Unhinged

There's been an interesting development at my house in the last week. My daughter (age 2) can now turn doorknobs to open doors. Her twin brother has not yet mastered this skill.

And his sister knows it.

So naturally, Natalie lures Nicky into various rooms so that she can then run out and shut him in. Apparently, it's a really fun game. Unless you're the crying, trapped sibling. Or the exasperated, annoyed mommy. So I took matters into my own hands, and jammed all the doors open in various creative ways. On the twins' bedroom door I took an old chewed up 2" thick board book and wedged it right above the upper hinges. That baby was staying open.

Or so I thought.

Pissed that I had spoiled her fun, my daughter pulled and pushed and rammed and heaved at that door until (get this) SHE PULLED IT OFF ITS HINGES. No, I am not kidding. That door is solid maple with solid brass hinges. That door is original to this house. That door survived the Cold War, Vietnam, 6 Star Wars movies, the fall of communism and Y2K.

But it did not survive Natalie.

I mean, why couldn't I have normal children? How did I give birth to the 3 foot tall Savage She-Ra Amazon Woman? Did I walk through some radioactive goop while I was pregnant, or is living in a steel town enough to give your daughters superhuman strength that strikes fear in the hearts of men? And I do mean men, because neither of my sons possess the strength or pure determination of that little girl.

She's got pluck.

She's got moxy.

She's got a mean streak.

Lately she's even taking on the big guy himself: daddy. If he says/does/insinuates anything that is not to her plan, she throws a massive fit, complete with wailing, feeble grasps towards the heavens, rolling on the floor, lamented tableaus, wild stomping and full body collapses to the ground. It really is an entertaining production. I should sell tickets.

In spite of all of this, Natalie seems to value the mommy quotient. If my husband tries to get her to wear two socks of the same color, he gets "the drama". Five minutes later, I request the exact same thing, and she cheerfully complies, no fuss. Maybe she knows I don't buy it? Maybe she recognizes a more sophisticated arsenal?

Actually, I think it's more likely she knows we're outnumbered in this house, and we girls gotta stick together.