Tiny Little Monster

This morning, the Moopa was in rare form. 

I can't explain it.  Her outbursts and defiance can't be attributed to lack of sleep.  Or hunger.  Or clothes that were too tight or shoes that were in need of removal.

I attribute it all to her age falling between the ripe old years of 2 and 3.

Moopa just decided she was going to be a tiny monster.  A flailing, wailing, bugger-faced-24-pound-beast. 

All I asked of this child was to wear a coat.  It's a balmy 32 degrees today in our northeastern part of the United States.  One would think a coat would be a welcome suggestion.

Moopa did not.  She fought me.  Hit me with her bag of cookies.  Arched her back and weaseled away as I tried to finagle her arms through the holes.

I finally calmly placed her in her crib.  I was left with no alternative.  Moopa threw more things.  She screamed until she realized her whereabouts.  She eventually gave in and accepted defeat. 

I then rocked her calm and we put on her coat. 

And because I hold no grudges, I gave her a new bag of fresh cookies for the ride. 

To all my munchkins I say this:

Fight me all you like, I will smile through the madness and find away around your insanity.

Mom will always find a way.  Always.

And I will be there with fresh cookies when the dust settles.