Hoops and the Happy Hug

Happy Hugs by Hoops

Some days, Hoops can be a little bit off.

And by a little bit off, I mean totally 100% off his rocker. He will contradict himself; "I want a sandwich, I DON'T WANT A SANDWICH!" He will offer his sister a toy, then scream in hysterics when she accepts it. He will roll around listlessly on the floor; "I just can't get up." I'm with ya on that one, kid.

Now, at 2.5 years old, I'm told this is to be expected. We've been working on "using our words" to express our feelings. As an adult, I am so super good at this. If there was a font for sarcasm, I'd be using it. BUT so far we have gotten the hang of:

"I mad at you, Mommy!"
"I upset with you, Mommy!"
"You make me sad, Mommy!"
And my personal favorite: "I don't like you right now, Mommy!"

Are you sensing a theme, here?

Luckily for me, his verbal skills are astounding. Like really, really good. Not so luckily, he still has the social skills of a 2.5year old. He's more than likely to be heard telling complete strangers at the grocery store that he has a "cute little tiny hiney" or loudly informing me that he "doesn't want that guy over there to pinch him." Because that's not awkward.

Entire days can be spent with this face wailing at me, snot drippage and all. Sure, it looks pretty adorable, and I bet you're feeling some pangs of empathy. (Or sympathy...or empathy, or whichever.) But trust me, it ain't cute.

...Okay, you're right, it's a little bit cute. He can't really help that. It's not something he's doing on purpose.

Now, because I'm practically a genius, I know that the snot-dripping face is really the result of this face:

"Would you like to take a nap?" I ask, with only a hint of desperation in my voice. I'm practically nodding my head off my neck with subtle encouragement.

You can guess where this usually gets me. The worst part is, I know what his reaction will be, yet each time I am tempted to ask this question hoping for a difference response.

The biggest of the meltdowns come about two hours before nap. Two hours before nap. That is 120 minutes of emotional highs and lows to contend with. Poor little Loops usually gets the brunt of it; she is just fascinated by his crying, and insists on touching his tears like some sort of little voodoo healer. Hoops insists on knocking her healing hands off his face.

And so begins the Happy Hug 

One day, when in the throes of toddler tantrums, I calmly asked "Hoops, would you like a Happy Hug?" I don't even know where this came from. His little body was out of sync with his little soul and he just needed to hug it out. He popped up from wailing on the ground, then plopped down in my lap and gave me the best hug. Of all the hugs.

"I happy again."

And just like that, the Happy Hug was born. Any time a tantrum blows through the playroom, or looms over the living room, or rains down on us on the playground, I open my arms to provide a Happy Hug. It's like I'm pressing a toddler reset button. It is my go-to defense move, and it has the highest success rate of any of the moves in my tantrum avoidance toolkit.

Sometimes they last mere moments before he's off again, and other times the feelings need a longer hug. And I'm okay with that. I know one day it will be me wanting a Happy Hug from him, and I won't always be able to get it.

Because he'll be too embarrassed by me in the grocery store talking to strangers about his cute little tiny hiney.