My son, Charlie, is 3 now and possessed with that indomitable toddler spirit that often drives parents mad. I find myself both fascinated and overwhelmed when he's doing his thing in front of me. I get nervous he's going to hurt himself. I get exhilarated while watching him shine at simple little things. This is the age of wonder, I guess. But it comes at a price.
But when I'm lying in my bed at night, the air conditioner humming, my nerves settling down (maybe thanks to a little wine), and I think it all over, it makes so much more sense.
These kids who fight us tooth and nail to forge their own tiny path—they're going to be better off in the long run.
A stark realization rises from the fading day and it's this: Toddlers who don't listen to their parents all the time, or even most of the time, are probably better off than the ones who do.
Call me crazy, tell me I'm creating vast illusions in an attempt to soothe my shattered nerves, but I don't know, I think I'm on to something. I think, after raising three toddlers of my own, I'm beginning to get it.
Falling. Spilling. Getting stung. Scraping a knee on a woodpile they were told to get off of 90 times in the last three minutes. Burnt mouth roofs. Magic Marker walls. Lap full of Captain Crunch. Toys breaking from being used as a hammer. Poop on the floor right beside the toilet. All of it. Everything. Every parenting request/demand/reprimand that was repeatedly ignored, all adds up to one sensational masterpiece of living called (you guessed it) experience.
These kids who fight us tooth and nail to forge their own tiny path—they're going to be better off in the long run.
The ones who don't listen, they'll learn from their mistakes. They'll connect the dots of intelligence-comes-from-learning in due time.
