Outing, Take 2

So true to my word, I took Lilah Rose swimming last night. I'd been building up to it for two days, so I was really hoping the Warren Community Center was all it was cracked up to be. To hear me talk, it was a veritable oasis of childhood fun. We picked up Zedd after I got out of work. They'd both been fed, and I was driving while choking down a BLT lovingly prepared by my husband. Zedd had no idea where we were headed, Kim having kept it a surprise. On the way there, he was asking very probing questions.

"Does is have to do with goggles? I heard Mama ask where the goggles were." I laughed.

"Sounds like someone is playing detective." He just stared at me with those big blue eyes.

"No, I've never played that game before." I griped a bit about the cold weather to distract him. "Auntie, the groundhog did see his shadow." I rolled my eyes. How can I argue with a 7 year old?

"Well, the Michigan groundhog didn't." I navigated to the community center and hesitantly found a parking spot in the busy lot. I said, "Lilah, where are we going for our special night?"

"To the DIA!" *Sigh*

"Lilah, the DIA is downtown Detroit. This is Warren, where my Daddy works," Zedd informed her. We made our way inside, but I started to doubt myself when I saw the huge building, walls full of bookshelves, and 8000 kids and their parents. Maybe it was a school. I asked a determined looking older woman with a power-walking stride and an "I mean business" countenance if we were in the right spot. She took a deep, patient breath and directed us to follow her. She gave me a very judgmental look that seemed to ask why I had shown up there if I didn't know where I was going, so I made up some story about meeting someone but not being sure we were in the right place. Then Zedd gave me a very judgmental look, presumably for lying to an old woman. Thankfully he kept his mouth shut. She kindly showed us to the pool area and I thanked her. We signed in and made our way to the locker room.

Have you ever tried to change and shower yourself, a toddler, and a body-shy 7 year old? It's ill-advised if you haven't. I stripped Lilah down and sent her and Zedd into the shower while I stood outside and changed.  Lilah was prodded out by Zedd, now in the trunks I had to hand him while looking the other way. Lilah sat next to the drain and proceeded to splash and play in the "puddle" while I rinsed off. Zedd packed our stuff in a locker, and I dragged out of the locker room a fussing Lilah, who was convinced that her life couldn't get any better than splashing in a locker room drain puddle.

Cue awed little faces. 

The water was a foot deep and almost 90 degrees. There were about 6 life guards doing everything from circling the pool area to removing a punk 10 year old who thought it was funny to spray my daughter in the face and knock her down while his dad looked on and laughed. They intervened before I had to step in and drown the kid, so go them. The kids ran and splashed and played for almost 2 hours. Zedd has perfected the ear-shattering shriek, which he liberally employed. Lilah let out a few of her own and looked at me for my reaction. I opened my mouth to tell her not to shout, but I realized that they were essentially "outside" and should be allowed to get their shouts out now.

When they were closing the pool and I tried to fish Lilah out, she cried. "I'm not done in the bath!" Back in the dressing room, I tried to dry and change the children as fast as possible. Lilah let out a final shriek, and I told her we were back inside, and those noises have to stay outside. Zedd asked why.

"Because there are a lot of older people in here and when kids scream inside, they think there's something wrong." This was accepted. Lilah was near passed out in my arms from sheer exhaustion.

"Mama? I need...I neeeeeeed..." Water? Sleep? More bath time? "Pizza." I laughed. We navigated our way to Buddy's Pizza where we ate our fill of pepperoni and pineapple pizza and stuffed ourselves with fried mushrooms, cauliflower, and zucchini. The server was friendly and excellent, so when our check came I'd already made up my mind to tip her very well. I handed her a coupon I had, and she told me to keep it and beamed at me.

"Those two ladies sitting behind you paid for your dinner." I was in shock, but I found myself smiling. I asked if she could at least charge us for a drink so we could tip her, and she said, "Trust me, they took care of that too. You are all set."

On the way home, Zedd asked why they would do that if they didn't even know us. We all talked about the power of doing good for a stranger. He proceeded to tell me that if everyone did something nice for someone else, there would be no more robbers in Hazel Park.

"Or anywhere else," I added. "There are good and bad people everywhere you go. More good than bad. The more nice things we do for other people, the world will be a very nice place."

"Like Chazzanos!" Lilah piped up.

The purple hat

The first weekend of February was a challenge. Friday night, I took Lilah to the Rembrandt and the Face of Jesus exhibit. She likes the DIA so I expected a good night. What I didn’t expect was an over-crowded, over-sold, over-rated exhibit. We were corralled like cattle into tightly packed sections cordoned off from one another. Lilah immediately rejected the cramped quarters. I had Rob hold our spot in line while she and I walked around the room. There was a large mosaic she enjoyed, and some paintings of kids. I was relieved when we were finally allowed into the exhibit itself. We’d exhausted all entertainment options outside.

The first volunteer we encountered was a lovely British woman who pointed out areas of special interest to little ones. We walked portrait to sketch, observing what we learned to be the same Jewish man Rembrandt had used as a model for most of his portrayals of Jesus. After about 7 of the same man’s faces, Lilah sighed and looked at me. “Is this Jesus again? Is this Jesus happy or sad? No, he’s taking a walk. That one’s having some dinner. He’s talking.” Most people did not appreciate her commentary. She put a hand on a thick glass box enclosing yet another Jesus and a volunteer (who’d been watching from the side for 10 minutes, seemingly itching to come say something) approached us.

            “She can’t touch that. Don’t let her touch it.” I gave him a hateful look. This 20-something was clearly too big for his britches. Let him try to control a toddler in a tightly cramped exhibit full of brightly colored, priceless art she can’t touch. He could take that blazer and smug attitude and walk the other way. I swore if he said another word to me, I’d let her lick the art.

We left the exhibit pretty quickly. Rembrandt is great and all, but most of the pieces were sketches, and a portion not even done by him, but his “school”, or “admirers”. Well, I’m a Rembrandt admirer but you don’t see my paint-by-numbers endeavors on display at the DIA.

Sunday afternoon, I was so excited. By some amazing stroke of good fortune, Lilah and I had been invited to see Cirque du Soleil’s “Quidam” at the Joe in a private suite. I dressed her adorably and braided her (now low-back length) blonde hair into a pretty crown. I packed her a backpack full of nutritious snacks since we’d be there until after dinnertime. Nicola picked us up, and her friends all admired what a sweet little girl she was. I was feeling like mother of the year.

Fast-forward an hour into the future when I was contemplating shaking Lilah until her teeth rattled. About 20 minutes into the show, she became uncontrollable. She started with just wanting to run around the suite and escalated to wanting the sugary candy snacks the other children had and refusing to sit still to the point she spilled her water on me twice with her antics. She’d look at me and emit an inhuman screech and laugh as my face darkened into a scowl. After a certain point in the performance, she got all panicky out of nowhere and slapped me across the face. She licked my cheek afterward for good measure, just in case I didn’t want to beat her before. Then she did that move kids do where they turn into jellyfish and are impossible to carry. I hauled her out of the arena to a lobby with a chair for a time out. She responded by wiggling happily in the chair and chattering. Finally she sobered and said she was sorry for hitting.

We talked about it after the time out. She told me that she was scared and wanted to go home. I felt terrible. The behavior started up when a character had come on stage wearing an overcoat and a purple top hat. The hat was suspended on wires or something, because the figure was completely headless. After that, Lilah wouldn’t watch for more than ten minutes at a time. Every time the frequent loud thunder and lighting sounded and the purple hat guy reappeared, she did her best to get another time out. She just did whatever she suspected would get her removed fastest. Diabolical or genius?

The whole way home, everyone praised Lilah for how wonderful she’d behaved. I was in disbelief. In my opinion, she’d been terrible. I took her to her father, handed her to him, and she and I both ended up in tears. Three cups of wine later, I was very introspective.

I might be the worst mother. All weekend long I selfishly took my child to things I was excited about and expected her to behave like an adult. She’s smart and social, but not even 3 years old. While she enjoys creepy movies like Coraline, live-action creepiness is a whole different ball game and genuinely disturbed her. How could I have expected miracles from a little girl? She had been pushed to her limit and let me know in the only ways she knew how. I made up my mind to spend the week doing age-appropriate fun things with her. Since then we’ve been doing crafts and making Valentines. Thursday we’re going swimming at the Warren Community Center. I’m trying to make it up to her and let her be a loud, crazy kid a little bit more. I just can’t shake this sad, guilty feeling that I’m messing her up. I keep flashing back to that moment of fierce anger at the little creature I’d made who was acting up and laughing at me. The one I wanted to slap and had to grit my teeth to suppress the urge. I loathe myself for that moment. I’m not sure what I need to do to get over it. No amount of wine or craft projects is soothing my anger, now turned from my daughter to myself. I feel like a monster and I can’t shake it.