How to Make a Toddler Happy

I’ve learned the secret to making my toddlers happy: I do what they want. Turtle insists on a “geen” plate, dumping her blue plate full of food directly on the floor with a scream. “No problem,” I say with a smile. I pick up the food from the floor, put it on the green plate, and put it back on her tray. She eats. Peace is restored. I hand her a cup of milk with a yellow lid. She throws it on the floor, crying for “pur pu.” I pick up the cup, put on a purple lid, and hand it back to her. She drinks. I await the next command.

Monkey doesn’t care about her eating implements. However. Her feet must not touch the ground outside of our home. If we step through the front or back door, she throws up her arms, begins to whine, and won’t move her feet. “Do you want to walk?” I ask when I open the car door at our destination, knowing the answer. If I even think about refusing, she’ll throw herself on the ground, wherever we are, and scream. This is generally frowned on by People, so I carry her. A lot.

The demands change frequently and randomly, but I manage to keep the daily OCD matrix organized: which “blankie” is used for stargazing in the nursery, and which side must face up; which doll each girl is mothering that day; the fact that Monkey does not allow her baby to have a pacifier while Turtle insists hers must have a pacifier; which foods, books, toys, clothes are in favor and which are currently despised (this week, bananas are absolutely OUT).

I think it was The Happiest Toddler on the Block that advised me to push to get my way for the important 10% and to let my toddlers got their way the other 90% of the time. I think that’s pretty good advice. I may be a little indulgent, but I look at it this way: It’s the only time in my life I’ll be able to so easily make people so happy. I spent a decade working in fields where I negotiated for clients day in and day out, and in many cases it took days or weeks of long, drawn out, emotionally exhausting discussions to help a person arrive at a point where they were satisfied with their outcome, and occasionally happy with it. The instant gratification of turning a crying toddler into a happy toddler is a high I can’t get enough of.

And when the girls get older, sitting Mr. Lovey in the high chair with his own piece of pizza won’t be enough to make Turtle happy. I won’t be able force the mean girl at the playground to take back what she said to Turtle, or force the right boy to ask Monkey to the school dance. They’ll roll their eyes when I tell them how I used to juggle purple lids and green plates in one hand while holding Monkey in the other. So as long as they look to me as the center of the universe, I’m very happy to play the all-powerful wizard, making their every wish come true. Soon enough, the girls will pull back the curtain and see that I’m a mere mortal. I dread that day.