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.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
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.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Story Hour
Tonight, I had a brilliant idea. I'd ask a friend to pick us up, and go to Royal Oak with Dano at 6. Barnes and Noble was down the street from the college and they had story hour at 6:30. Half an hour of train table, an hour of stories, crafts, and a snack, then home in time for bed.
We walked from the parking garage to Barnes and Noble hand in hand on a beautiful Fall evening. Lilah Rose played at the train table wonderfully, interacting well with the other kids. Most were younger than she was. Everyone shared, used manners, and said "excuse me" when bumped. There was an adorable little bilingual girl with dark brown eyes and hair. From the navy satin headband to the silver pacifier holder to the patent leather navy shoes, her outfit was designer and easily cost over 70 dollars. She looked like a doll and bobbed her head and spouted adorable little Spanish phrases. Her parents were equally beautiful and beamed proudly from the corner. They asked Lilah her named and she said, "Lilah Rose Marie. What's her name?" They told her it was Amelia. "AMELIA POND?!"
When story hour started, I noticed that the sweet, college-age hippie girl who used to run them had been replaced with a 50 year old version after a life of hard knocks. Same long hair and floral skirts, but grim expression and little patience in place of warm smile and easy manner with children. All the kids got settled on their tiny benches. I told Lilah the rules - listen to story, don't move around or bother people, don't get on the stage, do a craft, and have a snack. Or go home. There were three blonde, curly haired sisters who looked to be about 7, 5, and 2. The older two sat down on Lilah's bench. Her face lit up. "They want to be my friend!"
The mother bent over them and said, "Make room for your sister." They scooted until Lilah was displaced from the bench. She tried to find a spot, then made do with pulling a spare bench close to her new "friends". They looked at each other and sighed, moving to the floor. Away from Lilah. She told me her friends were moving so she needed to move too. She sat by them. They moved to a bench across the floor. She sat with them. They moved to the floor close to the teacher. I had already instructed Lilah she wasn't to go over there. She looked over at me.
"Can I sit with them over there?" I shook my head. She fussed at me. "Why? Please?" I looked over at the girls. They were grabbing the book out of the teacher's hand so they could see the pictures better.
"They're being naughty, sweetie."
"Will their mama put them in time out?" I looked. Their mother was cooing over how sweet they looked and taking pictures on her iPhone.
"She should. But your mama will put you in time out if you don't listen." She fussed, but returned to the bench. She made several more attempts to sit by/play with the two girls. They moved and even rolled their eyes a few times. One of the other mothers with twin daughters scoffed and watched wide-eyed as they continued to be mean to Lilah and act like brats during the story.
After the teacher read 2 she asked, "Craft or another story?" Every child shouted for craft. "Well...craft time is later. We have time for another story." All the kids were fidgety by the time the final story was done. She passed out the craft - paper scarecrow pieces and a glue stick to hold them together, then glue straw to the hat at the end. I tried not to judge a craft with a skill level far beyond the mostly 1-2 year group present. The older kids swarmed to the front of the line. Lilah was pushed to the back next to a pudgy 6 month old who was way more interested in how her toes tasted than making a scarecrow. Lilah looked up at me.
"Wait until those kids move, then we'll get your pieces to make a scarecrow."
"Can I use a glue stick?"
"Yes." She played with the baby until the herd cleared, then made her way to the front again. She was ignored by the teacher who looked obviously overwhelmed. Lilah looked around her, and picked up a discarded glue stick from the floor, then pushed a little closer to the front, smiling at the teacher. She was given a handful of straw. Lilah came back and sat on the bench, trying to make sense of what to do with straw and a glue stick. She looked at all the other colorful scarecrows the other kids were making, and put glue on the straw. Having nothing else to do, she set both aside and said, "Can I go play trains again, Mama?" I was angry. I wasn't sure what exactly I was angry at. Maybe that my unassuming, friendly daughter had been shoved aside multiple times by multiple people. Maybe that I wasn't the best mother in the world, but I was trying to teach my daughter to be considerate and conscientious of the children around her - how they were feeling when she was too loud for them to hear the story - when no one else seemed to teach their kids the same values. When did empathy become outdated? I led her down the escalator with clenched fists.
I told the story quietly to Rob when he picked us up. Lilah had told me she had fun, so I didn't want to taint her good time with my anger. She was too young to understand those girls were being mean. Too young to realize she'd been cheated out of a craft as a reward for being patient and unwilling to push to the front. I took her to Easy Like Sundae, more out of my own determination she should be rewarded than because she needed it. I thought about all the times I can remember Dano cheerfully telling me to "take the high road" when I knew we were being walked on or taken advantage of. "Karma's a bitch, Aranel." It's always easier for him than for me. If I barely manage to do it myself, how am I going to handle "do unto others" when it's my kid getting slighted?
At home while getting pajamas on, Lilah Rose snuggled in my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. "Thank you for story time and the bookstore, Mama." I made a noise like a choked bird and teared up. "What's wrong, Mother? Are you sad." I swallowed my tears and shook my head.
"No, honey. I'm really glad you had a good time. You were really good, and listened to Mama. That means I'll really want to take you back again next time."
"Some girls didn't listen to their mama. Some girls were naughty."
"You're right. But even when other kids don't listen, it's important that you do. Even if they do naughty things. That doesn't mean Lilah Rose does them. You always try to be a good girl."
"Why didn't they get a time out? I should put them in time out." I sighed. She's so much like me. Always looking for justice at the expense of my own peace of mind. Dano always tells me to spend less time worrying about the rest of the world and only worry about the family. They're not our business.
"You know honey, it's not our job to give them a time out. That's their mama's job and we don't need to worry about it. All we need to worry about is you..." I poked her nose. "And me..." She poked my nose. "If we're good and listen and do what we know is right, then good things will happen to us."
"And I'll get to go to story time again because I listened. And play with the trains!"
"Exactly right. So don't worry about naughty kids. Just worry about you being the best girl you can be."
"I'm grand!" And she is. I so worry for her. I worry the world will eat my sweet girl alive. But I have to reassure myself that in addition to the sweetness, there's a fierce spirit in her that won't put up with any abuse. She will be the one sticking up for the kid who's teased, not joining in on the bullying. I think about my nephews. At their absolute worst, they would never do to a younger child what those girls did to Lilah. There are plenty of great kids as well as the terrible. And the good ones will change the world for the better.
We walked from the parking garage to Barnes and Noble hand in hand on a beautiful Fall evening. Lilah Rose played at the train table wonderfully, interacting well with the other kids. Most were younger than she was. Everyone shared, used manners, and said "excuse me" when bumped. There was an adorable little bilingual girl with dark brown eyes and hair. From the navy satin headband to the silver pacifier holder to the patent leather navy shoes, her outfit was designer and easily cost over 70 dollars. She looked like a doll and bobbed her head and spouted adorable little Spanish phrases. Her parents were equally beautiful and beamed proudly from the corner. They asked Lilah her named and she said, "Lilah Rose Marie. What's her name?" They told her it was Amelia. "AMELIA POND?!"
When story hour started, I noticed that the sweet, college-age hippie girl who used to run them had been replaced with a 50 year old version after a life of hard knocks. Same long hair and floral skirts, but grim expression and little patience in place of warm smile and easy manner with children. All the kids got settled on their tiny benches. I told Lilah the rules - listen to story, don't move around or bother people, don't get on the stage, do a craft, and have a snack. Or go home. There were three blonde, curly haired sisters who looked to be about 7, 5, and 2. The older two sat down on Lilah's bench. Her face lit up. "They want to be my friend!"
The mother bent over them and said, "Make room for your sister." They scooted until Lilah was displaced from the bench. She tried to find a spot, then made do with pulling a spare bench close to her new "friends". They looked at each other and sighed, moving to the floor. Away from Lilah. She told me her friends were moving so she needed to move too. She sat by them. They moved to a bench across the floor. She sat with them. They moved to the floor close to the teacher. I had already instructed Lilah she wasn't to go over there. She looked over at me.
"Can I sit with them over there?" I shook my head. She fussed at me. "Why? Please?" I looked over at the girls. They were grabbing the book out of the teacher's hand so they could see the pictures better.
"They're being naughty, sweetie."
"Will their mama put them in time out?" I looked. Their mother was cooing over how sweet they looked and taking pictures on her iPhone.
"She should. But your mama will put you in time out if you don't listen." She fussed, but returned to the bench. She made several more attempts to sit by/play with the two girls. They moved and even rolled their eyes a few times. One of the other mothers with twin daughters scoffed and watched wide-eyed as they continued to be mean to Lilah and act like brats during the story.
After the teacher read 2 she asked, "Craft or another story?" Every child shouted for craft. "Well...craft time is later. We have time for another story." All the kids were fidgety by the time the final story was done. She passed out the craft - paper scarecrow pieces and a glue stick to hold them together, then glue straw to the hat at the end. I tried not to judge a craft with a skill level far beyond the mostly 1-2 year group present. The older kids swarmed to the front of the line. Lilah was pushed to the back next to a pudgy 6 month old who was way more interested in how her toes tasted than making a scarecrow. Lilah looked up at me.
"Wait until those kids move, then we'll get your pieces to make a scarecrow."
"Can I use a glue stick?"
"Yes." She played with the baby until the herd cleared, then made her way to the front again. She was ignored by the teacher who looked obviously overwhelmed. Lilah looked around her, and picked up a discarded glue stick from the floor, then pushed a little closer to the front, smiling at the teacher. She was given a handful of straw. Lilah came back and sat on the bench, trying to make sense of what to do with straw and a glue stick. She looked at all the other colorful scarecrows the other kids were making, and put glue on the straw. Having nothing else to do, she set both aside and said, "Can I go play trains again, Mama?" I was angry. I wasn't sure what exactly I was angry at. Maybe that my unassuming, friendly daughter had been shoved aside multiple times by multiple people. Maybe that I wasn't the best mother in the world, but I was trying to teach my daughter to be considerate and conscientious of the children around her - how they were feeling when she was too loud for them to hear the story - when no one else seemed to teach their kids the same values. When did empathy become outdated? I led her down the escalator with clenched fists.
I told the story quietly to Rob when he picked us up. Lilah had told me she had fun, so I didn't want to taint her good time with my anger. She was too young to understand those girls were being mean. Too young to realize she'd been cheated out of a craft as a reward for being patient and unwilling to push to the front. I took her to Easy Like Sundae, more out of my own determination she should be rewarded than because she needed it. I thought about all the times I can remember Dano cheerfully telling me to "take the high road" when I knew we were being walked on or taken advantage of. "Karma's a bitch, Aranel." It's always easier for him than for me. If I barely manage to do it myself, how am I going to handle "do unto others" when it's my kid getting slighted?
At home while getting pajamas on, Lilah Rose snuggled in my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. "Thank you for story time and the bookstore, Mama." I made a noise like a choked bird and teared up. "What's wrong, Mother? Are you sad." I swallowed my tears and shook my head.
"No, honey. I'm really glad you had a good time. You were really good, and listened to Mama. That means I'll really want to take you back again next time."
"Some girls didn't listen to their mama. Some girls were naughty."
"You're right. But even when other kids don't listen, it's important that you do. Even if they do naughty things. That doesn't mean Lilah Rose does them. You always try to be a good girl."
"Why didn't they get a time out? I should put them in time out." I sighed. She's so much like me. Always looking for justice at the expense of my own peace of mind. Dano always tells me to spend less time worrying about the rest of the world and only worry about the family. They're not our business.
"You know honey, it's not our job to give them a time out. That's their mama's job and we don't need to worry about it. All we need to worry about is you..." I poked her nose. "And me..." She poked my nose. "If we're good and listen and do what we know is right, then good things will happen to us."
"And I'll get to go to story time again because I listened. And play with the trains!"
"Exactly right. So don't worry about naughty kids. Just worry about you being the best girl you can be."
"I'm grand!" And she is. I so worry for her. I worry the world will eat my sweet girl alive. But I have to reassure myself that in addition to the sweetness, there's a fierce spirit in her that won't put up with any abuse. She will be the one sticking up for the kid who's teased, not joining in on the bullying. I think about my nephews. At their absolute worst, they would never do to a younger child what those girls did to Lilah. There are plenty of great kids as well as the terrible. And the good ones will change the world for the better.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
DIY
I had completely forgotten about the DIY Street Fair until the day before. Last year, we walked there on a Friday evening, listened to some bands, and walked back. This year, I decided to look at what the kid area had to offer and was astounded. Free admission and free activities all weekend for kids. How did I miss this last year?
I told Lilah the night before that we would go the the fair the next day.
"The fair? To do what?"
"Well, I was looking at all the things we can do. The DIA has a craft tent. And there's face painting. And you can make your own snack to eat. And there will be music and games and good things to eat. And there will be a tent with different animals. Toads and a tarantula and...kestrels!" She knew all about kestrels from Doctor Who.
"Kestrels! Love a kestrel!" Apparently the kestrels sealed the deal.
She talked about the fair all through breakfast. We cleaned up and I walked down with her. Dano stayed to mow the lawn and meet us later for lunch. She chattered the entire way there. "Look, a girl! What's her name? Oh! A dog! What's he doing?" It was a long mile. When we got there, we made our way through the midway and weaved through all the vendors to get to the library courtyard that housed the kid area. Lilah Rose made it very clear that before anything else, she needed to make some art.
At the DIA tent, the volunteers gave her the usual brown paper bag with a sticker to carry her art, and instructions and supplies to make heraldry symbols. I cut out a shield-looking shape and she colored a flower, an L, and some random squiggles in pink, green, and purple. I asked her several times if she was finished when I noticed her staring off into space. She would just sigh heavily. "Mom. I'm just thinking. About art." My mistake, clearly.
When she was finished, we went to the music tent where an assortment of instruments were set up to play. Lilah ignored the drums and guitars and as usual, went straight for the piano. After making some feigned adjustments to the settings, she played the keyboard happily while a line formed behind her of other children who wanted a go at it. When mothers started to tap their toes impatiently, I told Lilah her turn was over and removed her from the keyboard. She proceeded to lie down in the grass and sob. I patted her back and told her other kids wanted to play, and she could play again later. She wailed louder. "Well honey, I'm going to go have a snack. I'll catch up with you later." I walked away. She sobbed and followed me.
She forgot her heartbreak when we got the Whole Foods tent. They handed her a tattoo of a grape wearing a rocket pack, a ziplock, a sticker, and a spoon. She chose dried apples, peaches, mangoes, and strawberries, pumpkin seeds, and yogurt-covered raisins. We sat on a stone bench to eat the concoction. A band started to play, and there was a rush of children to the stage like screaming girls to a Bieber concert. There were bins full of bells, shakers, and rainsticks. Lilah asked if she could go and I waved her on. After a careful selection process, she chose the best shaker possible. She called loudly from the stage. "Mother. Mother! Motheeeeeer!"
"WHAT?!"
"Is this a good one?"
"Yes. It's the best shaker I've ever seen."
"Should I shake it like a polar bear?" She's heard the Outkast song "Hey Ya". Where it says "Shake it like a polaroid", she thinks it says, "Shake it like a polar bear". We just go with it.
"Yes, darling. You should shake it like a polar bear." And she shook it. For an hour. An hour. I asked her several times if she'd like to go, tempting her with treats, food carts, and kestrels. I was finally able to drag her away with rumors of an ice cream tent somewhere.
We met Dano and Rob at the rock climbing wall. Lilah was a good 20lbs too light to attempt it, I informed her.
"That's okay. I don't want to climb it. I would be too scaried." We got Dano and Lilah sliders, fries, and Faygos from the Emory/WAB tent. I wavered heavily at the Howe's Bayou tent, lusting after blackened catfish and jambalaya. I decided on the taco truck instead, nabbing a burrito as long as my arm and a lemonade for Lilah. After eating, we walked around awhile. I took her to the animal tent where she watched caterpillars and cockroaches, pet a tarantula, and was completely taken with a screech owl. She watched for 20 minutes as it yawned, turned its head, and screeched a few times. The keeper mentioned having kestrels and an assortment of raptors and eagles the next day. "So we'll come back tomorrow to see kestrels." I didn't correct her. Instead, we scored owl and newt tattoos.
Lilah worked on an ice cream from Treat Dreams while we watched a local reggae band perform. She bopped along happily. An officer at the Ferndale Police tent gave her a package of crayons, two coloring books, and a fistful of badge stickers. She pet horses named Guinness and Asher. Guinness really liked her (or the ice cream all over her hands and shirt) and nudged her affectionately. We walked an exhausted, sticky, happy child home. Lilah had a dry pull-up and peed on the potty when we got home. Sleepy-eyed and covered in police badge stickers, she took a long nap and woke up in a fantastic mood. At the moment, she is having tattoos lovingly applied by her dad and eating a homemade bagel. Anyone with kids should hit up this festival next year (lots of adult events in the evenings as well). One of the many reasons I love raising a family in Fabulous Ferndale.
I told Lilah the night before that we would go the the fair the next day.
"The fair? To do what?"
"Well, I was looking at all the things we can do. The DIA has a craft tent. And there's face painting. And you can make your own snack to eat. And there will be music and games and good things to eat. And there will be a tent with different animals. Toads and a tarantula and...kestrels!" She knew all about kestrels from Doctor Who.
"Kestrels! Love a kestrel!" Apparently the kestrels sealed the deal.
She talked about the fair all through breakfast. We cleaned up and I walked down with her. Dano stayed to mow the lawn and meet us later for lunch. She chattered the entire way there. "Look, a girl! What's her name? Oh! A dog! What's he doing?" It was a long mile. When we got there, we made our way through the midway and weaved through all the vendors to get to the library courtyard that housed the kid area. Lilah Rose made it very clear that before anything else, she needed to make some art.
At the DIA tent, the volunteers gave her the usual brown paper bag with a sticker to carry her art, and instructions and supplies to make heraldry symbols. I cut out a shield-looking shape and she colored a flower, an L, and some random squiggles in pink, green, and purple. I asked her several times if she was finished when I noticed her staring off into space. She would just sigh heavily. "Mom. I'm just thinking. About art." My mistake, clearly.
When she was finished, we went to the music tent where an assortment of instruments were set up to play. Lilah ignored the drums and guitars and as usual, went straight for the piano. After making some feigned adjustments to the settings, she played the keyboard happily while a line formed behind her of other children who wanted a go at it. When mothers started to tap their toes impatiently, I told Lilah her turn was over and removed her from the keyboard. She proceeded to lie down in the grass and sob. I patted her back and told her other kids wanted to play, and she could play again later. She wailed louder. "Well honey, I'm going to go have a snack. I'll catch up with you later." I walked away. She sobbed and followed me.
She forgot her heartbreak when we got the Whole Foods tent. They handed her a tattoo of a grape wearing a rocket pack, a ziplock, a sticker, and a spoon. She chose dried apples, peaches, mangoes, and strawberries, pumpkin seeds, and yogurt-covered raisins. We sat on a stone bench to eat the concoction. A band started to play, and there was a rush of children to the stage like screaming girls to a Bieber concert. There were bins full of bells, shakers, and rainsticks. Lilah asked if she could go and I waved her on. After a careful selection process, she chose the best shaker possible. She called loudly from the stage. "Mother. Mother! Motheeeeeer!"
"WHAT?!"
"Is this a good one?"
"Yes. It's the best shaker I've ever seen."
"Should I shake it like a polar bear?" She's heard the Outkast song "Hey Ya". Where it says "Shake it like a polaroid", she thinks it says, "Shake it like a polar bear". We just go with it.
"Yes, darling. You should shake it like a polar bear." And she shook it. For an hour. An hour. I asked her several times if she'd like to go, tempting her with treats, food carts, and kestrels. I was finally able to drag her away with rumors of an ice cream tent somewhere.
We met Dano and Rob at the rock climbing wall. Lilah was a good 20lbs too light to attempt it, I informed her.
"That's okay. I don't want to climb it. I would be too scaried." We got Dano and Lilah sliders, fries, and Faygos from the Emory/WAB tent. I wavered heavily at the Howe's Bayou tent, lusting after blackened catfish and jambalaya. I decided on the taco truck instead, nabbing a burrito as long as my arm and a lemonade for Lilah. After eating, we walked around awhile. I took her to the animal tent where she watched caterpillars and cockroaches, pet a tarantula, and was completely taken with a screech owl. She watched for 20 minutes as it yawned, turned its head, and screeched a few times. The keeper mentioned having kestrels and an assortment of raptors and eagles the next day. "So we'll come back tomorrow to see kestrels." I didn't correct her. Instead, we scored owl and newt tattoos.
Lilah worked on an ice cream from Treat Dreams while we watched a local reggae band perform. She bopped along happily. An officer at the Ferndale Police tent gave her a package of crayons, two coloring books, and a fistful of badge stickers. She pet horses named Guinness and Asher. Guinness really liked her (or the ice cream all over her hands and shirt) and nudged her affectionately. We walked an exhausted, sticky, happy child home. Lilah had a dry pull-up and peed on the potty when we got home. Sleepy-eyed and covered in police badge stickers, she took a long nap and woke up in a fantastic mood. At the moment, she is having tattoos lovingly applied by her dad and eating a homemade bagel. Anyone with kids should hit up this festival next year (lots of adult events in the evenings as well). One of the many reasons I love raising a family in Fabulous Ferndale.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
At a loss
It's been a rough couple of weeks. Dano headed back to class, which is always hard on Lilah Rose. Since we were put on this earth to attend her needs, wait on her hand and foot, entertain, feed, clothe, and nurture her, we have no business pursuing higher education. Last semester, she started slapping me for no reason. We nipped that in the bud pretty quickly and emerged victorious. This year was different.
We noticed gradually that Lilah had gone from 99% potty trained (with the occasional overnight accident) to wetting her pants frequently. Being the nurse that I am, I took a urine sample in to work and dipped it. It looked just fine. Accident upon accident. Laundry load after load. We tried everything. We make Lilah clean it up, take off her wet clothes, and put new clothes on. The doctors stressed the importance of making her take responsibility for the accident. We put her on the toilet frequently. She just smiled and chirped, "I'm done!" before hopping off 3 seconds later. More accidents. We were running out of clothes, towels, detergent, and patience. Mostly Dano. She didn't do it as much when I was home in the evenings. A coworker suggested taking her potty every half hour, to "catch" her before she got too engaged in playing and forgot to go. Dano did it religiously. Lilah revolted against being interrupted every 30 minutes to waste time on the toilet. "I just went!" On one of the 30-minute mornings, Lilah peed on the floor at the 15 minute mark. Dano is a saint for not losing it. One night I went in the bathroom to take a phone call, and when I came out, she was standing there, grinning.
"Her hands are dirty."
"Whose hands?"
"Eloise." Eloise is her doll.
"Why are her hands dirty?"
"Because I peed on them." And she had. She had taken her pants off to pee on her doll. I honestly thought about slapping her. She went through the drill of cleaning up, and I put everything (and Eloise) into the washer. She cried because it was dark in there and Eloise might be scared. I told her if she was scared, it was Lilah's fault. She cried harder. I took it a step further and told her if she ever peed on a doll again I'd give it away to her cousins forever. She sobbed. I felt no remorse. But at the same time, I felt out of control. Like a terrible mother. What kind of kid pees on toys and floors? Dirty kids. The oppressed and abused kids. Handicapped kids. Not mine.
I called the head nurse, who has successfully raised 3 children into adulthood and none of them are still having accidents. She mildly suggested it was a behavior issue. I scoffed a bit. "Well, what goes into her body and when it comes out, that's all she has control over in her world. And what can you do to stop her? Just totally ignore it and leave her alone. The more you push it, the more she'll push back." I had a hard time believing my 3 year old child could be that manipulative, but I suggested it to Dano. The very next day she was still having accidents and he was still frustrated and losing his mind. Lilah's pediatrician came to ask me to do something for her, and I broached the subject.
"We're having a behavior problem."
"You? At home? Oh boy." I gave her the rundown of the past week, her laughing the entire time. "Well, she has you guys pretty much figured out. She's so clever. What you have to remember is, she's craftier than both of you. This is all about control, and right now she has it all." I realized how emotional Dano and Lilah would get at each other over it all and knew she was right. He had said earlier that day he'd never been more frustrated with her.
"So what should we do?"
"Do nothing. Put her back in a pull-up and when you're all three calm, tell her that you realize she's not ready to be a big girl and go on the potty and that's just fine. She can wear a pull-up until she's actually ready to be a big girl. And let it go. Don't talk about it. Don't do anything. Just leave it. 90% of the time, that solves the problem. The only time it doesn't is when the child is school-aged and the schools won't let them do that." I called Dano on lunch and talked to him. "You know, come to think of it, the time she peed on the floor 15 minutes after I took her to the toilet, it was a few seconds after I told her she couldn't watch another episode of the Munsters." I facepalmed in the middle of the lunch room. Seriously? I had dedicated the past 4 years of my life to growing and nurturing this tiny life, giving it the best of me and her father, all so she could try to weasel her way into an additional episode of the fucking Munsters by peeing on the floor?
Dano put Lilah Rose in a pull-up and we put it all on the back burner. I came home that night and asked Dano how it had gone. Guess who had taken herself to the bathroom the entire day, taking her pull-up off to pee on the potty? Lilah Rose Marie.
We noticed gradually that Lilah had gone from 99% potty trained (with the occasional overnight accident) to wetting her pants frequently. Being the nurse that I am, I took a urine sample in to work and dipped it. It looked just fine. Accident upon accident. Laundry load after load. We tried everything. We make Lilah clean it up, take off her wet clothes, and put new clothes on. The doctors stressed the importance of making her take responsibility for the accident. We put her on the toilet frequently. She just smiled and chirped, "I'm done!" before hopping off 3 seconds later. More accidents. We were running out of clothes, towels, detergent, and patience. Mostly Dano. She didn't do it as much when I was home in the evenings. A coworker suggested taking her potty every half hour, to "catch" her before she got too engaged in playing and forgot to go. Dano did it religiously. Lilah revolted against being interrupted every 30 minutes to waste time on the toilet. "I just went!" On one of the 30-minute mornings, Lilah peed on the floor at the 15 minute mark. Dano is a saint for not losing it. One night I went in the bathroom to take a phone call, and when I came out, she was standing there, grinning.
"Her hands are dirty."
"Whose hands?"
"Eloise." Eloise is her doll.
"Why are her hands dirty?"
"Because I peed on them." And she had. She had taken her pants off to pee on her doll. I honestly thought about slapping her. She went through the drill of cleaning up, and I put everything (and Eloise) into the washer. She cried because it was dark in there and Eloise might be scared. I told her if she was scared, it was Lilah's fault. She cried harder. I took it a step further and told her if she ever peed on a doll again I'd give it away to her cousins forever. She sobbed. I felt no remorse. But at the same time, I felt out of control. Like a terrible mother. What kind of kid pees on toys and floors? Dirty kids. The oppressed and abused kids. Handicapped kids. Not mine.
I called the head nurse, who has successfully raised 3 children into adulthood and none of them are still having accidents. She mildly suggested it was a behavior issue. I scoffed a bit. "Well, what goes into her body and when it comes out, that's all she has control over in her world. And what can you do to stop her? Just totally ignore it and leave her alone. The more you push it, the more she'll push back." I had a hard time believing my 3 year old child could be that manipulative, but I suggested it to Dano. The very next day she was still having accidents and he was still frustrated and losing his mind. Lilah's pediatrician came to ask me to do something for her, and I broached the subject.
"We're having a behavior problem."
"You? At home? Oh boy." I gave her the rundown of the past week, her laughing the entire time. "Well, she has you guys pretty much figured out. She's so clever. What you have to remember is, she's craftier than both of you. This is all about control, and right now she has it all." I realized how emotional Dano and Lilah would get at each other over it all and knew she was right. He had said earlier that day he'd never been more frustrated with her.
"So what should we do?"
"Do nothing. Put her back in a pull-up and when you're all three calm, tell her that you realize she's not ready to be a big girl and go on the potty and that's just fine. She can wear a pull-up until she's actually ready to be a big girl. And let it go. Don't talk about it. Don't do anything. Just leave it. 90% of the time, that solves the problem. The only time it doesn't is when the child is school-aged and the schools won't let them do that." I called Dano on lunch and talked to him. "You know, come to think of it, the time she peed on the floor 15 minutes after I took her to the toilet, it was a few seconds after I told her she couldn't watch another episode of the Munsters." I facepalmed in the middle of the lunch room. Seriously? I had dedicated the past 4 years of my life to growing and nurturing this tiny life, giving it the best of me and her father, all so she could try to weasel her way into an additional episode of the fucking Munsters by peeing on the floor?
Dano put Lilah Rose in a pull-up and we put it all on the back burner. I came home that night and asked Dano how it had gone. Guess who had taken herself to the bathroom the entire day, taking her pull-up off to pee on the potty? Lilah Rose Marie.
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