A hard week

The goal: to complete this entry without crying. This past week has been...trying. I'm only going to recount the ending of it, since some of the beginning is more personal in nature. Suffice it to say that my nerves were worn to a thread by about...Wednesday. I was just taking it one hour at a time until 5pm Friday rolled around. The office is undergoing some major renovations, the nurses moving from one part of the suite into the new space. I was excited about the change (especially because I got my very own space, not shared with a soul) but it also meant upheval. No phones, lots of dust and workers, confused or inconvenienced patients, and at one point I even threw my computer mouse into a bin in frustration, only to have to retrieve it again when I couldn't find another (and falling into the bin in the process).

Thursday afternoon seemed to crawl. I arranged and rearranged my new desk, trying to find which position I liked best for my computer monitor. That was difficult since it powered down every time I moved it slightly. I got a text from Dano around 3pm that threw my entire afternoon into disarray.

"Lilah wrecked two of the library books you got." Rewind two weeks. After a nap she'd been reluctant to take, I went to wake her only to find a pile of confetti where a book Max gave her had been, and a daughter in bed with an uneasy smile on her face. Of course I was horrified. Whatever look was on my face said something to her, since the smirk faded and tears filled her eyes.

"Lilah! What have you done?" She started sobbing that she'd torn up the book. I could not even fathom why. I was more stern then I ever have been. This wasn't talking back, or striking out in impulse. This was destroying a book. I honestly couldn't think of anything worse she could do. It wasn't in her to be malicious or destructive. I couldn't understand. I marched her out of bed and made her call her uncle and tell him what she'd done. She barely could, choking on her own tears. I heard him say through the phone that it was all right. I knew he was being nice to her, but I wished he'd been a little harsher. She hung up the phone and cried in my arms. We talked about how special books were, how important they were, even ones we didn't like, even ones we didn't agree with. Books deserved respect and care, and she promised she'd never hurt another book again.

"Lilah wrecked two of the library books you got." After getting the entire story, Lilah had torn the pages out of two of the gardening books we'd gotten. We spent awhile every night looking through them and making plans for Spring. She hadn't colored in them or torn a favorite page out to take to bed with her (that's happened before). She shredded them. Her reasoning was that the cat had been scratching at her things again. She'd been furious at the cat all day, and had apparently reached her limit while she'd been perusing the books in the basement (the cat has been unusually mischievous lately). We asked her a hundred different ways and her story was the same. Dano had been afraid of how mad he felt. He'd sent her to her room because he couldn't even look at her. When I got home, she tentatively peeked around the corner. I saw the look on her face: shame and curiosity. I started to cry. I sat on the couch and just cried and cried. I couldn't wrap my head around it. My daughter had destroyed someone else's property, a library book, ones she and I had spent hours cuddling and reading together. It wasn't because she'd been screamed at or beaten. It was because she was frustrated with the cat. Lilah cried, I cried, Dano just fumed and went to work.

Her punishments were harsh. Every book was removed from her room while she cried over them. She took all the money from her piggy bank (she'd been working extra hard lately for a family of pigs for her doll house) and put it in a bag. She had a meeting with the Head of Circulation at the library the next day. She would have to tell her what she'd done and pay for the books. She wasn't allowed in the playroom unsupervised (this for a child who values independent play) and she wasn't allowed to be behind any closed doors. She played listlessly when at all. She spent the hour it took me to prepare dinner sitting at the kitchen table placing the pages, including the tiny pieces, back in the book covers. She did it without complaining, only remarked a few times how hard it was. I fed her dinner and pushed mine around my plate. I felt sick, disappointed, angry. Lilah tried to make gentle conversation and I responded in a monotone. I couldn't even look at her. When I did, she'd smile. When I couldn't smile back, worry flickered across her face and she'd drop her gaze to her food again.

"I wish you'd smile, Mama."
"Baby, I can't smile. I just feel so sick."
"You could eat your noodles. You could take medicine to feel better."
"Medicine won't help this time. I'm just so sad about those books, and so confused why you'd hurt them. It'll take time for me to feel better again." She sighed and replied in barely a whisper.
"I understand." After dinner, she asked to watch Peppa Pig. I told her absolutely not. She asked to read a book. I told her she'd lost her books. She asked to play in her kitchen. I told her I had to clean up after dinner and I didn't trust her on her own downstairs. She sighed again and sat down on the kitchen floor, comforting her doll. After I cleaned up dinner, I put her in the bath. It was a pretty quiet bath. Body and teeth cleaned, hair brushed, in pajamas, and wrapped up in her blanket, she tentatively approached me on the couch. Tears still slipped out of my eyes. She patted my cheek and climbed into my lap. She asked me to tell her a story instead. I told her the first one that came to mind - the Japanese folktale of the Crane Wife. She liked it, but not the ending. I sang her the Crane Wife 1, 2, and 3 by Colin Meloy. She got sleepy and I put her to bed.

Desperate for some guidance, I'd asked one of the doctors to call me. She did, even though I had totally forgotten it was Yom Kippur. She still took the time, which I appreciated more than she knew. I poured out the whole story, asking after I'd finished, "Is she a sociopath? Who destroys books?" She scoffed at me and hushed me, saying she was testing us and pushing for control. She'd wanted drama, and had gotten drama. "We didn't scream at her or hit her or anything. I'm just so unbelievably disappointed."
"That's good. It can actually have a harder hitting effect if they see your disappointment rather than hearing a bunch of yelling. They just tune that out after awhile. It sounds like you handled it perfectly, and she is not a sociopath. She's a 4 year old. She's seeing lots of new situations and personalities at school. She'll try some out, or some will just confuse her and she'll act out. Who knows the real reason she did it. But don't draw it out. After the library tomorrow, let it be done. If you keep on punishing her, it will lose it's effect. I tell parents to start a ticket jar. Either tickets for every bad thing, or tickets for every good one. You make it very visible, and you could make each ticket equal a book. Every time she does something good, she gets a ticket back. Make her earn them back and work hard for them. She'll value them more that way. And my son's kindergarten teacher is teaching them all about books. Not about content, but how to take care of them, why to respect them. That will come, and this is a lesson that will stick with her. Trust me, she's not a sociopath. Actually, I'm glad this is your problem. You had me worried. Your problem is just that you have a perfect kid. When our amazing, well-behaved firstborns act out, it's devastating. If my younger one did the same thing, I'd shrug it off. So relax. Have a glass of wine. Have two. She's going to be all right."

I slipped into Lilah's room before going to bed as I often do, to kiss her forehead and arrange her covers. Only this time, her sheets were in an angry tangle over her head (they never had been before). I uncovered her and her eyes were wide open underneath.
"What are you doing, little bird?" She wouldn't look at me.
"Hiding." I pulled her sheets down. "Mama, I'm cold." I pulled her knitted blankets and comforter off the floor and tucked her in. "Mama, will you smile tomorrow?" I kissed her.
"Maybe tomorrow, love. Goodnight."

I had a glass of wine. I had two. It didn't stop the tears that night. I couldn't help but feel if I'd had some more guidance, some more training, a better example, this wouldn't have happened. There was this incredible ache and empty feeling in my chest. I had my phone in my hand, poised to dial a number I didn't have. I needed to lay my head in someone's lap and cry my heart out while they stroked my hair, the way I'd stroked Lilah's that night. But there wasn't anybody. And that aching feeling throbbed until I fell asleep. That feeling didn't come often. During labor was the last time I remembered feeling it that strongly. But I felt it then, and I felt it hard. Still, it didn't matter how painful or insistent the feeling. I fell asleep and woke up with it still there, although it's lessened every day, like it always does.

Lilah went to the library the next day with Dano. Kelly, the Head of Circulation, solemnly took her money the way she'd promised me she would, then sneaked it back into Dano's backpack without her seeing. Dano slipped her a check, since the cost of the books was far greater than the contents of a small pink piggy bank. Lilah thinks she paid for them, and that's all that mattered. Kelly told Lilah about the importance of taking care of books and protecting them, and thanked Lilah for taking responsibility for what she did. Lilah recounted the trip back to me that night at dinner, and I told her I was proud of her as well. She said she'd never hurt another book. I hope she won't. We've had nothing but sunshiny days since then. Lilah's earned back five or so books, and she's been overjoyed about each one. She keeps the tickets under her pillow and arranges each book carefully on her naked shelf. The head nurse at work assures me these are the lessons that stick and we did the right thing. I'm sure that's true. It just doesn't make it any easier.

Kingsblood, Jeanne d'Arc, War Chief, and other friends

The past weeks we have kept busy here at the Bird Nest. The interior being free of major projects, I've been spending my time in the many gardens and knitting things for winter. Lilah Rose has kept busy as well, checking gardening books out from the library and plotting out all the beds she'd like to see in the yard. She's had multiple playdates and picnics. School starts Tuesday. I'm not at all nervous this year since she did so well last year. She missed her little friends and teachers desperately all summer and can't wait to get back in the swing of things.

With the beginnings of the 4 year preschool class looming, I'm swallowing my kindergarten fears for now and focussing on all the lovely things happening at the moment.

The housewarming was successful and wonderful. I got to spend the afternoon with some of my favorite people in the world. It was nice to show off our hard work to people who haven't been there every step of the way. All the effort is worth it now that we have a house and yard to enjoy.

This weekend, our goal was to put in our fire pit. We went to Home Depot before Dano had to work and looked at the bricks and pavers we plan to use. The most expensive pieces happened to be half off, so that was a plus. Husband fussed over the weight of the items in the Versa and went on about snapped axels, so we only got some of the materials and will pick up the rest when he's done with his shift.

After we left him, Lilah and I went over to Old Navy. I'd promised Lilah a new dress for her first day of school. They were having some sort of safety awareness day, so there were police cars, fire trucks, and an ambulance outside. Lilah spotted balloons inside and asked for one. I told her it would depend on if she were a good listener and well behaved while shopping (we've had a few fits and bad listening episodes while shopping lately). She promised she would be both (she always does). We went immediately to the little girl dress section and I pulled a few styles out and held them up to her, debating between 4T and 5T. She looked from dress to dress and heaved a sigh.

"What's wrong?"
"Well, those aren't my choice." She's very into choices right now.
"I didn't say you had to choose these dresses. I'm just looking at sizes. But you honestly don't like either one of these?" I'd thought they were both very cute. One was magenta and one was navy, both polka dotted with little belts at the waist.
"No thank you." I put them back. She darted over to another section, and I pulled down a few more to hold up. "Um, no, no, and no." Oh, shopping with opinions. We moved on and I pulled down one dress absent-mindedly, then reached for a few more. Lilah grabbed the one I was holding and held it up to herself. "Yes, this is the one. This is my choice."
"Well, it is very nice. I like the colors and the flowers. But don't you want to keep that as a maybe and look at more dresses? This one is very nice." I held up a pink one with eyelet lace.
"That one is, well..."
"What? I think it's lovely."
"It's a bit boring." A catchphrase learned from Peppa Pig, may she be roasted in a pan with an apple in her mouth. The dress was simple, but it was pretty. The one she was holding was silky and deep purple with splashy bright flowers in pink and orange. She had snatched up a pair of shiny gold sandals to match. The outfit was very stylish. Nothing I'd have ever chosen, but all the colors worked well together.
"Okay, sweetheart. You can choose that dress." After a few ill-fated attempts at tempting her with dresses I liked better, we checked out with the dress and the shoes.
"May I have a balloon? I was a good listener." I asked the cashier for a balloon. She laughed.
"Yes of course. Orange or purple?"
"Purple, please." She was handed a purple balloon. "Thank you very much." Someone commented about her polite behavior and she beamed.
"Would you like your receipt with you, or in the bag?" The question was directed at me, but Lilah answered for me.
"Bag please. May I hold my new dress?"
"Of course. What lovely manners."
"Thank you very much." I could see the fear of having her balloon taken away etched between the lines of her good behavior. Being safety awareness day, she also left with a sticker and a Reese's cup. She was very happy.

We moved on to English Gardens to buy our Spring bulbs. We'd gotten a gift card for our housewarming and someone was itching to spend it. We traipsed through the rain, me pausing in the deluge to gaze wistfully at pricey hydrangeas while Lilah tugged at me and said those weren't for us, and that she didn't love shrubs.

We made our way to the bulb section, and everything was labeled with large pictures. There were bags of multiple bulbs as well as bins of individual bulbs. Lilah insisted we get a basket and started asking the names of things she liked the look of. She spotted something before I did.
"ALLIUM!!!" She snatched a bag of Allium bulbs, each one as big as a softball. Nearly 3 feet high when full grown, I tried to talk her out of them. Just like the school dress, she had her own opinions about this garden. She had a gift card in her purse and she was doing it her way. She wavered between white and yellow Narcissus, finally choosing a delicate yellow variety. She asked to see all the different crocus colors, having trouble deciding. She found one that was tricolor - yellow, white, and purple. Problem solved. I offered a few suggestions but Lilah Rose Marie had garden visions I couldn't interfere with.

She popped in some different colored single bulbs, then chose some tall, blood-red bearded irises called War Chiefs and a variety of tulips in matching color called Kingsblood. Looking at the photos on the packages, she worried there wasn't enough white in the tricolor crocuses, so chose a bright white called Jeanne d'Arc. Last, she swooned over delicate, frilly pink tulips called Angelique. I looked over the names of all the bulbs, laughing to myself that it sounded like a a war between fine French ladies and Game of Thrones villains. But again, just like the dress, together they made a unique blend of colors, heights, and textures in the best taste imaginable.

We stopped Sonic for hotdogs and slushes on the way home and I let Lilah sit up front with me. We chatted about all sorts of things, and I reveled in this sweet time of our lives where we could shop, talk, work, and laugh. On the way home (and safely back in her booster), she chattered happily about how we'd plant the flowers when we got home. I told her that if the rain had turned the soil too muddy, it would be a bad idea. I could see her start to fuss, but she swallowed a protest and nodded.

"I wouldn't want to hurt my bulbs. We should wait until the soil is better." She was growing up so much every day, maturing before my eyes into such a little lady. At home, the soil was in great shape after all. Loose and moist, but not muddy. I was looking at the packages and arranging them in my head. Lilah tore open the packages and dumped them into a large wicker basket. Even then, I started to sort the large bulbs from the small crocuses and Narcissus. Lilah gently took them out of my hands and shook the basket up, taking one at a time, hopping to a random place in the garden, and digging a hole for the bulb. I consoled myself with the fact that the entire front yard was full-sun, and that I had taught her to place them the right way in the hole, cover them with soil, and that she was digging deeper holes for the larger bulbs (I had to do the Allium). She talked to the bulbs as she planted them, making sure each was comfortable before burying it and singing sweetly,
"See you in the Springtime!" We went inside covered in mud, but happy. After a warm shower and some tequila lime chicken, we snuggled and watched some TV. I even conceded an episode of Peppa after the great day we'd had.