This surprises me, though. Do pepole really believe their children will not be like this? I totally believe what parents say. When I say, “Oh, your child is so well-behaved” and they say something like “Oh, it’s because she’s out and about,” I believe that she probably is a little hellion at home.
The cuteness. It’s protective camouflage, I tells ya.
Eight is a nice age. So is nine. But soon after that, they turn into teenagers, which is a whole different story. 
But somewhere around 19 or 20, they become pleasant human beings again.
One of my zoology professors talked about infantilized features in domestic animals, or the “aww factor,” and half-jokingly suggested that it keeps human young (with their long and helpless childhoods, compared to other primates) alive and cared-for.
A friend took offense at my husband quipping that you don’t raise children, you domesticate them. Then one day he said he’d changed his mind and agreed with the theory. He’d discovered his darling daughters (IIRC ages 2 and 3.5 at the time) playing baseball in the kitchen, using a gigantic jar of jelly to scoop out the “baseballs” which would then be underhand tossed to the batter. He initially felt like laughing until he realized he’d have to clean up the mess.
The Trantrum Du Jour: I went to the wrong Starbucks, apparently. I had no idea there was a “right” Starbucks and a “wrong” Starbucks to go to, but apparently there is. And apparently it really, really matters. Even if you’re not getting anything there, but just going for a ride in the back. And even if you don’t notice it’s the wrong Starbucks until halfway through the drive-thru process.
That one was only a twenty-minute tantrum, though. I got off lucky.
Ah, yes, I remember that stage with my niece and nephew. Fortunately, we were generally able to persuade them to try the “wrong” location of the restaurant we were visiting, but they were quite adamant at first that it couldn’t be as good as the “right” location.
It’s totally true that you domesticate them. They’re like stereotypical little savages.
We had a short tantrum today because I went up the stairs before him. We also had a screaming tantrum because I went upstairs to put the baby to bed. He woke the baby up. I didn’t kill anyone.
I think the Firebug (age 3.5) is already training for teenagerhood.
Typical conversation in the car after picking him up from day care:
“What did you do at school [daycare] today?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you learn any new songs?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you make any drawings?”
“Nothing.”
“Who did you play with?”
“Nobody.”
Great username, btw.
This is why two-year-olds are far cuter than newborns.
Because they are capable of being infinitely more provoking.
I can understand this one, actually. If you don’t drive, cars are these magic boxes you get into and the scenery flashes in front of you for a while and then you get somewhere. If you thought you were one place and then you suddenly looked up and you were somewhere else entirely, it would be disconcerting, like expecting a sip of coke and having it be milk instead, or waking up in a strange room and having no memory of how you got there.
So far this works pretty well for me: the little one wails over something, and I wait until she gasps for air, and say, “Honey, I can’t understand you when you’re crying. Take a deep breath like this…” She’ll usually take the deep breath, and after two or three iterations her sobs have died down so she can explain what’s wrong. Then I ask her what she wants. Often I have to tell her she can’t get what she wants anyway, and the crying will start again, but the passion has generally left her by this point, and the crying jag ends before too long.
I also do a lot of repeating back to her in her own words: “You want jelly beside your toast,” I say, once she’s calmed down enough to speak to me, “You don’t want jelly on your toast.” That also seems to help her.
But she’s just a hair over 2 years; who knows what 3 will bring.
You have a point, except that it’s not like this is the first time we’d ever been to that Starbucks. There are two close to our house, and which one we go to depends on which direction we’re going after. So half the time we go to Starbucks A, half the time Starbucks B. For some bizarre reason, she chose yesterday to care about it. It’s just the “out of the blue” ness of it that gets me.
And just as a humorous aside, “Starbucks” was her first word after “Mama.” And I don’t even drink coffee! However, my husband drinks it like it’s going out of style, hence all the Starbucks trips.
No tantrums yet today! Yay!
What can I say? Every prospective parent thinks their child will be an angel and that all the other parents in the world are at fault for their child’s behaviour.
I didn’t say it wasn’t naive.
Yes. I think if you haven’t had kids the amazing amount of work it takes to corral a kid into even sort-of-okay behaviour some of the time is just not imaginable, and even with the best, most attentive parenting possible there’s still going to be the time the two-year-old stood behind you at the grocery store, and they were quiet so you thought they were okay- and they were taking all the chocolate bars down and licking them..
Because the only way to get a kid to be perfectly quiet and well-behaved all the time in public is to use a combination of straightjackets and duct tape.
We had two very good days and we’re in the middle of the second very bad one. Lots of shrieking and meltdowns and throwing things. He’s still alive.
Is your little one diabetic? That sucks.
Back to the original subject, yeah - most of them are like that, and some longer than others. My son has been going through it for about a year and a half now. It’s finally winding down. Lots of it was related to his baby sister being born. He had been a complete angel for a long time, but when she was born, he turned into a little turd with the odd moment of sweetness and forlorn gazes, which are the only reasons we kept him. 
Our parent educator said something interesting (we use Parents as Teachers, which is free in our district) - she commented that those “half” years - 3.5, 4.5, etc. - tend to be difficult. She said that, for whatever reason, kids seem to be out of balance at those times.
Either way, she’s right that kids do cycle through these phases. When my son was little and just starting to get really verbal (about 19 months), he’d go for about a month where he was a little whiny monster, then all was sunshine and roses for a while. Then he’d do it again. Then his sister was born and all hell broke loose for a while. Now things are back on the upswing as he’s nearing age 5. It’s like everything is constantly cycling. Anyway, all you can do is ride it out and keep on doing what you’re doing.
Today has been pretty good. Only one earpiercing shrieking fit from the littlest tyrant, which thankfully only lasted a couple minutes. The head tyrant has been relatively well behaved, just a few minor skirmishes.
Yesterday on the other hand, I was up to my eyeballs in neanderthals. Yeesh!
Spoken from the heights of grandmotherhood: One of biggest favors you can do yourself is to NEVER, EVER give in to a tantrum. Some children get this sooner than others. My oldest child accepted, “Because you screamed and whined, you not only won’t get X today, you won’t get it tomorrow, either. Had you been calm and asked nicely I might have changed my mind. But not now.” My younger child took much longer. Years longer.
It actually makes it easier for me when my daughter throws a tantrum. If she’s all sweet and polite about it, I sometimes find myself wavering and wanting to change my mind. When she starts screaming, though, it makes the decision easier–I know I can’t give in, even if I wanted to!
Doesn’t it suck when you hit that point of no return? I hate it even more when I back myself into a corner and have to enforce a consequence that I really didn’t want to. I try hard to make sure that doesn’t happen, but sometimes there’s no other option.
It’s not really that big a deal, but I can still recall having to carry through on my threat not to go to the coffee shop when my son was throwing a tantrum and struggling out of his car seat. He was 3.5 and it was just before my daughter was born. I’d been carefully limiting my caffeine and fat intake (I gained too much weight with my son and didn’t want to repeat it) and allowed myself one mocha a week.
My son was already in a bad mood when I’d gotten him from preschool, but he was happy enough with the idea of a trip to Starbucks until he decided he wasn’t going to wear his seatbelt. Unfortunately, I was driving at the time and had to pull over and re-buckled everything. I told him that we couldn’t go anywhere but home if he persisted in trying to get out of his car seat. He did and I had to go straight home. I was so disappointed - I’d been waiting all week for that mocha, dammit!
They do seem to have a second sense for interrupting those rare moments of regeneration, don’t they? If I close my eyes, and lay my head back, it seems to pull a switch in her somewhere. LOL!