My Tiny Moose

A few weeks ago we had a house guest. This guest was not entirely unexpected, but had been somewhat waylaid, so when they finally snuck in unannounced it took me a little by surprise. My husband was out of town for work and so I was forced to host the guest alone. The visit was fiery, tumultuous, and although it seemed like they would never leave, just as stealthily as this guest had come they were gone.

I am a firm believer in the notion that a child never misses a stage, so I have no idea why I thought that my beautiful intelligent daughter would somehow escape the developmental stage known as the terrible two's. Or terrific two's. Whatever the euphemism you choose to use at some point this guest arrives. At two and a half, Mussolini's arrival should not have shocked me, but it did. She was stretching her new found independence and it is reminiscent of a baby bird upon hatching. Fugly. My tiny Moose stomped around shaking her fist, barking orders, screaming, pitching herself, accepting nothing less than complete submission and just being an all around tyrant. The fact that she responded to "Moose" as a nickname is probably what enabled both her and I to survive!

Our house guest.

When Moose was visiting I had an epiphany of sorts. It is often those who are most similar to us that rub us the wrong way. It is easier to see their shortcomings reflected back at us since we know these flaws so intimately. All this I knew (in my head!) but the revelation was this: this knowledge should be giving me a leg up! Isla was going through something. It was new and scary and no more enjoyable for her than it was for me or Jack. If I knew how she felt, what would I have liked the response to be? Easier said than done, but sharing this life with her is my practicum.

Anyhoo, Isla kicked Moose to the curb and a modicum of decorum has returned to our home. Thank goodness.