Hate is a Four-Letter Word

Despite previous blog entries to the contrary, I like to think of myself as a pretty laid back mom. Or, at the very least, I strive daily to be a pretty laid back mom, in terms of not sweating the small stuff, going with the toddler flow, and letting my kid be a kid, despite the colorful messes and household chaos that occasionally ensues. Like all self-respecting daughters, however, Lili has learned from an early age exactly what my behavioral buttons are, and revels in pushing them to the full extent of the mommy law. I suspect she will have adequately mastered this talent by the time puberty hits. For instance, I won't tolerate the word "hate" in our house. Irrational, perhaps, but what emotional hot button topic isn't fueled by a little bit of the crazy? I apparently had a negative reaction the first time Lili mentioned hating something, and we've since been engaged in a battle of the wills for the past, oh, 6-8 weeks. We're not a spanking family, nor do we employ time outs, so discipline usually involves a lengthy conversation and/or discussion around our "feelings", a technique that has served the moms surprisingly well during these (at times)...challenging...toddler times. When it came to hate, though, all bets were off as Lili began (and continued) to
incorporate hating something into every. single. conversation. For example:

"Mommy, I'm going to sing about the dogs hating something...the doooogs...hate to sniff my toooooys...."

I forgot to mention she soon fine tuned her hating skills to include singing. Given a pair of tap shoes and a shimmery leotard, I'm fairly certain she could have taken her sold-out show on the road, or, at the very least, placed third on the current season of America's Got Talent.

Even when she wasn't blatantly using the word hate, she would a) contrive roundabout ways to discuss hate ("Is hate an -ate word?") or b) make up nonsensical alternate words that sounded suspiciously like hate but that could, technically, not be used against her in a preschool tribunal. Such verbal gems include "hayja", "hamie", and "het". After a series of totally ineffectual lessons on why our family doesn't say hate, and a number of miserably failed attempts at positive discipline, I finally began putting Lili's toys on time out whenever she used the word hate. As a Taurus, Lili simply cannot abide the removal of her personal possessions, so this technique, thankfully, worked quite well. One particularly harrowing drive home, though, the peanut gallery chattering from the backseat could easily have been mistaken for the B-side of a Henry Rollins album. By the time we pulled up to the curb, I had confiscated all four of her toys/blankets from the backseat (we never claimed to travel light). After screaming, sobbing, pounding, and kicking for the requisite half an hour, and after the toys had been sprung from the time out slammer, Lili and I hugged it out and moved on with our evening. Later that night, as I wrapping her up in her after bath towel, Lili leaned into me and whispered, "I'm sorry, Mommy."

Feeling a little thrown, I hugged her tight and said, "Why are you sorry, babe? You didn't do anything."

"I'm sorry I said hate and f*#k."

Sigh. The teenage years are going to kick my ass.