I keep despondently singing the Death Cab song in my head. It feels like daylight will never return in the capacity my body needs it to. Apparently my Vitamin D level is "critically low" and I need to take some or something. Or the sun could just hurry it up already.
The closer we creep to Lilah turning 4, the more sweet and fun she grows. But she also grows more defiant and independent as well. It's such a hard balance to strike, and her moods swing hard for no apparent reason. In the same day she can help me with baking or crafts, and end up tear-streaked and angry because some small thing was denied her. I started to realize last week that we might have gone to far with her. We have so many celebrations and special things during the year that she's grown accustomed to them. I like to bake, so there's nearly always a cake or a few dozen sweet treats lying around. So many people love her that it's almost weekly someone is bringing her a rose (she asks the gardeners around town for roses, since she's "a Rose". She feels she has some right to them) or toy or small thing that made them think of her. Her Auntie takes her on special dates, she has skype dates with friends and grandparents, and people at local businesses know her by name and regard her kindly when they see her. The ladies at the farmer's market always pinch her cheeks and let her choose the "best" parsnips - her favorite vegetable. But for as much as Lilah charms everyone she meets into submission to her whims, we have so far been lucky that her will has fallen in step with ours for the most part. We have had to do very little but gently steer her in the direction we'd like her to go and she has happily complied. Bad days aside, we have had an easy road for the most part.
I'm pretty sure it's normal for her age, but I feel like she's set herself against us just to see what will happen. Even when it means we're both exhausted with the sheer effort of battling wills with a tiny, loud, irrational person, we haven't budged. We've cut back on the sweet treats to weekends only. I still bake frequently, but the snacks get saved for after she goes to bed so we set a good example, or during the weekends. Special occasions like birthdays and holidays don't count, of course. I set up a chore chart with nickels attached to each task (soon to be pennies. She doesn't need $1.50/day at 4 years old). She has started doing the little things like folding washcloths, disinfecting door handles, dusting surfaces, setting and clearing the table. For the most part, she enjoys having "jobs" and earning money to buy things (she just discovered dollhouses and is fascinated). Tonight, she was in a mood while I made dinner.
"Mother, can I have a healthy snack?"
"No. We're having dinner in 20 minutes."
"Fine. Then can I play piano?"
"That's up to your dad. Ask him." Seconds later, I hear the piano despite Dano being upstairs. I went over and quietly removed her from the piano. She shrieked in anger.
"I WAS PLAYING THAT!"
"You didn't ask Daddy. You're a little girl. You don't just get to do whatever you want when you want to." She turned into a jellyfish and slid out of my arms. I removed her dress up gown and fairy wings and put them up. More shrieks.
"WHY DID YOU TAKE AWAY MY THINGS?"
"You can have them back later. You're acting like you need a break." I handed her the plates. "Chore time. Set the table please." She flung them back at me.
"No." I told her she had one more chance to do them like a big girl before she had to do them like a baby. She stomped up the stairs. "No. I'm going to go play in my room." Slammed door. She ended up with her door handle removed, led down the stairs, and walked to and from the table with me. After a couple trips, she shrugged my hand off her shoulder. "I can do it."
After that, as in all battles of wills lately, she was angelic. These little tempests are short-lived. As much as my blood boils beneath the surface and as nasty as she can get when she's mad, the calmer I stay, the more deliberately she's shown she can't win, the faster it's over and she's back to herself. The days are certainly more good than bad. She had the Show and Tell bag at school and was thrilled to take her small doll Caroline, all snug in her box in the bag. I was told that when Mrs Fuller asked "What do you have there?",
Lilah replied, "A box."
"Well okay. What's in the box?"
"A doll."
"Does the doll have a name?"
"It's Caroline."
"How long have you had Caroline?"
"Oh, about 30 years." Typical Lilah-edits.
Well, her birthday creeps closer. I'm preparing a little every week. I still can't believe my baby girl will be 4. Her last year of preschool. Her last year before "real" school. The fact that no babies are coming after her is slowly sinking in. It doesn't make me want another one. It just makes each moment feel so precious. And it makes me feel terrifically old.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Thursday, January 24, 2013
PuppetArt
Today was our very first Drayton Avenue field trip. We were quite excited to visit PuppetArt, the Detroit Puppet Theater. We'd never been there, but had heard great things. We were to see Kolobok, the Russian folk story similar to the Gingerbread Boy. Kolobok is a little butterball dumpling crafted by Grandmother and Grandfather who have a good life, but have no children. While he's cooling on the sill, he escapes into the woods to see the world. He encounters multiple animals who try to eat him but cunningly escapes them all. In the original story, he is eventually consumed by the crafty fox. In the Detroit version, he gets away and goes back home.
Lilah's friend Jack and his mother kindly let us ride along with them. Jack is a sweetheart and the two chattered happily in the back. We got there with 45 minutes to spare. By the time we found parking downtown, we had 30 minutes. By the time Jack and Lilah made it up 3 flights of stairs to Grand River Avenue, we had 15 minutes. We got into the theater and were engulfed in a sea of tiny people in winter gear. Lilah Rose had chosen a summer sun dress with pink flowers, pink knit tights, and a white turtle neck as her ensemble with brown suede boots. She had rushed through breakfast and smiled winningly at me while I dried my hair to entice me to do her bidding. "Mother, will you put my hair in a braid?"
"Braided pigtails? A pony tail?" I knew exactly what she was after. I'd been giving her the "Katniss Everdeen braid" for the past week and she'd gotten loads of attention for the fancy, intricate style.
"Nooo Mamaaaa. One braid!" I had done what she wanted and as usual the results were stunning. I had a very pretty little girl. I try to make sure to tell her how nice she looks, whether in pajamas or a party dress. I looked around the theater to see most of the children were very nicely dressed as well. I greeted the mother of one of the sets of twins and told the girls how nice they looked in their sparkly boots. Their mom smiled and said one of them had them on the wrong feet, but they were dressed and that's what counted. Lilah stood out in the crowd not only because of her braid, but also because she had insisted on bringing the muff Nicola made for her. It was all the rage. Some children stood quietly with parents. Others sneakily tried to touch the model puppets. One little girl had come with another family since her mother couldn't make it. She stood alone in the middle of the room with a quivering lip and her hands knotted uneasily. I crouched down to talk to her.
"Are you okay, honey?" She looked so miserable and scared it broke my heart. "You look so pretty in your skirt and sweater." She looked down and backed away. I motioned for Lilah to come over to me (she'd been stalking the little boy she plans to marry). I whispered to her, "Peanut, she had to come all alone with friends because her mama couldn't make it. She looks pretty lonely. Maybe try to be extra nice to her or talk to her a little?" Lilah looked back to the little boy with longing, then sighed and greeted the little girl by hopping over to her until they were half an inch apart. The girl backed away. Lilah hopped closer and stuck her head in and said hello, looking exactly like an inquisitive little bird. She cracked half a smile and ran away. Lilah chased her. I'm not sure if the little one felt any better but she'd hopefully been distracted.
When we went into the theater, Lilah had asked to be carried. She was pretty overwhelmed by all the bodies (the 2, 3, and 4 year classes were all present with parents) and had also just come to the realization that "theater" hadn't meant "movie and popcorn" and was noisily digesting this deception. Lilah and Jack asked to sit in the first row of child chairs with their respective mothers behind them in adult chairs. The kids around them rocked their chairs, stood up and sat down, and occasionally made some noise. Those two were angels. The commented and asked questions and shrieked with delight, but they were really good. It was funny to see the little ones compared to some in the older class. When the lights flickered and the sounds of birds and wind played from the speakers, Jack looked to the ceiling for the birds and Lilah was looking for squirrels in the (very obviously fabric) forest. The older kids shushed them. "It's a CD!"
During the bit of the performance where the Grandmother was kneading flour and butter to make Kolobok, Lilah gasped dramatically, stood, and exclaimed, "Mother! She's making bagels!" The entire theater chuckled. When they pulled the little Kolobok from the oven, he really did resemble a big bagel. Nothing could convince Lilah he wasn't one. Even though the kids grew restless after the first 25 minutes of the performance, it was engaging and animated enough to grab them again. I would definitely take her back there. We came home and had a nice lunch while she recounted her morning to her dad.
In the afternoon, I walked into pure insanity at work and 2 inches of paperwork on my desk and audibly groaned. For a moment, I wished I had just come to work in the morning. Then one of my coworkers came to my desk to ask how the field trip went. I gave her a quick synopsis and she was happy but looked momentarily pained. She told me that she told her son's school in the very beginning that she has a full-time job and was unable to attend functions and regrets it now. "Work doesn't matter. Go to everything you can. I was the asshole and I regret it. Don't be like me." I smiled to myself. Not only did work happily grant me the morning off, but they gave me paid time off to attend. I could bravely face however many inches of paperwork and whatever crises awaited. My little bird and I had a lovely time at Kolobok. We might just go back for Anansi.
Lilah's friend Jack and his mother kindly let us ride along with them. Jack is a sweetheart and the two chattered happily in the back. We got there with 45 minutes to spare. By the time we found parking downtown, we had 30 minutes. By the time Jack and Lilah made it up 3 flights of stairs to Grand River Avenue, we had 15 minutes. We got into the theater and were engulfed in a sea of tiny people in winter gear. Lilah Rose had chosen a summer sun dress with pink flowers, pink knit tights, and a white turtle neck as her ensemble with brown suede boots. She had rushed through breakfast and smiled winningly at me while I dried my hair to entice me to do her bidding. "Mother, will you put my hair in a braid?"
"Braided pigtails? A pony tail?" I knew exactly what she was after. I'd been giving her the "Katniss Everdeen braid" for the past week and she'd gotten loads of attention for the fancy, intricate style.
"Nooo Mamaaaa. One braid!" I had done what she wanted and as usual the results were stunning. I had a very pretty little girl. I try to make sure to tell her how nice she looks, whether in pajamas or a party dress. I looked around the theater to see most of the children were very nicely dressed as well. I greeted the mother of one of the sets of twins and told the girls how nice they looked in their sparkly boots. Their mom smiled and said one of them had them on the wrong feet, but they were dressed and that's what counted. Lilah stood out in the crowd not only because of her braid, but also because she had insisted on bringing the muff Nicola made for her. It was all the rage. Some children stood quietly with parents. Others sneakily tried to touch the model puppets. One little girl had come with another family since her mother couldn't make it. She stood alone in the middle of the room with a quivering lip and her hands knotted uneasily. I crouched down to talk to her.
"Are you okay, honey?" She looked so miserable and scared it broke my heart. "You look so pretty in your skirt and sweater." She looked down and backed away. I motioned for Lilah to come over to me (she'd been stalking the little boy she plans to marry). I whispered to her, "Peanut, she had to come all alone with friends because her mama couldn't make it. She looks pretty lonely. Maybe try to be extra nice to her or talk to her a little?" Lilah looked back to the little boy with longing, then sighed and greeted the little girl by hopping over to her until they were half an inch apart. The girl backed away. Lilah hopped closer and stuck her head in and said hello, looking exactly like an inquisitive little bird. She cracked half a smile and ran away. Lilah chased her. I'm not sure if the little one felt any better but she'd hopefully been distracted.
When we went into the theater, Lilah had asked to be carried. She was pretty overwhelmed by all the bodies (the 2, 3, and 4 year classes were all present with parents) and had also just come to the realization that "theater" hadn't meant "movie and popcorn" and was noisily digesting this deception. Lilah and Jack asked to sit in the first row of child chairs with their respective mothers behind them in adult chairs. The kids around them rocked their chairs, stood up and sat down, and occasionally made some noise. Those two were angels. The commented and asked questions and shrieked with delight, but they were really good. It was funny to see the little ones compared to some in the older class. When the lights flickered and the sounds of birds and wind played from the speakers, Jack looked to the ceiling for the birds and Lilah was looking for squirrels in the (very obviously fabric) forest. The older kids shushed them. "It's a CD!"
During the bit of the performance where the Grandmother was kneading flour and butter to make Kolobok, Lilah gasped dramatically, stood, and exclaimed, "Mother! She's making bagels!" The entire theater chuckled. When they pulled the little Kolobok from the oven, he really did resemble a big bagel. Nothing could convince Lilah he wasn't one. Even though the kids grew restless after the first 25 minutes of the performance, it was engaging and animated enough to grab them again. I would definitely take her back there. We came home and had a nice lunch while she recounted her morning to her dad.
In the afternoon, I walked into pure insanity at work and 2 inches of paperwork on my desk and audibly groaned. For a moment, I wished I had just come to work in the morning. Then one of my coworkers came to my desk to ask how the field trip went. I gave her a quick synopsis and she was happy but looked momentarily pained. She told me that she told her son's school in the very beginning that she has a full-time job and was unable to attend functions and regrets it now. "Work doesn't matter. Go to everything you can. I was the asshole and I regret it. Don't be like me." I smiled to myself. Not only did work happily grant me the morning off, but they gave me paid time off to attend. I could bravely face however many inches of paperwork and whatever crises awaited. My little bird and I had a lovely time at Kolobok. We might just go back for Anansi.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
School Days
Today was the second time I volunteered in the classroom. I was a little apprehensive after the last time, but I was "snack parent" and I didn't have tremendous faith in Dano to get the execution and presentation down. Yes, I'm aware that they are a pack of 3 and 4 year olds, but they really are brilliant little people with excellent tastes and clever opinions all their own.
Lilah and I made stop-and-go fruit pops. On tongue depressors (popsicle sticks were wretchedly skinny and splintery) we placed a kiwi, pineapple, and strawberry to look like a stoplight. In a muffin tin, we arranged wonton wrappers sprayed lightly with cooking spray and sprinkled with cinnamon. For snack time, we filled the wontons with vanilla yogurt to dip the fruit pops in. Lilah must have eaten 4 of them while we were assembling the night before.
While the little ones played before class, I helped set up the classroom. During circle time, they picked one of Lilah's favorite friends to be the "magic apple" of the day. The water table was open for the first time in Lilah's school career and the magic apple gets to choose what color to dye the water. It was pink. I stationed myself near the water table, foreseeing the need for some adult presence at a table filled with pink water in a room with 12 preschoolers. I ended up as wet and pink as the table. The children had to roll sleeves and smock up to play there. Most of my time was spent assisting them in and out of smocks, negotiating small peace treaties ("When he's done with his turn with the shark, he'll be happy to give it to you. Here. Catch some frogs in this net in the meantime."), and repeatedly issuing the gentle reminder, "The water needs to stay inside the table."
I looked out over the classroom and saw a table filled with 6 little girls in princess gowns and pearls all making play-dough snowmen and unicorns. At another table, Mrs Fuller was playing matching games and puzzles with a few children. One or two played at the sand table. One little one was carefully and thoughtfully applying blue paint to her paper with slow, broad strokes. They were all such darlings and I was so happy they were Lilah's friends.
During story time, we set up snack. Several people remarked how amazing snack looked. It didn't feel amazing. I was proud of it being healthy and fun, but it was hardly amazing but I nodded and smiled my thanks anyway. Mrs Fuller asked who had brought snack after everyone was settled into their snack spots and had sung their snack song. No one saw Lilah discreetly point to me. I spoke up that it was Lilah Rose's snack day. She looked aghast. "No! My mother made these!" I assured everyone that she had helped assemble. Most people remarked that it looked time consuming. They don't know Lilah in the kitchen. She is my assistant in every way - gathering and putting away ingredients, taste-testing, mixing, beating, kneading, assembling, using the whisk or pastry brush as directed. Tonight after sampling the seared chicken, she proclaimed, "It's so tender, Mother! I really like it." She's developing quite the palate. Some of the children asked for seconds or thirds. One set of twins in particular were the last to leave the table and licked their fingers at the end. Another set of twins picked and poked and didn't act like they really liked it but never complained. The adults, Lilah, and I happily chomped on our wonton cups after they were empty. Some of the children where wide-eyed and shocked, like we were eating actual bowls. I laughed at the gasp of the girl next to me and poked her playfully.
"It tastes like a cracker or a cookie. Try it." She did, then turned to the child next to her.
"It's like a cracker or a cookie." And so on. Soon the entire table was munching on wonton cups. While the adults cleaned up, the teachers handed each child a stick with ribbons attached. They listened (of course) to the song Car Wash while forming two lines and twirling their ribbons while each child took turns going through the "car wash". All I heard were giggles and swishy ribbons.
Being cold out, the gross motor time took place in the "Big Room" with trikes, cozy coupes with gas stations, balls, and seesaws. One of Lilah's friends, a sweet, beautiful little boy who seems to like me as much as I like him (he's always tugging on my sleeve saying "Excuse me!" to get me to play with him) asked me to play hide-and-seek with him. We played a round and were joined one by one by a handful of other classmates. A few minutes later he and I were counting together as the entire class hid out of sight in fits of giggles. Mrs Fuller returned to the room after leaving for a moment and was greeted by dead-silence (save for the giggling) and not a child in sight. She looked around.
"It's so quiet!" Mrs Wilson, the assistant teacher nodded gravely and pointed to an upside-down laundry bin that was haltingly scooting of its own accord across the gym floor, and to a potted tree that was swaying gently despite the absolute lack of breeze in the room, then to us "counters". Mrs Fuller nodded knowingly.
Lilah was brilliantly good compared to the last time I was in class with her, and I did noticed the children of some of the other working parents struggle with having them there while still maintaining the class routine. Not that I want any child to struggle, but at least is shows Lilah isn't abnormal or behind. I have her at home saying things like, "Yes ma'am, I'll be with you in a moment," or "I'm not quite done yet but I'm nearly finished, Mother." She's been raised on the BBC and I can recall Dano snuggling 4 month old Lilah while reading Tolkien and L'Engle aloud to her. We've never pulled punches with grammar or more mature literatre and as a result she turns phrases better than some adults I know. She adjusts gracefully and usually flawlessly to any social situation, somehow innately knowing when to sit quietly, ankles crossed like a little Victorian lady and when to get up and play. I'm continually impressed with how observant she is. I do worry that because she can't recite the alphabet or count past 20 or recognize all her colors and letters and numbers from memory that she will be behind. They're so separate to her. She'll yawn and sigh through flashcards with us, but she'll pick up social intricacies with ease. This school subtly weaves learning with play and social interaction, so she has honestly picked up more since arriving at Drayton Avenue than through years of flashcards with us. I believe it's because seeing it in practice makes all the difference to her. I took years of all manner of math class and always despised it. But when I studied Drug Calculations in nursing school, math suddenly had real purpose. I still recall how to calculate tablespoons to teaspoons to milliliters to ounces in my head because it applied to cooking as well as medication administration. Lilah Rose seems to be made of the same stuff. Flashcards bore her and she does it to please us. The things she learns in class seem to have a purpose and a practical application to her life so she picks it up in an instant.
In a society that prides itself in Mandarin tutors for toddlers, there is such an emphasis on the academic from daycare to high school. The poor are associated with unintelligence, so if your child is well set-up educationally, it bespeaks of financial success and security. I have to catch myself holding my lovely little daughter up to that standard. It's unfair and a nasty set up for insecurity and perfectionism later on. I have to tell myself, sometimes daily or many times a day, that she is coming along brilliantly and it's much more important to have a child who will run to me when I come in the door at the end of the day and say, "Mummy! I missed you! How was your day?"
Lilah and I made stop-and-go fruit pops. On tongue depressors (popsicle sticks were wretchedly skinny and splintery) we placed a kiwi, pineapple, and strawberry to look like a stoplight. In a muffin tin, we arranged wonton wrappers sprayed lightly with cooking spray and sprinkled with cinnamon. For snack time, we filled the wontons with vanilla yogurt to dip the fruit pops in. Lilah must have eaten 4 of them while we were assembling the night before.
While the little ones played before class, I helped set up the classroom. During circle time, they picked one of Lilah's favorite friends to be the "magic apple" of the day. The water table was open for the first time in Lilah's school career and the magic apple gets to choose what color to dye the water. It was pink. I stationed myself near the water table, foreseeing the need for some adult presence at a table filled with pink water in a room with 12 preschoolers. I ended up as wet and pink as the table. The children had to roll sleeves and smock up to play there. Most of my time was spent assisting them in and out of smocks, negotiating small peace treaties ("When he's done with his turn with the shark, he'll be happy to give it to you. Here. Catch some frogs in this net in the meantime."), and repeatedly issuing the gentle reminder, "The water needs to stay inside the table."
I looked out over the classroom and saw a table filled with 6 little girls in princess gowns and pearls all making play-dough snowmen and unicorns. At another table, Mrs Fuller was playing matching games and puzzles with a few children. One or two played at the sand table. One little one was carefully and thoughtfully applying blue paint to her paper with slow, broad strokes. They were all such darlings and I was so happy they were Lilah's friends.
During story time, we set up snack. Several people remarked how amazing snack looked. It didn't feel amazing. I was proud of it being healthy and fun, but it was hardly amazing but I nodded and smiled my thanks anyway. Mrs Fuller asked who had brought snack after everyone was settled into their snack spots and had sung their snack song. No one saw Lilah discreetly point to me. I spoke up that it was Lilah Rose's snack day. She looked aghast. "No! My mother made these!" I assured everyone that she had helped assemble. Most people remarked that it looked time consuming. They don't know Lilah in the kitchen. She is my assistant in every way - gathering and putting away ingredients, taste-testing, mixing, beating, kneading, assembling, using the whisk or pastry brush as directed. Tonight after sampling the seared chicken, she proclaimed, "It's so tender, Mother! I really like it." She's developing quite the palate. Some of the children asked for seconds or thirds. One set of twins in particular were the last to leave the table and licked their fingers at the end. Another set of twins picked and poked and didn't act like they really liked it but never complained. The adults, Lilah, and I happily chomped on our wonton cups after they were empty. Some of the children where wide-eyed and shocked, like we were eating actual bowls. I laughed at the gasp of the girl next to me and poked her playfully.
"It tastes like a cracker or a cookie. Try it." She did, then turned to the child next to her.
"It's like a cracker or a cookie." And so on. Soon the entire table was munching on wonton cups. While the adults cleaned up, the teachers handed each child a stick with ribbons attached. They listened (of course) to the song Car Wash while forming two lines and twirling their ribbons while each child took turns going through the "car wash". All I heard were giggles and swishy ribbons.
Being cold out, the gross motor time took place in the "Big Room" with trikes, cozy coupes with gas stations, balls, and seesaws. One of Lilah's friends, a sweet, beautiful little boy who seems to like me as much as I like him (he's always tugging on my sleeve saying "Excuse me!" to get me to play with him) asked me to play hide-and-seek with him. We played a round and were joined one by one by a handful of other classmates. A few minutes later he and I were counting together as the entire class hid out of sight in fits of giggles. Mrs Fuller returned to the room after leaving for a moment and was greeted by dead-silence (save for the giggling) and not a child in sight. She looked around.
"It's so quiet!" Mrs Wilson, the assistant teacher nodded gravely and pointed to an upside-down laundry bin that was haltingly scooting of its own accord across the gym floor, and to a potted tree that was swaying gently despite the absolute lack of breeze in the room, then to us "counters". Mrs Fuller nodded knowingly.
Lilah was brilliantly good compared to the last time I was in class with her, and I did noticed the children of some of the other working parents struggle with having them there while still maintaining the class routine. Not that I want any child to struggle, but at least is shows Lilah isn't abnormal or behind. I have her at home saying things like, "Yes ma'am, I'll be with you in a moment," or "I'm not quite done yet but I'm nearly finished, Mother." She's been raised on the BBC and I can recall Dano snuggling 4 month old Lilah while reading Tolkien and L'Engle aloud to her. We've never pulled punches with grammar or more mature literatre and as a result she turns phrases better than some adults I know. She adjusts gracefully and usually flawlessly to any social situation, somehow innately knowing when to sit quietly, ankles crossed like a little Victorian lady and when to get up and play. I'm continually impressed with how observant she is. I do worry that because she can't recite the alphabet or count past 20 or recognize all her colors and letters and numbers from memory that she will be behind. They're so separate to her. She'll yawn and sigh through flashcards with us, but she'll pick up social intricacies with ease. This school subtly weaves learning with play and social interaction, so she has honestly picked up more since arriving at Drayton Avenue than through years of flashcards with us. I believe it's because seeing it in practice makes all the difference to her. I took years of all manner of math class and always despised it. But when I studied Drug Calculations in nursing school, math suddenly had real purpose. I still recall how to calculate tablespoons to teaspoons to milliliters to ounces in my head because it applied to cooking as well as medication administration. Lilah Rose seems to be made of the same stuff. Flashcards bore her and she does it to please us. The things she learns in class seem to have a purpose and a practical application to her life so she picks it up in an instant.
In a society that prides itself in Mandarin tutors for toddlers, there is such an emphasis on the academic from daycare to high school. The poor are associated with unintelligence, so if your child is well set-up educationally, it bespeaks of financial success and security. I have to catch myself holding my lovely little daughter up to that standard. It's unfair and a nasty set up for insecurity and perfectionism later on. I have to tell myself, sometimes daily or many times a day, that she is coming along brilliantly and it's much more important to have a child who will run to me when I come in the door at the end of the day and say, "Mummy! I missed you! How was your day?"
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Wintertime
I can't remember the last time I blogged. I have spent nearly all of my free time knitting Christmas presents for people until my fingers ached. I have thought at least 12 times this week, "I should post something."
I volunteered in Lilah's classroom for their Holiday Party. I was really looking forward to it (even more so because my mother decided to pull some holiday shenanigans and make my life difficult for a week or so). Lilah and I made snowman cake pops to share. I more or less did as I was told by the other parents. It was interesting to me how the parent volunteers weren't really involved in classroom time. They assisted in crafts and snacks, but their primary function was to help set up, tear down, clean up, wash little hands.
Lilah Rose was unexpectedly and uncharacteristically emotional. She wasn't jealous of my time. In fact, she carried on seemingly unaware I was there but for the occasional comment to her teacher, "That's my mother." However, during any minor upheaval ("It's not time to play drums right now," "Can you please hand that back to her?" "Okay, it's clean up time now.") she burst into hysterical tears. The first time, I saw her teacher raise an eyebrow in surprise. Lilah removed herself from the classroom to sit on a step and cool down every time. They were actual tears and she took longer than usual to calm herself. I would go out and check on her, but she just said, "Go back and play with my friends, Mama." I was confused, embarrassed, and felt like I had ruined school for her. She'd never acted like that before. I was painfully aware that she was the only kid who chose to lie down, rather than sit Indian-style (she can't) during circle time. In between meltdowns she was happy and made several crafts. The other children were sweethearts. All very smart and cute. I heard lots of interesting things.
"My daddy doesn't wash my hands. He only uses sanitizer and Mommy yells at him cuz it's not real soap."
"Jewish kids don't get stockings."
"I want a candy cane with only red on it."
"This gingerbread house needs more house." This one was my fault. The craft was making gingerbread houses out of graham crackers and frosting. I had a really hard time assembling these with the kids, so I sort of made gingerbread teepee/tent things. Much more sturdy. Also faster.
There was a birthday celebration and dinosaur cupcakes. At one point, the children had dance time and I saw the teacher get down to Lilah's level to talk to her. "I like how excited you are to hold his hand, but when he yells 'Ow ow ow!', that means you're holding too hard." Words to live by. I really took for granted a lot of the things she was learning there. Putting colored bears in a red-blue-red pattern is a math skill. Reading the daily message on the board from right to left is a literacy skill. Learning to respect the feelings and needs of your peers is a life skill. Dressing a bear for the weather today is a practical thinking skill. Someone at some point taught us to count in sequence and read from right to left. Lilah is even starting to point out when the stoplight turns green, or if we're turning right or left in the car. Brainless things we take for granted were the building blocks of our whole lives and some preschool teacher somewhere had to get it ingrained in our tiny brains. Mrs. Fuller made it a point several times to tell me that Lilah Rose never acts the way she had today and that it's really common when the moms get in the classroom. Dano pointed out later that school is Lilah's first territory and I was in it, not at work or home or the zoo - all shared spaces. It was hers and she didn't know how to react.
After the dancing, a little boy came over to me and asked for help washing his hands. While helping him get in between fingers, I noticed his palms were covered in small red spots. I cringed inwardly, knowing those telltale spots anywhere. Hand, foot, and mouth disease. I also noted that he had a clear runny nose (well, what kid in winter doesn't) and had JUST been holding hands with Lilah Rose. "Maybe he's over being contagious," said the nurse who knows better to herself. Either way, the damage had been done so I resolved not to tell his mother unless Lilah actually got sick. "Which she probably won't."
Christmas was lovely. My brother came from Tennessee and spent the week. My in-laws were here from Chicago. Lilah spent most of the time confined to the house with Hand, foot and mouth. At first she just complained throughout Friday, "Mother, there's a fever in my throat." Despite her throat being a tad pink, there were no other symptoms. On Saturday, I brought a strep test home from work since the doctor on call told me to text her if Lilah was positive so she could phone in antibiotics. I opted for swabbing her while she was asleep (#mistake). Her mouth was open a bit, so I swabbed her throat and tonsils. She sat straight up in bed, holding her mouth and screaming. I ran the test which was decidedly negative. During the screaming, her mouth was open very wide and I got a glimpse of all the mouth ulcers that come with that lovely virus. So she slept a lot and consumed nothing but yogurt and liquids for 3 days before she was feeling better.
On Christmas Eve, she and I watched Muppet Christmas Carol with Nick and snuggled. I finished our Advent story by Madeleine L'Engel and read her "Twas the Night Before Christmas" poem. She laughed through it, thinking it was about Uncle Nick, as it never refers to Santa Claus by any name other than Nicholas. I read her St Luke so she'd be well-rounded, and she tolerated it. She says that Santa Claus is a nice guy and fun to look at, but pretend. She says the story of the Christ Child is pretend because babies aren't born in barns, only hospitals. The weird part of raising your kid in world religions but not actually participating in any of them is that it throws a lot of preconceived notions to the wind. I used to assume that every little girl wanted to grow up to marry a prince, that all children believed in Santa and God from birth, and that they craved the mythos of religion for the comfort of something absolute. We celebrate and talk about all religious holidays around the world. Lilah is as at home in a church as she is watching the Japanese children in Miyazaki films pray to a roadside shrine for permission to take shelter there from a rain shower. She will happily chirp at you that marriage is when you get older and want to be with your best friend forever, and that when she gets older, she will marry a boyfriend or a girlfriend. The explanations of religious ritual we have given her make her visibly uneasy. Taken out of romantic context, a magically conceived baby that was put in the world by an all-powerful being for the sole purpose of being brutally murdered because we're inherently bad, well, it is unsettling. We don't use an Elf on a Shelf for the same reason we don't adhere to one particular religion. I want Lilah Rose to be good because it's expected of her, and because she is good. The French tell their children to be sage, not to be good. Be wise, be appropriate for the situation. Be smart about what you're doing. By telling our kids to be good, we're implying that it's their nature to be otherwise. I don't want her to be only good because there is someone watching, be it Elf or Almighty. I also want her to feel safe being not so good. I remember fearing demons and hell as a child. It did not do me any good. She steps out of the boundaries we've created for her knowing that our love doesn't change when she does. She also steps out fully aware of the consequences that wait for her. There's a security in that. Lilah Rose is the kid that demands to see the empty bag when you tell her the M&Ms are all gone. Religion might not work for her. If Jesus' own disciples who walked and lived with him demanded to see and touch him to believe he was really there, I think that same deity will cut us the same deal.
New Years was spent in Chicago. This is getting to be a tradition I really enjoy. It's so restful. Grannie Annie was in Connecticut this year, but Lilah got plenty of Grandpa time. Grandpa was also sick (Hand, foot, and mouth!) so he did not accompany us to the aquarium. I (foolishly) chose not to bring a coat, since we were getting dropped off at the door. The door proved to be locked unless you had a ticket in your hand already. I was directed to a 30 minute line on breezy, 15 degree Lake Michigan. By the time we actually got in, my lips were blue and I couldn't stop shaking. We took a breather so I could recover from hypothermia before sneaking off to see the baby beluga (you have to pay extra to see anything but crappy fish but no one actually checks wristbands so we just wander). She was 4 months old, chubby, clumsy and adorable. The adults did tricks, waved tails, shook flippers, and sang with their trainers. The baby just ambled along and ran into stuff. We also sneaked into the basement reef exhibit for fun with sharks and stingrays.
New Year's Eve, Lilah and I had lunch at the American Girl Place and did some shopping downtown. It's always so special to sit there dressed up having a fancy lunch with Lilah and her doll. We even got a table overlooking the city this time. There was a park with horse-drawn carriages below us and snow fell while we ate and sipped our pink lemonades. We got picked up and dove into the car before the taxis could honk at us to get a move on. It was the perfect combination of relaxing and busy.
Well I feel this is quite long enough. I'll try to update again before too long so next time it isn't so long. Hopefully everyone had amazing holidays.
I volunteered in Lilah's classroom for their Holiday Party. I was really looking forward to it (even more so because my mother decided to pull some holiday shenanigans and make my life difficult for a week or so). Lilah and I made snowman cake pops to share. I more or less did as I was told by the other parents. It was interesting to me how the parent volunteers weren't really involved in classroom time. They assisted in crafts and snacks, but their primary function was to help set up, tear down, clean up, wash little hands.
Lilah Rose was unexpectedly and uncharacteristically emotional. She wasn't jealous of my time. In fact, she carried on seemingly unaware I was there but for the occasional comment to her teacher, "That's my mother." However, during any minor upheaval ("It's not time to play drums right now," "Can you please hand that back to her?" "Okay, it's clean up time now.") she burst into hysterical tears. The first time, I saw her teacher raise an eyebrow in surprise. Lilah removed herself from the classroom to sit on a step and cool down every time. They were actual tears and she took longer than usual to calm herself. I would go out and check on her, but she just said, "Go back and play with my friends, Mama." I was confused, embarrassed, and felt like I had ruined school for her. She'd never acted like that before. I was painfully aware that she was the only kid who chose to lie down, rather than sit Indian-style (she can't) during circle time. In between meltdowns she was happy and made several crafts. The other children were sweethearts. All very smart and cute. I heard lots of interesting things.
"My daddy doesn't wash my hands. He only uses sanitizer and Mommy yells at him cuz it's not real soap."
"Jewish kids don't get stockings."
"I want a candy cane with only red on it."
"This gingerbread house needs more house." This one was my fault. The craft was making gingerbread houses out of graham crackers and frosting. I had a really hard time assembling these with the kids, so I sort of made gingerbread teepee/tent things. Much more sturdy. Also faster.
There was a birthday celebration and dinosaur cupcakes. At one point, the children had dance time and I saw the teacher get down to Lilah's level to talk to her. "I like how excited you are to hold his hand, but when he yells 'Ow ow ow!', that means you're holding too hard." Words to live by. I really took for granted a lot of the things she was learning there. Putting colored bears in a red-blue-red pattern is a math skill. Reading the daily message on the board from right to left is a literacy skill. Learning to respect the feelings and needs of your peers is a life skill. Dressing a bear for the weather today is a practical thinking skill. Someone at some point taught us to count in sequence and read from right to left. Lilah is even starting to point out when the stoplight turns green, or if we're turning right or left in the car. Brainless things we take for granted were the building blocks of our whole lives and some preschool teacher somewhere had to get it ingrained in our tiny brains. Mrs. Fuller made it a point several times to tell me that Lilah Rose never acts the way she had today and that it's really common when the moms get in the classroom. Dano pointed out later that school is Lilah's first territory and I was in it, not at work or home or the zoo - all shared spaces. It was hers and she didn't know how to react.
After the dancing, a little boy came over to me and asked for help washing his hands. While helping him get in between fingers, I noticed his palms were covered in small red spots. I cringed inwardly, knowing those telltale spots anywhere. Hand, foot, and mouth disease. I also noted that he had a clear runny nose (well, what kid in winter doesn't) and had JUST been holding hands with Lilah Rose. "Maybe he's over being contagious," said the nurse who knows better to herself. Either way, the damage had been done so I resolved not to tell his mother unless Lilah actually got sick. "Which she probably won't."
Christmas was lovely. My brother came from Tennessee and spent the week. My in-laws were here from Chicago. Lilah spent most of the time confined to the house with Hand, foot and mouth. At first she just complained throughout Friday, "Mother, there's a fever in my throat." Despite her throat being a tad pink, there were no other symptoms. On Saturday, I brought a strep test home from work since the doctor on call told me to text her if Lilah was positive so she could phone in antibiotics. I opted for swabbing her while she was asleep (#mistake). Her mouth was open a bit, so I swabbed her throat and tonsils. She sat straight up in bed, holding her mouth and screaming. I ran the test which was decidedly negative. During the screaming, her mouth was open very wide and I got a glimpse of all the mouth ulcers that come with that lovely virus. So she slept a lot and consumed nothing but yogurt and liquids for 3 days before she was feeling better.
On Christmas Eve, she and I watched Muppet Christmas Carol with Nick and snuggled. I finished our Advent story by Madeleine L'Engel and read her "Twas the Night Before Christmas" poem. She laughed through it, thinking it was about Uncle Nick, as it never refers to Santa Claus by any name other than Nicholas. I read her St Luke so she'd be well-rounded, and she tolerated it. She says that Santa Claus is a nice guy and fun to look at, but pretend. She says the story of the Christ Child is pretend because babies aren't born in barns, only hospitals. The weird part of raising your kid in world religions but not actually participating in any of them is that it throws a lot of preconceived notions to the wind. I used to assume that every little girl wanted to grow up to marry a prince, that all children believed in Santa and God from birth, and that they craved the mythos of religion for the comfort of something absolute. We celebrate and talk about all religious holidays around the world. Lilah is as at home in a church as she is watching the Japanese children in Miyazaki films pray to a roadside shrine for permission to take shelter there from a rain shower. She will happily chirp at you that marriage is when you get older and want to be with your best friend forever, and that when she gets older, she will marry a boyfriend or a girlfriend. The explanations of religious ritual we have given her make her visibly uneasy. Taken out of romantic context, a magically conceived baby that was put in the world by an all-powerful being for the sole purpose of being brutally murdered because we're inherently bad, well, it is unsettling. We don't use an Elf on a Shelf for the same reason we don't adhere to one particular religion. I want Lilah Rose to be good because it's expected of her, and because she is good. The French tell their children to be sage, not to be good. Be wise, be appropriate for the situation. Be smart about what you're doing. By telling our kids to be good, we're implying that it's their nature to be otherwise. I don't want her to be only good because there is someone watching, be it Elf or Almighty. I also want her to feel safe being not so good. I remember fearing demons and hell as a child. It did not do me any good. She steps out of the boundaries we've created for her knowing that our love doesn't change when she does. She also steps out fully aware of the consequences that wait for her. There's a security in that. Lilah Rose is the kid that demands to see the empty bag when you tell her the M&Ms are all gone. Religion might not work for her. If Jesus' own disciples who walked and lived with him demanded to see and touch him to believe he was really there, I think that same deity will cut us the same deal.
New Years was spent in Chicago. This is getting to be a tradition I really enjoy. It's so restful. Grannie Annie was in Connecticut this year, but Lilah got plenty of Grandpa time. Grandpa was also sick (Hand, foot, and mouth!) so he did not accompany us to the aquarium. I (foolishly) chose not to bring a coat, since we were getting dropped off at the door. The door proved to be locked unless you had a ticket in your hand already. I was directed to a 30 minute line on breezy, 15 degree Lake Michigan. By the time we actually got in, my lips were blue and I couldn't stop shaking. We took a breather so I could recover from hypothermia before sneaking off to see the baby beluga (you have to pay extra to see anything but crappy fish but no one actually checks wristbands so we just wander). She was 4 months old, chubby, clumsy and adorable. The adults did tricks, waved tails, shook flippers, and sang with their trainers. The baby just ambled along and ran into stuff. We also sneaked into the basement reef exhibit for fun with sharks and stingrays.
New Year's Eve, Lilah and I had lunch at the American Girl Place and did some shopping downtown. It's always so special to sit there dressed up having a fancy lunch with Lilah and her doll. We even got a table overlooking the city this time. There was a park with horse-drawn carriages below us and snow fell while we ate and sipped our pink lemonades. We got picked up and dove into the car before the taxis could honk at us to get a move on. It was the perfect combination of relaxing and busy.
Well I feel this is quite long enough. I'll try to update again before too long so next time it isn't so long. Hopefully everyone had amazing holidays.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Preschool
Most people in our lives know that Lilah Rose has been on a waiting list for Drayton Avenue Co-op Preschool since Fall. I fell in love with the school when I learned about it and contacted the staff. They believe in learning through play. There is a teacher (who was once a student herself), an assistant teacher, and at least 3 parent volunteers in a class of 16. I was delighted with the ratio of adults to children. Dano and Lilah visited the classroom and she cried when she left. I took that as a good sign this was the school for her.
She was placed on the list and I was told I would be contacted if a spot opened up. At the beginning of the year, she was Number 5. I fretted on and off about Number 5. I knew there were good children and good teachers at local public preschool programs. But even the best teachers could become overwhelmed when they had 30 students to contend with. I was on the fence between wanting her to adapt like an American and wanting her to have in school a small measure of the attention we'd given her all her life.
Out of nowhere toward the end of November, I received an email from the school. A student had dropped. Lilah was in. I was terrified and overjoyed. I had to go to a general school meeting and pay her tuition the very next day, as well as sign up for working days (all parents are required to volunteer 2 days a month in the classroom, as well as serve on a committee, participate in a major classroom clean once a year, and bring a monthly snack and drink). I went to the meeting full of trepidation. I stood off in a corner as droves of parents filed in with hugs of greeting to one another. Everyone looked so happy. I was wide-eyed, white-faced, tight-lipped. Someone at a table motioned over to me. "Are you..." she glanced at her paper. "Alexanders?" I forced a quick smile and nodded. She had a ledger with names and totals due. I saw my name and my total and handed her my check. She waved me on to a woman taking down names and dates of working parents. I was third to get there so I got third pick for dates. I signed up for convenient dates and removed myself to my corner. I was followed by several mothers who introduced themselves and proceeded to answer any questions I had (but I hadn't actually asked a single one). It was more like "You must be wondering how this works." They ushered me into the meeting and I found a seat with my program, the minutes, and my growing collection of parent email addresses. The meeting consisted of parents updating the parents on the states of the committees and fundraisers. The teacher, Mrs Fuller, went over the curriculum for the next two months. She also warmly but sincerely chided the parents at expecting so much of their little ones. They played alphabet games, learned how to use a calendar, created patterns. Countless early literacy and math skills. However, the main focus of preschool was and should be social skills and peer interaction. Those were skills adults took for granted that someone, somewhere taught them.
Afterward, Mrs Fuller introduced herself and asked about Lilah. I told her how relieved and refreshed I was to hear her views on teaching the children. I left feeling so much less apprehensive about her starting. On her first day, she was dressed to the 9's in a new dress and tights. She was nervous. I was near tears but still smiling. Dano would spend her first day with her and I had no call to be nervous. She was pacing the floor, suggesting that maybe she could just wear her new dress at home and watch movies. I kissed her and told her she'd be fine. I couldn't do it. I couldn't cry and heap all my anxiety on that tiny, braided, blonde head. I couldn't tell her how scared I was. She'd feel even worse. I swallowed it all and left for work. I cried at my desk instead.
Of course she had a wonderful day. Of course she was brilliant. She had fun, made 6 friends, used play dough, made a painting, and had an amazing day. Every day since has been better. She announced to me that she was planning to marry a little boy named Ira, and was going to tell him of her intentions the next day at school. This announcement went over decently with Ira, who reportedly said, "Okay I guess," then agreed to hold a doll while she brushed its hair. She's learning about Hanukkah, shapes, colors, seasons, friends, days of the week, and how to dress a bear for any weather. I hear stories of her little friends. One day she absconded with another child's show-and-tell frog only to be caught by her assistant teacher to return the frog. Tomorrow is show-and-tell and Lilah is taking Merida. She is asking a little girl named Frances Rose to come over and make Christmas cookies. Somehow I have glided effortlessly from them mother of a cute, babbling, rosie-cheeked baby into the mother of a beautiful, betrothed preschool frog-thief. Our life, our family is evolving before our eyes.
She was placed on the list and I was told I would be contacted if a spot opened up. At the beginning of the year, she was Number 5. I fretted on and off about Number 5. I knew there were good children and good teachers at local public preschool programs. But even the best teachers could become overwhelmed when they had 30 students to contend with. I was on the fence between wanting her to adapt like an American and wanting her to have in school a small measure of the attention we'd given her all her life.
Out of nowhere toward the end of November, I received an email from the school. A student had dropped. Lilah was in. I was terrified and overjoyed. I had to go to a general school meeting and pay her tuition the very next day, as well as sign up for working days (all parents are required to volunteer 2 days a month in the classroom, as well as serve on a committee, participate in a major classroom clean once a year, and bring a monthly snack and drink). I went to the meeting full of trepidation. I stood off in a corner as droves of parents filed in with hugs of greeting to one another. Everyone looked so happy. I was wide-eyed, white-faced, tight-lipped. Someone at a table motioned over to me. "Are you..." she glanced at her paper. "Alexanders?" I forced a quick smile and nodded. She had a ledger with names and totals due. I saw my name and my total and handed her my check. She waved me on to a woman taking down names and dates of working parents. I was third to get there so I got third pick for dates. I signed up for convenient dates and removed myself to my corner. I was followed by several mothers who introduced themselves and proceeded to answer any questions I had (but I hadn't actually asked a single one). It was more like "You must be wondering how this works." They ushered me into the meeting and I found a seat with my program, the minutes, and my growing collection of parent email addresses. The meeting consisted of parents updating the parents on the states of the committees and fundraisers. The teacher, Mrs Fuller, went over the curriculum for the next two months. She also warmly but sincerely chided the parents at expecting so much of their little ones. They played alphabet games, learned how to use a calendar, created patterns. Countless early literacy and math skills. However, the main focus of preschool was and should be social skills and peer interaction. Those were skills adults took for granted that someone, somewhere taught them.
Afterward, Mrs Fuller introduced herself and asked about Lilah. I told her how relieved and refreshed I was to hear her views on teaching the children. I left feeling so much less apprehensive about her starting. On her first day, she was dressed to the 9's in a new dress and tights. She was nervous. I was near tears but still smiling. Dano would spend her first day with her and I had no call to be nervous. She was pacing the floor, suggesting that maybe she could just wear her new dress at home and watch movies. I kissed her and told her she'd be fine. I couldn't do it. I couldn't cry and heap all my anxiety on that tiny, braided, blonde head. I couldn't tell her how scared I was. She'd feel even worse. I swallowed it all and left for work. I cried at my desk instead.
Of course she had a wonderful day. Of course she was brilliant. She had fun, made 6 friends, used play dough, made a painting, and had an amazing day. Every day since has been better. She announced to me that she was planning to marry a little boy named Ira, and was going to tell him of her intentions the next day at school. This announcement went over decently with Ira, who reportedly said, "Okay I guess," then agreed to hold a doll while she brushed its hair. She's learning about Hanukkah, shapes, colors, seasons, friends, days of the week, and how to dress a bear for any weather. I hear stories of her little friends. One day she absconded with another child's show-and-tell frog only to be caught by her assistant teacher to return the frog. Tomorrow is show-and-tell and Lilah is taking Merida. She is asking a little girl named Frances Rose to come over and make Christmas cookies. Somehow I have glided effortlessly from them mother of a cute, babbling, rosie-cheeked baby into the mother of a beautiful, betrothed preschool frog-thief. Our life, our family is evolving before our eyes.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Election Day
We're a passionate but not overly political family. We believe in "Do unto others" and tend to back candidates who feel the same. In the days leading up to the morning of the election, Lilah was all questions after hearing the debates and listening to us discuss everything from candidates to proposals. We made sure to avoid names where we could. I don't believe in indoctrinating kids no matter how worthy the cause.
"So you and Daddy are going to go vote today."
"Yes. It's our responsibility since we live here in America."
"So what do you do?"
"You go in the building and they hand you a piece of paper called a ballot. You write the name of the man you want to be in charge. Then you put the piece of paper in a secret box and it gets counted. The man with the most papers wins."
"Can I vote for Daddy?"
"First, you're too young to vote. Second, you can vote for whoever you want, but most people just vote for 2 guys and the guy who wins gets to be in charge."
"But Daddy says he's in charge."
"He's only in charge of you."
While I worked, Dano took her down to the Ferndale Activity Center to vote. It took about an hour to get through the line, but they made it. When I got home, we scarfed down some tacos before walking to the Activity Center for my turn. I had debated leaving dinner to simmer while we buzzed down and quickly voted, but the nurse in me wouldn't do it. Suppose the house burned down? After we ate, we walked with Lilah chattering the entire 3 blocks.
"We're going to write down our guy, put it in the box, and get a sticker that says we voted! And if it's still light out, we'll play at the park!" Revisions, revisions.
We got up to the building and I saw a lot of cars in the parking lot. "Darling, we might have to wait a little while. It will be no fun, but we still have to do it. If you're a good girl with no screaming or fits, I'll give you..." Brain wracking, brain wracking... "A sucker when we get home." She clapped her hands. Dismayed, I saw that the line snaked around the building. I hesitantly asked a couple leaving the building with a fussy baby, "How long?" The man shook his head.
"We just left and it was over 2 hours. They lost a ballot earlier in the day and it took them an hour to find it. Now they're behind." I queued up in the cold and, looking down at my bundled up daughter in her wool coat and mittens, holding a doll and a ball, sighed to myself.
"I'm not sure I can do this." She gasped.
"But Mother. We have to vote. It's our job!" Nothing like your own italics getting tossed back at you. I told her she was right and settled in to answering her usual thousands of questions. "What's he doing? Voting? I wonder if he's voting for my daddy. Is she on her phone? Is she gonna vote? What's her name? Can we go inside yet? Is it our turn? Can't we go up there? But what if I say, 'Excuse me'? Really? Not even then?" A woman behind us was stamping to keep warm and entertaining herself on her smart phone.
"How old is she?"
"3 1/2."
"Our youngest is too, but...he doesn't ask so many questions." Lilah grinned at her.
"Well, she's an only child, so it's how she learns."
"I think it's nice. She must be very smart." We made our way inside the building down a narrow hallway packed 3 lines of people shoulder to shoulder. I had to kick her out of her stroller, as there was no room to push it. She stayed close to me at first, clinging to my legs and talking to her doll. Her eyes were wide and darted about anxiously at so many people being packed so close together. She narrated every foot of ground we covered and made sure everyone around us knew we were here to vote because it was our job.
One woman grumbled that the map was already pretty blue, so she might just leave. Another woman turned around and said, "If young men and women can fight overseas for our freedom, we can stay in line to vote." The first woman shifted uncomfortably where she stood, but didn't leave. An exasperated-looking girl smiled fondly at Lilah.
"If that little one can still manage a smile, I have no right to leave this line. If she isn't on the floor kicking and screaming, how can I throw a fit?" Lilah tilted her head and smiled sweetly back at her.
"Hi. I'm Lilah Rose. I'm 3 1/2." She tossed her ball back and forth with me, and borrowed the penlight off my keychain to examine her doll's eyes and throat. "Mummy! I think she's sick! She has dry eyes!"
There were only a few other kids in line. Almost all were older, and every single one had either a tablet or a smart phone to play with. In fact, most of the adults did as well. At about the hour mark, batteries started to die. The volume of the kids went up. Lilah Rose played on. She tried to kick her ball to a little boy but he wasn't having any of it. The adults grew restless too. Not Lilah. She went person to person in a 5 foot radius encouraging them, totally unprompted. They could make it, they were almost there, and wasn't it great? They were getting to vote. I received so many compliments on her behavior. I beamed with pride and informed them this was her second time through this line today and we were lucky to have such a good girl. One man asked with a smile who she was voting for. She considered this.
"Maybe my daddy."
"You know, I haven't decided yet. Maybe I'll vote for your daddy too. What's his name?" She looked puzzled.
"It's Daddy! He's 26. Will you vote for him?" I shushed her and told her we didn't tell people how to vote. She nodded solemnly. "Sorry, Mother." Another hour passed. We were in the home stretch. She continued to entertain herself. I had a handful of sea-glass in my purse, which she sorted and held up to the light, pretending it was treasure. She found a pen and spare piece of paper in there too and wrote up her own ballot. "I'm voting for starfish!" We were queued on a handicap ramp leading up to the voting area. She fidgeted and I assured her we were almost there. She kicked her ball up the ramp, and a couple of nice people kicked it back. She squealed with delight and ran after it. This continued until more than 10 people were playing. If she disappeared around a corner chasing it, everyone craned their neck and assured me she was in sight and headed back. More and more people got in on the game until the entire queue was laughing along with her. She took a break to celebrate how close we were to voting by doing a dance. Other voters clapped too. Those with dead smartphones (and many others) thanked me profusely for bringing her along, saying she made the time fly by.
2 1/2 hours and we were next in line. The polite, friendly gentleman who'd been ahead of us the entire time was getting his ballot and receiving an apology for his wait. He smiled tiredly. "Honestly, if it hadn't been for her," he gestured toward Lilah (who was clapping in excitement that it was almost our turn), "I'd have been out the door." I blinked happy tears out of my eyes. We got our ballot and made our way to a table. She sat next to me with her starfish ballot and voted. I voted at lightning speed and wearily headed over to the ballot box. We received our stickers and Lilah got 2, since she'd voted twice today. Her starfish ballot was taken and slid into a box for shredding paper (many people had been informed of the starfish ballot) while the smallest voter in the room stood gravely by. My actual ballot made it into the box and we retrieved the stroller and headed for home.
I knelt in front of her while I buckled her in and didn't stop the tears. "Lilah Rose Marie Alexander. I have never been more proud of you in my life. You were better than good. You were perfect." She was glowing with pride.
"Do I get a sucker?"
I don't know what we did to deserve a daughter like this, but I'm continually amazed at how much of the world she comprehends. I wanted to turn around and leave, as I'm sure so many others did when they grew impatient with the wait. It only took one tiny smiling face encouraging them to stay and do their job as an American to make all the difference. We don't believe in raising her using a screen as a babysitter. Those parents who do aren't wrong. It's just not our style. I did notice that the kids who were glued to screens had absolutely no idea how to handle the waiting once their batteries inevitably died. Then again, neither did the adults. There's a quiet, graceful simplicity to Lilah Rose that I admire so much. She's perfectly at peace in her own beautiful mind and she doesn't mind having nothing to do. She makes up her own entertainment. Those people who say to me, "Why an only child? Won't she be lonely and bored?", those people don't understand how many friends she has in her head, and how busy she keeps herself with her games. One 3 1/2 year old kept a queue of hundreds entertained with a ball, a doll, and an indomitable spirit. I can't think of anything more American.
"So you and Daddy are going to go vote today."
"Yes. It's our responsibility since we live here in America."
"So what do you do?"
"You go in the building and they hand you a piece of paper called a ballot. You write the name of the man you want to be in charge. Then you put the piece of paper in a secret box and it gets counted. The man with the most papers wins."
"Can I vote for Daddy?"
"First, you're too young to vote. Second, you can vote for whoever you want, but most people just vote for 2 guys and the guy who wins gets to be in charge."
"But Daddy says he's in charge."
"He's only in charge of you."
While I worked, Dano took her down to the Ferndale Activity Center to vote. It took about an hour to get through the line, but they made it. When I got home, we scarfed down some tacos before walking to the Activity Center for my turn. I had debated leaving dinner to simmer while we buzzed down and quickly voted, but the nurse in me wouldn't do it. Suppose the house burned down? After we ate, we walked with Lilah chattering the entire 3 blocks.
"We're going to write down our guy, put it in the box, and get a sticker that says we voted! And if it's still light out, we'll play at the park!" Revisions, revisions.
We got up to the building and I saw a lot of cars in the parking lot. "Darling, we might have to wait a little while. It will be no fun, but we still have to do it. If you're a good girl with no screaming or fits, I'll give you..." Brain wracking, brain wracking... "A sucker when we get home." She clapped her hands. Dismayed, I saw that the line snaked around the building. I hesitantly asked a couple leaving the building with a fussy baby, "How long?" The man shook his head.
"We just left and it was over 2 hours. They lost a ballot earlier in the day and it took them an hour to find it. Now they're behind." I queued up in the cold and, looking down at my bundled up daughter in her wool coat and mittens, holding a doll and a ball, sighed to myself.
"I'm not sure I can do this." She gasped.
"But Mother. We have to vote. It's our job!" Nothing like your own italics getting tossed back at you. I told her she was right and settled in to answering her usual thousands of questions. "What's he doing? Voting? I wonder if he's voting for my daddy. Is she on her phone? Is she gonna vote? What's her name? Can we go inside yet? Is it our turn? Can't we go up there? But what if I say, 'Excuse me'? Really? Not even then?" A woman behind us was stamping to keep warm and entertaining herself on her smart phone.
"How old is she?"
"3 1/2."
"Our youngest is too, but...he doesn't ask so many questions." Lilah grinned at her.
"Well, she's an only child, so it's how she learns."
"I think it's nice. She must be very smart." We made our way inside the building down a narrow hallway packed 3 lines of people shoulder to shoulder. I had to kick her out of her stroller, as there was no room to push it. She stayed close to me at first, clinging to my legs and talking to her doll. Her eyes were wide and darted about anxiously at so many people being packed so close together. She narrated every foot of ground we covered and made sure everyone around us knew we were here to vote because it was our job.
One woman grumbled that the map was already pretty blue, so she might just leave. Another woman turned around and said, "If young men and women can fight overseas for our freedom, we can stay in line to vote." The first woman shifted uncomfortably where she stood, but didn't leave. An exasperated-looking girl smiled fondly at Lilah.
"If that little one can still manage a smile, I have no right to leave this line. If she isn't on the floor kicking and screaming, how can I throw a fit?" Lilah tilted her head and smiled sweetly back at her.
"Hi. I'm Lilah Rose. I'm 3 1/2." She tossed her ball back and forth with me, and borrowed the penlight off my keychain to examine her doll's eyes and throat. "Mummy! I think she's sick! She has dry eyes!"
There were only a few other kids in line. Almost all were older, and every single one had either a tablet or a smart phone to play with. In fact, most of the adults did as well. At about the hour mark, batteries started to die. The volume of the kids went up. Lilah Rose played on. She tried to kick her ball to a little boy but he wasn't having any of it. The adults grew restless too. Not Lilah. She went person to person in a 5 foot radius encouraging them, totally unprompted. They could make it, they were almost there, and wasn't it great? They were getting to vote. I received so many compliments on her behavior. I beamed with pride and informed them this was her second time through this line today and we were lucky to have such a good girl. One man asked with a smile who she was voting for. She considered this.
"Maybe my daddy."
"You know, I haven't decided yet. Maybe I'll vote for your daddy too. What's his name?" She looked puzzled.
"It's Daddy! He's 26. Will you vote for him?" I shushed her and told her we didn't tell people how to vote. She nodded solemnly. "Sorry, Mother." Another hour passed. We were in the home stretch. She continued to entertain herself. I had a handful of sea-glass in my purse, which she sorted and held up to the light, pretending it was treasure. She found a pen and spare piece of paper in there too and wrote up her own ballot. "I'm voting for starfish!" We were queued on a handicap ramp leading up to the voting area. She fidgeted and I assured her we were almost there. She kicked her ball up the ramp, and a couple of nice people kicked it back. She squealed with delight and ran after it. This continued until more than 10 people were playing. If she disappeared around a corner chasing it, everyone craned their neck and assured me she was in sight and headed back. More and more people got in on the game until the entire queue was laughing along with her. She took a break to celebrate how close we were to voting by doing a dance. Other voters clapped too. Those with dead smartphones (and many others) thanked me profusely for bringing her along, saying she made the time fly by.
2 1/2 hours and we were next in line. The polite, friendly gentleman who'd been ahead of us the entire time was getting his ballot and receiving an apology for his wait. He smiled tiredly. "Honestly, if it hadn't been for her," he gestured toward Lilah (who was clapping in excitement that it was almost our turn), "I'd have been out the door." I blinked happy tears out of my eyes. We got our ballot and made our way to a table. She sat next to me with her starfish ballot and voted. I voted at lightning speed and wearily headed over to the ballot box. We received our stickers and Lilah got 2, since she'd voted twice today. Her starfish ballot was taken and slid into a box for shredding paper (many people had been informed of the starfish ballot) while the smallest voter in the room stood gravely by. My actual ballot made it into the box and we retrieved the stroller and headed for home.
I knelt in front of her while I buckled her in and didn't stop the tears. "Lilah Rose Marie Alexander. I have never been more proud of you in my life. You were better than good. You were perfect." She was glowing with pride.
"Do I get a sucker?"
I don't know what we did to deserve a daughter like this, but I'm continually amazed at how much of the world she comprehends. I wanted to turn around and leave, as I'm sure so many others did when they grew impatient with the wait. It only took one tiny smiling face encouraging them to stay and do their job as an American to make all the difference. We don't believe in raising her using a screen as a babysitter. Those parents who do aren't wrong. It's just not our style. I did notice that the kids who were glued to screens had absolutely no idea how to handle the waiting once their batteries inevitably died. Then again, neither did the adults. There's a quiet, graceful simplicity to Lilah Rose that I admire so much. She's perfectly at peace in her own beautiful mind and she doesn't mind having nothing to do. She makes up her own entertainment. Those people who say to me, "Why an only child? Won't she be lonely and bored?", those people don't understand how many friends she has in her head, and how busy she keeps herself with her games. One 3 1/2 year old kept a queue of hundreds entertained with a ball, a doll, and an indomitable spirit. I can't think of anything more American.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Power struggle
I've been deliberately putting off blogging for awhile. Blamed business, migraines, the common cold. I have felt completely exhausted as a mother lately. "Dog tired". Every day has seemed to be a new struggle. I'm battling wills with someone smaller, more energetic, and undoubtedly smarter. I have no idea how some parents wait until they're reasonable ages and have responsible careers underway before having children. If I hadn't accidentally had a baby at an irresponsibly young age, I'd be (more) grey-haired and decrepit by now.
First came Dano's return to classes and Lilah beginning preschool. She's on the waiting list for her preschool, so Dano has been spending 3 half-days a week on a schedule that mimics her future preschool's. They spend 5-10 minutes on each subject. I plan the curriculum a week ahead of time. Her body, mind, imagination, coordination, and tummy all get nurtured. We're not focusing on rote memorization. She has her whole life for that. As usual, we're focusing on learning-through-play, language arts, communication, handling emotions, and coping mechanisms. Science is hands-on experiments (Pouring hot water on ice cubes to watch them melt into water), math is usually environmental ("Find 5 squirrels in the backyard."), and imagination runs wild (bear dens built out of pillows and blankets to prepare for hibernation). She is loving it and learning a lot. Dano enjoys is as well.
However, upon instituting scholastic pursuits for the family, Lilah began having accidents. Being the nurse I am, I took a sample into the office. No UTI. We took her potty every half hour. Still puddles. I was at the end of my rope. Dano and Lilah were in near-daily shouting matches over potty use and my water bill was astronomical from loads of laundry. Out of desperation, I went to her doctor and one of the other nurses with adult children. Both smiled knowingly at me as I described our problem and my concerns over her bladder and my husbands sanity. Both suggested that Miss Lilah Rose was exercising control in one of the only ways she was able. She had control over what went into her body and what came out. I had a very hard time believing it. That is, until the night I had to take a quiet phone call, so I locked myself in the bathroom for exactly 6 minutes (Come on, fellow mothers. You've all done it). I came out to an angelic smile.
"Her hands are dirty. You should wash them."
"Whose hands?"
"Eloise's hands." The doll lay in a puddle outside the bathroom door.
"...Lilah Rose Marie. Why are Eloise's hands dirty?"
"Because I peed on them, Mama," she beamed at me. I put her in her room and shut the door, telling her Mama needed a time out so I wouldn't lose my temper (i.e shake her silly). I cleaned everything up and took the advice of her doctor. Dano and I sat down with her.
"We made a mistake and thought you were ready to be a big girl. Big girls pee on the potty. It looks like you aren't ready yet, and that's just fine. We're putting you back in pull-ups until you decide you're a big girl again." We effectively took the power away from her and placed it back in our hands. Barring a few incidents, the problem was solved. We kept her in pull-ups for a month.
A short time later, Lilah and Ephraim were upstairs in her room and quiet (silence: what a parent fears most). When they were discovered, they had taken her "Forest Friends" (the wall decals I bought her as a special present) off her wall. They were reusable only if immediately placed on another wall. Their sticky backs had been placed on the carpet. Lilah knew she'd done something wrong because she hid them in her skirt. When everyone left, Lilah's lower lip quivered as I tried to put them back on the wall. No luck. I was angry she had destroyed something special I'd done for her. I was disappointed she'd been deliberately destructive. Dano saw how upset I was and tried to reassure me he'd only learned not to be destructive to his toys after breaking one beyond repair and being very sad it was gone. I slowly, sadly, threw her Forest Friends away. Lilah was aghast.
"Where are they going?"
"In the garbage."
"When are they coming back?"
"They aren't. You ruined them. They have to go away forever now." She paled. Her blue eyes filled, her lips quivered, but she didn't shed a tear. I was actually fascinated with her composure and that her tears could possible teeter on the brink of her lids so perfectly.
"Well can I say goodbye to them?" I was taken aback.
"Sure, sweetheart." Dano and I had to watch as she sat by the garbage cradling her cardboard box of ruined friends.
"I'm very sorry I ruined you. Ephraim and I were just trying to move you. I love you. Maybe if I'm a very..." she choked. "Very good girl, Mama will buy me new Forest Friends at the store one day. Goodbye." She hugged the box and I threw them away. She nodded and allowed Dano to walk her solemnly upstairs to bed.
When he came back down, he said, "That was the most heartbreaking thing I have ever seen." Neither of us could hold back tears.
Several days later, Max was over and we were putting Lilah to bed while Dano was at class. I forgot to tell him to make sure the cat exited Lilah's bedroom before shutting the door. She'd only been up there 5 minutes before a tympanic-membrane-perforating scream came from the upstairs bedroom. The cat (who enjoys waiting until Lilah is hovering between sleep and waking, then pouncing on her in the dark) flew down the stairs and skittered downstairs and into the shadows where all demons go. I was left to calm my hysterical child. Dano got home and tried to calm her as well.
"I'll kill the cat, sweetheart."
"DON'T KILL HER! I LOVE HER!" Nothing helped. Every time we calmed her to put her back in her bed, she would wail in fear again. It finally came out that she had formulated this weird notion like kids do, that her Forest Friends protected her from bad things at night and watched over her while she slept. And what happens shortly after the Forest Friends Funeral? The cat goes on a mischievous rampage in the dark, tossing our peace of mind into the atmosphere like the most skillfully tossed pizza crust into the air. Only this crust doesn't come down. It gets stuck on the ceiling, to be peeled down one sticky glob at a time, forever leaving a greasy mark to prove it had been there. As if to say, "I fucked shit up" for all eternity. Lilah eventually sobbed herself to sleep. After what seemed like years but more than likely was probably more like a week or two, Lilah had been especially responsible and good. Dano told me to go buy more Forest Friends. We went back and forth, but it came down to, "Aranel, I don't think 3 is the age for her to make a mistake she feels like she can't come back from." I conceded. Even with the Forest Friends in place and Lilah Rose overjoyed, it had only taken that one night of screaming for her to realize that it was a jolly way to get out of bedtime and bring her parents running.
"I'm afraid of owls! I'm afraid of the crack in my wall! I'm afraid of the cat! I'm afraid of sleep!" We decided to be hard-ass parents to salvage what was left of our sanity. We acted like everything was normal for naps, even though she screamed the entire 2 hours she was up there. After 2 hours, I peeked in on her swollen, tear-streaked face.
"Hello there! I'm glad you're up! How was your nap?" She looked totally bewildered.
"But...I was...crying...because...I was scared."
"Oh. I didn't hear that. I was watching tv. That's too bad. Want to come down now?" We repeated this every time she went to sleep and the screaming time got shorter and shorter.
"I HAVE TO PEEEE!" Dano would lead her quietly to the toilet with no eye contact or words, then take her straight back upstairs after. She got the picture that excuses weren't getting her out of sleeping anymore. I can absolutely see how parents just cave and wind up sleeping with their kids until they're in college. Something about your willpower seems to chips away when faced with unceasing screams from a tiny person you created. We both figured if we gave in now, the next struggle would be even worse and last even longer. She was trying to get out of bedtime after a legitimate scare at first, but now she was milking it a week later. Day by day, the screams dropped off minute by minute. After a total of 10 days, the sleep issues were solved. We had bags under our eyes and were biting each other's heads off, but we won. We won?
The next challenge was much shorter lived. When she realized that we had bested her in rounds 1 and 2, she pulled the last trick out of her hat. What else does a 3 year old have control over after bodily functions and sleep? Why, eating of course. And it started with her having a cold and me placing her dinner plate in front of her.
"I'm not hungry." We let it slide because she had was congested. Then night after night, if we even hinted at eating,
"What sounds good for dinner, Dano?"
"I'm not huuuuungryyyyyy," chirps Lilah in a sing-song voice while coloring. At first, we fought her on it (rookie mistake, we're finding out. It basically shows her our hand and she plays us like a violin from there). Then we bargained with her (it's like the 7 stages of death and dying, I swear to God). Finally, just like the potty, just like the bedtime, we were assholes and outsmarted her.
"Oh you're not hungry? Good, good. I'm starving. As soon as I finish my plate, I'm eating yours. I'm so glad you're not eating. But you do have to sit in your chair nicely and talk to us while we eat. But you're definitely not allowed to eat your dinner." Dano prodded her broccoli.
"This looks great. I'm going to eat this one." Lilah's expression morphed from sassy to angry to defiant. She tossed her blonde hair.
"I am going to eat all my dinner. Right. NOW." And she gobbled it up while we feigned outrage at our second helpings being eaten. She grinned, teeth full of broccoli. Problem solved, to this day.
I swear, my shoulders are droopier. I've found a few grey hairs. I'm achey where I broke my collar bone 20 years ago when there's a storm coming. I have dark circles under my eyes. All of these things are true. Brought on by stress and a busy flu season or premature aging due to excessive mental battery at the hands of a halfling? I'm sure they'll argue it at my wake. For now, I don't know how I'll ever keep up. The older she gets, the more things she's supposed to assume control over. What does that mean for us other than more limits being tested? She's a hundred times happier and better adjusted after a week of testing limits that she finds to be firmly in place. At least then she takes a few days off before inventing something else to push at. It's just hard not to feel like a loose tooth she's intent on extracting for her well-earned Tooth Fairy dollar.
First came Dano's return to classes and Lilah beginning preschool. She's on the waiting list for her preschool, so Dano has been spending 3 half-days a week on a schedule that mimics her future preschool's. They spend 5-10 minutes on each subject. I plan the curriculum a week ahead of time. Her body, mind, imagination, coordination, and tummy all get nurtured. We're not focusing on rote memorization. She has her whole life for that. As usual, we're focusing on learning-through-play, language arts, communication, handling emotions, and coping mechanisms. Science is hands-on experiments (Pouring hot water on ice cubes to watch them melt into water), math is usually environmental ("Find 5 squirrels in the backyard."), and imagination runs wild (bear dens built out of pillows and blankets to prepare for hibernation). She is loving it and learning a lot. Dano enjoys is as well.
However, upon instituting scholastic pursuits for the family, Lilah began having accidents. Being the nurse I am, I took a sample into the office. No UTI. We took her potty every half hour. Still puddles. I was at the end of my rope. Dano and Lilah were in near-daily shouting matches over potty use and my water bill was astronomical from loads of laundry. Out of desperation, I went to her doctor and one of the other nurses with adult children. Both smiled knowingly at me as I described our problem and my concerns over her bladder and my husbands sanity. Both suggested that Miss Lilah Rose was exercising control in one of the only ways she was able. She had control over what went into her body and what came out. I had a very hard time believing it. That is, until the night I had to take a quiet phone call, so I locked myself in the bathroom for exactly 6 minutes (Come on, fellow mothers. You've all done it). I came out to an angelic smile.
"Her hands are dirty. You should wash them."
"Whose hands?"
"Eloise's hands." The doll lay in a puddle outside the bathroom door.
"...Lilah Rose Marie. Why are Eloise's hands dirty?"
"Because I peed on them, Mama," she beamed at me. I put her in her room and shut the door, telling her Mama needed a time out so I wouldn't lose my temper (i.e shake her silly). I cleaned everything up and took the advice of her doctor. Dano and I sat down with her.
"We made a mistake and thought you were ready to be a big girl. Big girls pee on the potty. It looks like you aren't ready yet, and that's just fine. We're putting you back in pull-ups until you decide you're a big girl again." We effectively took the power away from her and placed it back in our hands. Barring a few incidents, the problem was solved. We kept her in pull-ups for a month.
A short time later, Lilah and Ephraim were upstairs in her room and quiet (silence: what a parent fears most). When they were discovered, they had taken her "Forest Friends" (the wall decals I bought her as a special present) off her wall. They were reusable only if immediately placed on another wall. Their sticky backs had been placed on the carpet. Lilah knew she'd done something wrong because she hid them in her skirt. When everyone left, Lilah's lower lip quivered as I tried to put them back on the wall. No luck. I was angry she had destroyed something special I'd done for her. I was disappointed she'd been deliberately destructive. Dano saw how upset I was and tried to reassure me he'd only learned not to be destructive to his toys after breaking one beyond repair and being very sad it was gone. I slowly, sadly, threw her Forest Friends away. Lilah was aghast.
"Where are they going?"
"In the garbage."
"When are they coming back?"
"They aren't. You ruined them. They have to go away forever now." She paled. Her blue eyes filled, her lips quivered, but she didn't shed a tear. I was actually fascinated with her composure and that her tears could possible teeter on the brink of her lids so perfectly.
"Well can I say goodbye to them?" I was taken aback.
"Sure, sweetheart." Dano and I had to watch as she sat by the garbage cradling her cardboard box of ruined friends.
"I'm very sorry I ruined you. Ephraim and I were just trying to move you. I love you. Maybe if I'm a very..." she choked. "Very good girl, Mama will buy me new Forest Friends at the store one day. Goodbye." She hugged the box and I threw them away. She nodded and allowed Dano to walk her solemnly upstairs to bed.
When he came back down, he said, "That was the most heartbreaking thing I have ever seen." Neither of us could hold back tears.
Several days later, Max was over and we were putting Lilah to bed while Dano was at class. I forgot to tell him to make sure the cat exited Lilah's bedroom before shutting the door. She'd only been up there 5 minutes before a tympanic-membrane-perforating scream came from the upstairs bedroom. The cat (who enjoys waiting until Lilah is hovering between sleep and waking, then pouncing on her in the dark) flew down the stairs and skittered downstairs and into the shadows where all demons go. I was left to calm my hysterical child. Dano got home and tried to calm her as well.
"I'll kill the cat, sweetheart."
"DON'T KILL HER! I LOVE HER!" Nothing helped. Every time we calmed her to put her back in her bed, she would wail in fear again. It finally came out that she had formulated this weird notion like kids do, that her Forest Friends protected her from bad things at night and watched over her while she slept. And what happens shortly after the Forest Friends Funeral? The cat goes on a mischievous rampage in the dark, tossing our peace of mind into the atmosphere like the most skillfully tossed pizza crust into the air. Only this crust doesn't come down. It gets stuck on the ceiling, to be peeled down one sticky glob at a time, forever leaving a greasy mark to prove it had been there. As if to say, "I fucked shit up" for all eternity. Lilah eventually sobbed herself to sleep. After what seemed like years but more than likely was probably more like a week or two, Lilah had been especially responsible and good. Dano told me to go buy more Forest Friends. We went back and forth, but it came down to, "Aranel, I don't think 3 is the age for her to make a mistake she feels like she can't come back from." I conceded. Even with the Forest Friends in place and Lilah Rose overjoyed, it had only taken that one night of screaming for her to realize that it was a jolly way to get out of bedtime and bring her parents running.
"I'm afraid of owls! I'm afraid of the crack in my wall! I'm afraid of the cat! I'm afraid of sleep!" We decided to be hard-ass parents to salvage what was left of our sanity. We acted like everything was normal for naps, even though she screamed the entire 2 hours she was up there. After 2 hours, I peeked in on her swollen, tear-streaked face.
"Hello there! I'm glad you're up! How was your nap?" She looked totally bewildered.
"But...I was...crying...because...I was scared."
"Oh. I didn't hear that. I was watching tv. That's too bad. Want to come down now?" We repeated this every time she went to sleep and the screaming time got shorter and shorter.
"I HAVE TO PEEEE!" Dano would lead her quietly to the toilet with no eye contact or words, then take her straight back upstairs after. She got the picture that excuses weren't getting her out of sleeping anymore. I can absolutely see how parents just cave and wind up sleeping with their kids until they're in college. Something about your willpower seems to chips away when faced with unceasing screams from a tiny person you created. We both figured if we gave in now, the next struggle would be even worse and last even longer. She was trying to get out of bedtime after a legitimate scare at first, but now she was milking it a week later. Day by day, the screams dropped off minute by minute. After a total of 10 days, the sleep issues were solved. We had bags under our eyes and were biting each other's heads off, but we won. We won?
The next challenge was much shorter lived. When she realized that we had bested her in rounds 1 and 2, she pulled the last trick out of her hat. What else does a 3 year old have control over after bodily functions and sleep? Why, eating of course. And it started with her having a cold and me placing her dinner plate in front of her.
"I'm not hungry." We let it slide because she had was congested. Then night after night, if we even hinted at eating,
"What sounds good for dinner, Dano?"
"I'm not huuuuungryyyyyy," chirps Lilah in a sing-song voice while coloring. At first, we fought her on it (rookie mistake, we're finding out. It basically shows her our hand and she plays us like a violin from there). Then we bargained with her (it's like the 7 stages of death and dying, I swear to God). Finally, just like the potty, just like the bedtime, we were assholes and outsmarted her.
"Oh you're not hungry? Good, good. I'm starving. As soon as I finish my plate, I'm eating yours. I'm so glad you're not eating. But you do have to sit in your chair nicely and talk to us while we eat. But you're definitely not allowed to eat your dinner." Dano prodded her broccoli.
"This looks great. I'm going to eat this one." Lilah's expression morphed from sassy to angry to defiant. She tossed her blonde hair.
"I am going to eat all my dinner. Right. NOW." And she gobbled it up while we feigned outrage at our second helpings being eaten. She grinned, teeth full of broccoli. Problem solved, to this day.
I swear, my shoulders are droopier. I've found a few grey hairs. I'm achey where I broke my collar bone 20 years ago when there's a storm coming. I have dark circles under my eyes. All of these things are true. Brought on by stress and a busy flu season or premature aging due to excessive mental battery at the hands of a halfling? I'm sure they'll argue it at my wake. For now, I don't know how I'll ever keep up. The older she gets, the more things she's supposed to assume control over. What does that mean for us other than more limits being tested? She's a hundred times happier and better adjusted after a week of testing limits that she finds to be firmly in place. At least then she takes a few days off before inventing something else to push at. It's just hard not to feel like a loose tooth she's intent on extracting for her well-earned Tooth Fairy dollar.
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