Back in February, Sarah Fader wrote a post for Huff Post Parents entitled, 3-Year-Olds Are A**holes. Why am I just getting to read this post? I'm not sure, although it was only brought to my attention yesterday, by a FB friend with a set of three-year-old twins. My first thought? That twelve-year-olds can be a**holes, too, and I've got two of them. My second thought? Age three wasn't that bad. My third thought? That most likely twelve won't look so bad at some point in the near future.
To catch anyone up that might be reading, I have four children: a set of twelve-year old identical twin girls, a hot-headed, red-haired son, who is nine, and a just-turned-six little lady. Before I had children, people warned me about everything: colic, then weaning, then sleep issues, then the terrible twos, threes, and fours. "Just wait until they're teenagers," they all said. So many people mentioned issues they had with different stages of childhood and adolescence, it's a wonder I ever consented to have children, and four at that.
But I digress (of course, I do, because I always do). The point here, and unlike that of Sarah Fader, is not to tell you that everyone else was wrong. I'm here to tell you that they were right. That children should come with a large red flag of warning, a crimson newborn blanket instead of the ones with blue and pink stripes or colorful feet on them. The bright color would wake new moms and dad from their stupors and be a reminder that, at any age, a child will have issues. That the child might, indeed, be an a**hole.
I chuckled at Sarah's post, because early on she said, "After dealing with two 3-year-olds in my house, I can tell you from experience that they are undeniably the hardest humans on the face of the planet to negotiate with. The reason? They don't give a f*ck!"
But let me say this, dear Sarah. Even at twelve, and maybe moreso, these still-fledgling humans don't give a f*ck! "Go pick up the things in your room, please," is met with complete resistance. "When was the last time you actually took a shower and washed your hair, much less all the bits that get sweaty in the summer?" is met with a scowl, a stomp, and a slamming of the door. And "Have you practiced your viola?" is met with a sarcastic eye-roll and a quick, "You asked me that already!"
Let me tell you more. You think pink pants are a problem? How about pants at all? Those lovely articles of clothing that are made to cover the rear end? Many times I have said to the twins, "Please wear a shirt that covers your bum. Leggings are fine, but you need to cover your rump." And while no shouting ensues, another giant eyeroll is shot across the room, and no attempt to cover up said rump is made. Until I take out the big guns: Tim. Somehow, his booming voice can make most things happen.
And cups? I can only hope that my kids would put their cups in the toilet because then, they wouldn't litter my tables, counters, bookshelves, and floor. You'd think by twelve, these kids would understand the need to put dirty cups and other dishes in the sink. It happens sometimes, but not all the time. And there are mornings where I go around collecting cups, washing them, and waiting for the cycle to continue. (I'm done with that, by the way, because they are twelve. They can wash their own doggone cups if they need them.)
Like Sarah, I wondered if my kids were "challenging me" or if I was, indeed, a subpar parent. My in-laws and parents don't think that is the case. They say, for the most part, that the kids are good, and well-mannered, and full of respect. And they are. Plus, the other two don't behave like the twins. The other two rarely roll their eyes or stomp away and, in the case of the six-year-old, can be relied on to clear any dishes and put anything away, even if she didn't take it out.
So really, call it hormones or almost-teen behavior, call it anything you want. Three-year-olds might be considered a**holes, but I have to stand by my claim that twelve-year-olds can be, too. Which means that I'm going to have to let Sarah down easy and inform her that while the age of four might be a bit better in her household (fewer M&Ms being thrown at the cat, perhaps?), she will most likely be in for many more a**hole moments. Because as far as I can tell, every age has them. (Oh joy.)
You can take as many deep breaths as you want. The only thing those breaths are going to get you is some time to calm down and gather strength because, while the three-year-old a**hole phase will pass, it's followed by a large number of more vibrant a**hole phases.
Just remember this: karma is a bitch. Many of those a**hole kids will someday, have kids of their own.
To catch anyone up that might be reading, I have four children: a set of twelve-year old identical twin girls, a hot-headed, red-haired son, who is nine, and a just-turned-six little lady. Before I had children, people warned me about everything: colic, then weaning, then sleep issues, then the terrible twos, threes, and fours. "Just wait until they're teenagers," they all said. So many people mentioned issues they had with different stages of childhood and adolescence, it's a wonder I ever consented to have children, and four at that.
But I digress (of course, I do, because I always do). The point here, and unlike that of Sarah Fader, is not to tell you that everyone else was wrong. I'm here to tell you that they were right. That children should come with a large red flag of warning, a crimson newborn blanket instead of the ones with blue and pink stripes or colorful feet on them. The bright color would wake new moms and dad from their stupors and be a reminder that, at any age, a child will have issues. That the child might, indeed, be an a**hole.
I chuckled at Sarah's post, because early on she said, "After dealing with two 3-year-olds in my house, I can tell you from experience that they are undeniably the hardest humans on the face of the planet to negotiate with. The reason? They don't give a f*ck!"
But let me say this, dear Sarah. Even at twelve, and maybe moreso, these still-fledgling humans don't give a f*ck! "Go pick up the things in your room, please," is met with complete resistance. "When was the last time you actually took a shower and washed your hair, much less all the bits that get sweaty in the summer?" is met with a scowl, a stomp, and a slamming of the door. And "Have you practiced your viola?" is met with a sarcastic eye-roll and a quick, "You asked me that already!"
Let me tell you more. You think pink pants are a problem? How about pants at all? Those lovely articles of clothing that are made to cover the rear end? Many times I have said to the twins, "Please wear a shirt that covers your bum. Leggings are fine, but you need to cover your rump." And while no shouting ensues, another giant eyeroll is shot across the room, and no attempt to cover up said rump is made. Until I take out the big guns: Tim. Somehow, his booming voice can make most things happen.
And cups? I can only hope that my kids would put their cups in the toilet because then, they wouldn't litter my tables, counters, bookshelves, and floor. You'd think by twelve, these kids would understand the need to put dirty cups and other dishes in the sink. It happens sometimes, but not all the time. And there are mornings where I go around collecting cups, washing them, and waiting for the cycle to continue. (I'm done with that, by the way, because they are twelve. They can wash their own doggone cups if they need them.)
Like Sarah, I wondered if my kids were "challenging me" or if I was, indeed, a subpar parent. My in-laws and parents don't think that is the case. They say, for the most part, that the kids are good, and well-mannered, and full of respect. And they are. Plus, the other two don't behave like the twins. The other two rarely roll their eyes or stomp away and, in the case of the six-year-old, can be relied on to clear any dishes and put anything away, even if she didn't take it out.
So really, call it hormones or almost-teen behavior, call it anything you want. Three-year-olds might be considered a**holes, but I have to stand by my claim that twelve-year-olds can be, too. Which means that I'm going to have to let Sarah down easy and inform her that while the age of four might be a bit better in her household (fewer M&Ms being thrown at the cat, perhaps?), she will most likely be in for many more a**hole moments. Because as far as I can tell, every age has them. (Oh joy.)
You can take as many deep breaths as you want. The only thing those breaths are going to get you is some time to calm down and gather strength because, while the three-year-old a**hole phase will pass, it's followed by a large number of more vibrant a**hole phases.
Just remember this: karma is a bitch. Many of those a**hole kids will someday, have kids of their own.
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