ode to a two year

As I sit here and try to enjoy my breakfast (a gluten free bagel smothered in the perfect amount of cream cheese with a large glass of strawberry milk), I am serenaded by the sounds of my two year old. Screaming. It is a daily occurrence in this house. One that has continued relentlessly for the last few weeks (minus a two day break that was like a miraculous slice of heaven). I know it is just a phase (at least that is what I tell myself to muster up enough courage to make it through each day). But I do not know how long this phase will last. Or the amount of damage being done to my sanity. Regardless, I trudge on. And I stand firm in my dealings. Because this whole charade stems from his desire to manipulate. A battle of wills. And I must be the one to win. Not because I am as stubborn as he is (well, maybe a tiny fraction of me needs the vindication of coming out victorious). But because I am the mother. And he should not control me. So if I have to throw away his food or hide certain toys for a few days or give him a little "spank", I will. I will not play the "I am done/I want to eat/I am done/I want to eat" game. Nor the "Throw it away/I want to play with it/Throw it away/I want to play with it" game. Nor the "Spank me/No spank me/Spank me/No spank me" game. Because he will whine and scream and carry on. For HOURS. And with three kids, I just don't have the time. Nor the patience. Of course, my actions do not stop the hysteria. But I'd like to think that - just maybe - he will get the picture. And that he will whine a little less. And scream a little less. And that one day, I will be able to enjoy my breakfast without his lovely background noise. And not have to share my food. Okay, that last one is unrealistic....