Two

A friend once told me that age three was worse than two.

And to her I say this: If it gets worse than this, please come with a spatula and scrape my flattened, beaten soul off the kitchen floor where it will be in a heap.

I love my daughter. I'd walk in front of a train for her, rip anyone who tried to hurt her limb from limb, and give my last breath to protect her from harm.

However, I almost left her at a fair today stapled to a tree with a "Free to Good Any Home" sign.

She doesn't listen. She throws fits. She's two. I know this is normal, but it's just so...exasperating. I'm in a crowded fair, pushing a stroller, Sawyer strapped to my chest, happily kicking air and cooing at every old lady who comes to grab his toes, all while galumphing after Charlotte because she's chasing bubbles, poking a fish, grabbing at lizards, knocking down displays, run off to the giant sandbox, or climbing the diggers by herself.

She's not doing anything wrong per se, and I'm happy that she's so curious things work, she tried to turn on the 15 foot bulldozer, but for the love of Tina Fey, people, have you tried to chase a toddler with a 13-pound baby strapped to your chest while pushing a Sit-n-Stand stroller? Thank dog my sister was with me today because 1) I never would have attempted to take these feral children to the fair on my own (Mike was out fishing with his friends) and 2) She was better at being the chaser and another man on the defense.

Charlotte is smart and curious, dramatic and demanding. While these traits will one day make her one kick-ass little person and eventually a woman I'll be proud to call my daughter, right now it's making her one step away from having red pupils, a rotating head, and green projectile vomit.

Partly though, her worst moods can be attributed to my fault. When we're on the go like this, even though I pack a ton of food, by the time I offer it to her she's in full meltdown mode, stepping on smaller children and tossing cars at the Empire State Building. Usually, as soon as she can stuff her cry-hole with her peanut butter and jelly sandwhich (Thank you Smuckers, for making Uncrustables; they're the perfect kid-shutter-upper) her mood has dramatically improved. And if I'm lucky enough to pour milk down her gullet or get some fruit in her, she's like a new kid.

Which is exactly what happened today. After she ate, she was able to enjoy herself more and even went on rides I thought would scare the piss out of her. She sat in the front car of a roller coaster with my nephew, went on a ferris wheel with my sister, and rode one of those scary swinging boat rides. She rode a pony and enjoyed the rest of the afternoon. Then, we came home and all three of us passed out for two hours.

So, moral of the story is this: make sure kid is fed and full to avoid tantrums of biblical proportions. If that doesn't work, leave her with the clowns in the circus tent.