do it at 2 years of age, I'll have to do it at 8 and 13 and 16. . . and soon, not only will it be me and her against Daddy, she will have learned the art of triangling and pitting us all against each other.
While I don't doubt there will be other battles to fight, something tells me that was one of the biggest for my husband and miraclegirl to go through. It was definitely one of mine.
Once a week, those who want to share a particular lesson or incident that took place in their Hidden Valley of being a stay-at-home-Mama, can do so through this meme. It may be something God taught you, a moment of letting your kids play in the mud as you realize a little dirt doesn't hurt anybody, or a video that stuck a chord in your soul. Whatever it is, if it touched you, share it with us!
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