Teenagers in Toddler Bodies

I have a theory - that the only thing separating teenagers and toddlers (besides a decade) is a few pounds and a few inches and a broader vocabulary.

Cases in point:
Drama Queen. If Woodstock didn't mis-pronounce "frusterated" as "fruster-dated", you wouldn't know she was 3 1/2 instead of 13. She'll sigh, roll her eyes, thrust out her hip and say, "Oh mom!" [insert "my-mother-has-no-idea-what-on-earth-is-going-on-poor-thing" tone of voice here] or "I'm so fruster-dated!" when I have the never to correct a behavior, make a suggestion or calmly point out that her case for having bedtime snuggles ("but mom, I'm so lonely in here, I need a friend") is being denied. Or there are the times when she has what I swear are hormonal mood swings - though in pre-schooler/toddler years those are called "someone didn't get enough sleep," where she dissolves into a puddle of tears, wailing, lamentations and gnashing of teeth over nothing or almost nothing.

Incomplete Logic. Woodstock dumps an entire bottle of shampoo on the floor one day. I ask her why. Her response (complete with rolling eyes), "Oh mom, I just wanted to see what would happen, that's all." As if we should all do things just to see what happens. No need to rely on the laws of the universe, physics, experience of those going before us, etc. Because the world simply did not exist before they did.

Excessive Phone Use. Pebbles last night was wandering around the basement for 15 minutes, having an entirely one-sided conversation (in which the only words we could decipher were "He-wow" (Hellow) and "Gee-Gee" (her nickname for Woodstock) with Himself's iPod (Pebbles uses it as a Phone - she does not like using her actual play phone because she can't make it light up and "work"). The entire conversation was complete with head cocking, sighing, dramatic pauses, hand gestures and a flood of what I assume are words - just not anything verifiably English. After 15 minutes, when her conversation was still going strong, and there was no end in sight, I announced that it was bedtime and the phone time was over. Pebbles shrieked, "No no no no no!" and ran (toddled?) down the hall. I put her to bed still crying for "Phone!"

Budding Independence. Two weeks ago, Woodstock and I had what would pass for a heated conversation in Target in which she begged for a particular yellow skirt. Anyone who knows my kids know there is no danger that they will ever run out of clothing and be forced to run around naked. Ever. Even if I go on laundry strike. It's ridiculous. On that principle alone I was not going to buy any more skirts for Woodstock. Even yellow ones. Then she remembered her gift card from Gramma L. "But I have money!" she exclaimed. "I can buy whatever I want." She bought the yellow skirt. We'll save the "I can buy whatever I want" conversation for a date when it will actually mean something.

Pebbles, lest she be left out of it, is loudly asserting her independence about every 3.5 seconds. (We're hoping the "loudly" part gets toned down now that her ears aren't full of fluid - because that kid has two volume settings: Off and Loud. And the Off setting only reliably works when she's sleeping). Last week I thought, "at this age, I was not schlepping Woodstock everywhere, she was walking." (Of course, at this age, I was 5 months pregnant with Pebbles, so I really didn't have a choice). I put Pebbles on the sidewalk and had her walk herself into the sitter's, rather than having me carry her. Brilliant! Except - now she thinks she needs to do it (and demands such) every single time - even when we're in a hurry; especially if there is snow or rain puddles on the ground (yes, it's April, someone forgot to inform Mother Nature that winter is over); particularly if there are cars in the parking lot and always, always, ALWAYS if Mom didn't bother putting shoes on her. Oy.

Boundary Testing. Pebbles might as well put her thumbs in her ears and waggle her fingers and yell, "Nah nah nah, you can't stop me!" right before she does something she knows she isn't supposed to do, because she gets this wicked, mischievous grin that says the same thing. She makes a point of looking directly at you before she toddles over to push a button or dump out all the blocks for the 587th time or drop food over the side of her high chair or climb up on the kitchen stool to re-arrange the silverware drawer (doesn't matter where we keep the stool, or that it is as big as she is - Pebbles has discovered that that stool opens up a whole new world of delightful possibilities and has been known to drag it from one end of the house to the other to satisfy her curiosities). It's the equivalent of a teen saying, "So? Whatcha gonna do about it?"

It's high drama all the time in our house - and I can only imagine what it's going to be like when I can no longer physically pick them up and remove them to a different spot. Or what happens when behind all the drama and eye-rolling and sighing (side note: I've never rolled my eyes at my kids - I am not sure where on earth that comes from - unless hard-wired in) they run to me, arms wide open, and exclaim "Mama!" when they see me - even if I've only been hiding in the bathroom. I'm not sure what I'll do when I'm no longer "the best mother in the whole world" or when they're too big for my kisses and snuggles to right the world.

As similar as they may be, I'll keep my toddlers for now and hope the next 10 years and teenager hood takes a long time to get here.