We're calling her Dr. Audrey, DDS. The girl is obsessed with her dental hygiene. Slightly ironic, since she only has 6 1/2 teeth, many fewer than her peers. She loves to brush her teeth.
We hear "Aaah, aaaah" and see her running toward the bathroom, finger in her mouth, about 20 times a day. If she finds the door open, she climbs up on the stepstool herself, her forehead barely reaching the counter, and grabs blindly for the toothbrush. If anyone slips and says the word "teeth" or "brush" or (heaven forbid) "brush my teeth," she immediately drops what she's doing and heads for the bathroom, "aaaah-ing" all the way.
And don't try to discourage her--it only makes her want to brush more. We had to add another cup and bring her own toothbrush downstairs, with her own toddler toothpaste. She somehow repossessed Lance's Spiderman toothbrush, but luckily he didn't mind.
She would seriously brush her teeth every 10 minutes if we let her. And she'd stand there for 10 minutes or more, brushing and drooling down her arm. She's really brushing--you should see the technique--it's better than Lance brushing his own teeth. I wonder if she can brush too much?
I guess it's a better habit than playing in the toilet. Which, by the way, she blissfully ignores. Right now, anyway.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Already a day late
It's the theme for my life. I'm going to do the "blog post a day for November" thing, but I decide on Nov 2 to start. Ah well... you know what they say.
So here's my Nov 1 post - seems like someone with kids could come up with something the day after Halloween.
It was actually better than I expected. Lance had school that day, so a full day of Superman and candy was bound to have a bad ending. But when I picked him up, he had had a good day, even after getting PUNCHED by another boy. Seems they were breaking each other's Lego ships, and the other boy just had it. But the important thing here--Lance didn't hit him back! (Oh, and he wasn't hurt either). We rejoice over small things in this family.
After a crazy dinner and donning of costumes, Anakin Skywalker (that's Darth Vader pre-dark side for those of you uninformed) and Yoda were ready to go...
Luckily, I have angels for in-laws, and they volunteered to stay late after watching Audrey all day. So they made us dinner, and Grandma stayed to answer the door while we all went trick or treating.
Lance loved it, as usual. Audrey did well for about 30 minutes, seemed intrigued with the "putting things in my bucket" business, but didn't really get the candy part except some mild interest in a lollipop.
Lance and Pat went out for another hour after Audrey went to bed, bringing home a ridiculous amount of candy. Somehow my Jedi mind trick worked, and I was able to get him to trade all but 15 or so pieces of candy in for a trip to the toy store. Another Halloween miracle.
The funniest part came when Lance came home and was getting ready for bed. He LOVES answering the door, but (eerily like his mother as a young trick-or-treater) only if he can be in CONTROL!
So I've compiled Lance's List of Halloween Non-negotiables:
Word has it from Pittsburgh that my sister's baby Maggie (18 months old) insisted on giving out the candy herself too, and wouldn't even let Mom sit on the same front step.
Control runs deep in our veins...
Happy Halloween - may the Force be with you as you try to keep from eating the leftover candy. Ours went to school with Daddy.
So here's my Nov 1 post - seems like someone with kids could come up with something the day after Halloween.
It was actually better than I expected. Lance had school that day, so a full day of Superman and candy was bound to have a bad ending. But when I picked him up, he had had a good day, even after getting PUNCHED by another boy. Seems they were breaking each other's Lego ships, and the other boy just had it. But the important thing here--Lance didn't hit him back! (Oh, and he wasn't hurt either). We rejoice over small things in this family.
After a crazy dinner and donning of costumes, Anakin Skywalker (that's Darth Vader pre-dark side for those of you uninformed) and Yoda were ready to go...
Luckily, I have angels for in-laws, and they volunteered to stay late after watching Audrey all day. So they made us dinner, and Grandma stayed to answer the door while we all went trick or treating.
Lance loved it, as usual. Audrey did well for about 30 minutes, seemed intrigued with the "putting things in my bucket" business, but didn't really get the candy part except some mild interest in a lollipop.
Lance and Pat went out for another hour after Audrey went to bed, bringing home a ridiculous amount of candy. Somehow my Jedi mind trick worked, and I was able to get him to trade all but 15 or so pieces of candy in for a trip to the toy store. Another Halloween miracle.
The funniest part came when Lance came home and was getting ready for bed. He LOVES answering the door, but (eerily like his mother as a young trick-or-treater) only if he can be in CONTROL!
So I've compiled Lance's List of Halloween Non-negotiables:
- Lance must answer the door.
- Lance must hold the candy bowl. (unfortunately for the trick-or-treaters, this was about 18 inches too low for most of them)
- Lance must CHOOSE the candy for them. Mommy must keep her hands out of the bowl.
- Lance gets to say Happy Halloween and make any comments or ask any questions about their costumes.
- Lance must say Good Night and close the door.
- If Lance sees any more kids coming up the driveway, he must wait with the door open, depriving them of the opportunity to ring another doorbell.
Word has it from Pittsburgh that my sister's baby Maggie (18 months old) insisted on giving out the candy herself too, and wouldn't even let Mom sit on the same front step.
Control runs deep in our veins...
Happy Halloween - may the Force be with you as you try to keep from eating the leftover candy. Ours went to school with Daddy.
Friday, October 19, 2007
The Truth about Happiness
My eyes nervously scan the display of brightly colored pictures. An attractive bulletin board display of kids’ artwork, highlighting their Second Steps curriculum about feelings.
“What makes you happy?” chirps the title above the board.
I see a few pictures, mostly drawn in pink or green, showing stick people and flowers, authored by Megans and Amelias and Annas, that say things like “I’m happy when my mom hugs me” or “I’m happy when I’m with my family.” But somehow, my eyes are magnetically drawn (by the Force, possibly?) to a picture drawn in yellow crayon in the center of the display.
“I’m happy when my mom takes me to a Star Wars parade.” By Lance.
(photo coming soon)
Nice. His happiness is based on a lie, since he’s never been to a parade, let alone a Star Wars parade. I just remembered he saw some people in Star Wars costumes on tv in the Rose Parade last year, so I have to come clean--it's not a complete lie.
His last drawing was “I’m scared of thunder and lightning,” which was reasonable, if somewhat exaggerated. But I have seen that his favorite book is “Attack of the Clones” and I was briefly afraid that his choice for “Where would you like to eat green eggs and ham?” was “With Darth Vader.” Luckily, someone else beat him to it.
Quickly, I search for the only thing that will keep me from falling to my knees, wailing and gnashing my teeth. Aha! “Transformers make me happy.” By one of Lance’s friends, of course a boy. And even better, from the famous you-have-to-wear-cool-clothes-to-be-my-friend boy: “I’m happy when my mom buys me Buzz Lightyear, Woody, and Zurg toys.” And last but not least, “I’m happy when I get to be a pirate at school.” Lance just finished telling me that it was “very important” to that boy that he wore a belt every day and his pirate bandana. I can just imagine the morning getting dressed battles in that house.
Redemption! It’s not my parenting problem, it’s that darn Y chromosome. I guess I should be happy I made it on the picture at all—at least I took him to the parade. I’ll just have to wait on Audrey for the hugs and flowers of happiness. And on a positive note, the picture was wonderful – lots of little alien and starship-looking circles with legs and wings, and I’m sure “shooter guns.” But at least he’s using his imagination and his crayons. Maybe I could use a little Jedi mind trick on him one of these days.
“What makes you happy?” chirps the title above the board.
I see a few pictures, mostly drawn in pink or green, showing stick people and flowers, authored by Megans and Amelias and Annas, that say things like “I’m happy when my mom hugs me” or “I’m happy when I’m with my family.” But somehow, my eyes are magnetically drawn (by the Force, possibly?) to a picture drawn in yellow crayon in the center of the display.
“I’m happy when my mom takes me to a Star Wars parade.” By Lance.
(photo coming soon)
Nice. His happiness is based on a lie, since he’s never been to a parade, let alone a Star Wars parade. I just remembered he saw some people in Star Wars costumes on tv in the Rose Parade last year, so I have to come clean--it's not a complete lie.
His last drawing was “I’m scared of thunder and lightning,” which was reasonable, if somewhat exaggerated. But I have seen that his favorite book is “Attack of the Clones” and I was briefly afraid that his choice for “Where would you like to eat green eggs and ham?” was “With Darth Vader.” Luckily, someone else beat him to it.
Quickly, I search for the only thing that will keep me from falling to my knees, wailing and gnashing my teeth. Aha! “Transformers make me happy.” By one of Lance’s friends, of course a boy. And even better, from the famous you-have-to-wear-cool-clothes-to-be-my-friend boy: “I’m happy when my mom buys me Buzz Lightyear, Woody, and Zurg toys.” And last but not least, “I’m happy when I get to be a pirate at school.” Lance just finished telling me that it was “very important” to that boy that he wore a belt every day and his pirate bandana. I can just imagine the morning getting dressed battles in that house.
Redemption! It’s not my parenting problem, it’s that darn Y chromosome. I guess I should be happy I made it on the picture at all—at least I took him to the parade. I’ll just have to wait on Audrey for the hugs and flowers of happiness. And on a positive note, the picture was wonderful – lots of little alien and starship-looking circles with legs and wings, and I’m sure “shooter guns.” But at least he’s using his imagination and his crayons. Maybe I could use a little Jedi mind trick on him one of these days.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Slip sliding away…
Thanks to Paul Simon for the title...
I knew Lance would eventually start this. I’ve known it since December 14, 2002, when the doctor announced, “I see a penis.” He’s a boy. But he’s always been a Mama’s boy, and he’s been very verbal and dramatic, and despite being very active and physical, very much LIKE me—a girl.
But suddenly I am faced with almost daily flashes of his boy-ness, and the fact that he is running headfirst into the social pressures of being male. He has always been physical, needing to be outside running around. And I’ll admit I don’t quite “get” the love of digging in the dirt, but I think I did at his age. But he’s always had lots of girls to play with, thanks to most of my friends having girls first. And he’s happily played Princesses and dress-up for years (see future blackmail pictures of the pink butterfly costume and Ariel mermaid costume, complete with shoes). He even went through a princess-obsession phase last year, devouring Disney stories and fairy tales like a hungry ogre.
Not this year. It’s not just the “everything is a gun” or obsession with Superheroes and Star Wars. He’s a shining example of the budding male ego, thanks in part to his budding friendship with two boys at preschool – He was friends with them last year, but this year it’s going to a new level, with one boy clearly at the lead. Lance reports that his friend "hates girls, hates princesses, and thinks Barbies are stupid." He likes to chase the girls in the gym and play superheroes. Now of course I’ll admit that Lance likes to do much of these things on his own, but he's always had girl friends and happily played Princesses with them. His friend has two older sisters, which is probably the root of the problem—he’s forging his own identity.
Even more troubling is the insecurity I see in Lance. His friend is clearly the leader, and Lance has actually said things like, “He said I can’t play with so-and-so." "If he comes over we have to hide my Beauty and the Beast toys or the princess toothpaste (which, by the way, we only have because he prefers the bubble gum flavor to Power Rangers Fruit Burst),” or “He said we have to chase the girls,” or “I’m not going to a girl’s birthday party because we hate girls.” His own opinions are bad enough, but if he’s so worried about wanting these boys to like him at this age, I can’t stand the thought of junior high!
And he’s a compulsive liar. I think it’s the ego thing—have to be first, best, smartest, fastest. He tells the most amazing stories, but when they’re couched as truth, I’ll have to admit I get irritated. He has claimed to be a better baseball player than Ichiro, faster than a track star and Dash on the Incredibles, and taller than everyone. I am trying to go along with it, but I just can’t let him get away with the lying. It’s crossed over into other areas, like hitting someone at school (that’s another whole story) and then telling the teacher “someone else made me do it” or “I didn’t do it.” We’ve had many conversations about the difference between truth and stories, and lying and fibbing, and using your imagination for positive things. I cringe at the thought of what he’s told his teachers, and what they think of me.
There’s a new villain in town now. I asked Lance if he wanted to bring “shooshy pants” (like nylon running pants/sweat pants) as his extra pants on the pumpkin patch field trip day, and he said, “No, shooshy pants aren’t cool. A. says I have to look cool to be his friend.” I just about went through the roof, but calmly talked about how it’s your personality that makes you cool, and if you’re nice to other people and not what you wear. But I could see his face – I was just the blurred Charlie Brown adult voice “Waah wahh wahh wahh.”
He is a lot like Pat, so that’s both wonderful and frustrating. The black and white, no gray area attitude is hard for me. And he’s super competitive, so looking at Pat, it’s doubtful that’s something Lance will grow out of. We are working on sportsmanship and hopefully getting into team sports like soccer or t-ball next year will help improve that.
I always joke that “peer pressure will get him eventually,” more for things like potty training or crying for Mommy when he falls down. But the truth is, peer pressure already has him. It’s scary how stealthy it is, sneaking in at preschool and Target and in our words and the little amount of TV commercials he actually watches. (Tons of movies and DVD and OnDemand, yes, but not much network TV). I often wish we lived in the middle of a wheat field with only wooden blocks for toys.
Let’s not even get started with Audrey. I am nervous about Lance growing up in this crazy world, but am downright terrified about raising a girl. Macho ego is one thing, but body image and self-esteem and self-worth and mean girls is an entirely different side, one that I’m not excited to venture into. So while I’m wishing her older so they can play together better or so we can go somewhere without worrying about her naps, I’m going to remind myself that soon enough, she’ll be 12 and heartbroken because some dumb boy doesn’t like her or because some other girl has left her out of the group or because she’s not tall enough or thin enough or doesn’t have big enough breasts. At least I’ll be able to sympathize in that department. Lately with Lance I am just at a loss, in uncharted territory, like I got off the elevator at the wrong floor or talked my way into a job that I’m not qualified to hold.
I knew Lance would eventually start this. I’ve known it since December 14, 2002, when the doctor announced, “I see a penis.” He’s a boy. But he’s always been a Mama’s boy, and he’s been very verbal and dramatic, and despite being very active and physical, very much LIKE me—a girl.
But suddenly I am faced with almost daily flashes of his boy-ness, and the fact that he is running headfirst into the social pressures of being male. He has always been physical, needing to be outside running around. And I’ll admit I don’t quite “get” the love of digging in the dirt, but I think I did at his age. But he’s always had lots of girls to play with, thanks to most of my friends having girls first. And he’s happily played Princesses and dress-up for years (see future blackmail pictures of the pink butterfly costume and Ariel mermaid costume, complete with shoes). He even went through a princess-obsession phase last year, devouring Disney stories and fairy tales like a hungry ogre.
Not this year. It’s not just the “everything is a gun” or obsession with Superheroes and Star Wars. He’s a shining example of the budding male ego, thanks in part to his budding friendship with two boys at preschool – He was friends with them last year, but this year it’s going to a new level, with one boy clearly at the lead. Lance reports that his friend "hates girls, hates princesses, and thinks Barbies are stupid." He likes to chase the girls in the gym and play superheroes. Now of course I’ll admit that Lance likes to do much of these things on his own, but he's always had girl friends and happily played Princesses with them. His friend has two older sisters, which is probably the root of the problem—he’s forging his own identity.
Even more troubling is the insecurity I see in Lance. His friend is clearly the leader, and Lance has actually said things like, “He said I can’t play with so-and-so." "If he comes over we have to hide my Beauty and the Beast toys or the princess toothpaste (which, by the way, we only have because he prefers the bubble gum flavor to Power Rangers Fruit Burst),” or “He said we have to chase the girls,” or “I’m not going to a girl’s birthday party because we hate girls.” His own opinions are bad enough, but if he’s so worried about wanting these boys to like him at this age, I can’t stand the thought of junior high!
And he’s a compulsive liar. I think it’s the ego thing—have to be first, best, smartest, fastest. He tells the most amazing stories, but when they’re couched as truth, I’ll have to admit I get irritated. He has claimed to be a better baseball player than Ichiro, faster than a track star and Dash on the Incredibles, and taller than everyone. I am trying to go along with it, but I just can’t let him get away with the lying. It’s crossed over into other areas, like hitting someone at school (that’s another whole story) and then telling the teacher “someone else made me do it” or “I didn’t do it.” We’ve had many conversations about the difference between truth and stories, and lying and fibbing, and using your imagination for positive things. I cringe at the thought of what he’s told his teachers, and what they think of me.
There’s a new villain in town now. I asked Lance if he wanted to bring “shooshy pants” (like nylon running pants/sweat pants) as his extra pants on the pumpkin patch field trip day, and he said, “No, shooshy pants aren’t cool. A. says I have to look cool to be his friend.” I just about went through the roof, but calmly talked about how it’s your personality that makes you cool, and if you’re nice to other people and not what you wear. But I could see his face – I was just the blurred Charlie Brown adult voice “Waah wahh wahh wahh.”
He is a lot like Pat, so that’s both wonderful and frustrating. The black and white, no gray area attitude is hard for me. And he’s super competitive, so looking at Pat, it’s doubtful that’s something Lance will grow out of. We are working on sportsmanship and hopefully getting into team sports like soccer or t-ball next year will help improve that.
I always joke that “peer pressure will get him eventually,” more for things like potty training or crying for Mommy when he falls down. But the truth is, peer pressure already has him. It’s scary how stealthy it is, sneaking in at preschool and Target and in our words and the little amount of TV commercials he actually watches. (Tons of movies and DVD and OnDemand, yes, but not much network TV). I often wish we lived in the middle of a wheat field with only wooden blocks for toys.
Let’s not even get started with Audrey. I am nervous about Lance growing up in this crazy world, but am downright terrified about raising a girl. Macho ego is one thing, but body image and self-esteem and self-worth and mean girls is an entirely different side, one that I’m not excited to venture into. So while I’m wishing her older so they can play together better or so we can go somewhere without worrying about her naps, I’m going to remind myself that soon enough, she’ll be 12 and heartbroken because some dumb boy doesn’t like her or because some other girl has left her out of the group or because she’s not tall enough or thin enough or doesn’t have big enough breasts. At least I’ll be able to sympathize in that department. Lately with Lance I am just at a loss, in uncharted territory, like I got off the elevator at the wrong floor or talked my way into a job that I’m not qualified to hold.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Laundry
She takes each piece carefully out of the basket, inspects it for a loose thread or tag, and then places it behind her. She looks around at the clothes surrounding her, sighs, and stands up to put them back in the basket. She loses her footing when she slips on a shirt and goes down in a heap. Unfazed, she tosses each piece back into the basket. Then she notices me watching her. “Eh?” she asks me inquisitively. Now she smiles, struggles to her feet, and offers me a purple onesie.
Now I’m part of the game. She crosses the kitchen each time, tottering on her baby legs with her pot belly thrust forward, to hand me one piece of clothing from her basket. I say, “Thank you!” with enough enthusiasm to get a 4 ½ -tooth beaming smile in return, along with a little nonsense chatter that must mean, “Here’s my shirt. Not sure why I feel compelled to give it to you, but it makes me happy, so take it!”
Audrey loves laundry. Dirty, clean, she doesn't care. She played with the basket of clothes for at least 10 minutes, and then played with me and the basket of clothes for another 10 minutes. She starts with gentle tossing, and then flings the clothes behind her in laundry shot-put. She’s very interested in the “in and out,” “off and on,” “over and under” games lately. Yogurt cups with lids, Tupperware, and laundry baskets are her favorite toys. She takes these things very seriously—it’s fascinating to watch her concentration as she crumples a shirt in her hands, runs her hands along the printed design or snaps, and then decides whether to gently place it in the basket or throw it behind her.
She has become such a little personality these days. Walking makes all the difference. She has gone from walking to scurrying, almost running, in about a week. She still falls a lot, but gets right back up with hardly a nose scrunch of complaint most of the time, even when her falls are Lance-induced. She announces her intentions with hoots and screeches, and usually scoots toward the desired open closet, cupboard or dishwasher with an “uh, uh, uh” or a drawn-out “ooohhhhhhh.” Lucky for me, she hasn’t figured out how to be quiet and sneaky most of the time yet, unless she’s trying to get into the bathroom, in which case she’s silent. I’ve already lost her upstairs for a few seconds, when she snuck into the bathroom in search of Lance’s tub toys. She looks very pleased with herself when I find her, and frighteningly not-at-all-guilty. To this day, Lance cannot go anywhere quietly or sneakily, but with Audrey, I sense danger ahead…
Now I’m part of the game. She crosses the kitchen each time, tottering on her baby legs with her pot belly thrust forward, to hand me one piece of clothing from her basket. I say, “Thank you!” with enough enthusiasm to get a 4 ½ -tooth beaming smile in return, along with a little nonsense chatter that must mean, “Here’s my shirt. Not sure why I feel compelled to give it to you, but it makes me happy, so take it!”
Audrey loves laundry. Dirty, clean, she doesn't care. She played with the basket of clothes for at least 10 minutes, and then played with me and the basket of clothes for another 10 minutes. She starts with gentle tossing, and then flings the clothes behind her in laundry shot-put. She’s very interested in the “in and out,” “off and on,” “over and under” games lately. Yogurt cups with lids, Tupperware, and laundry baskets are her favorite toys. She takes these things very seriously—it’s fascinating to watch her concentration as she crumples a shirt in her hands, runs her hands along the printed design or snaps, and then decides whether to gently place it in the basket or throw it behind her.
She has become such a little personality these days. Walking makes all the difference. She has gone from walking to scurrying, almost running, in about a week. She still falls a lot, but gets right back up with hardly a nose scrunch of complaint most of the time, even when her falls are Lance-induced. She announces her intentions with hoots and screeches, and usually scoots toward the desired open closet, cupboard or dishwasher with an “uh, uh, uh” or a drawn-out “ooohhhhhhh.” Lucky for me, she hasn’t figured out how to be quiet and sneaky most of the time yet, unless she’s trying to get into the bathroom, in which case she’s silent. I’ve already lost her upstairs for a few seconds, when she snuck into the bathroom in search of Lance’s tub toys. She looks very pleased with herself when I find her, and frighteningly not-at-all-guilty. To this day, Lance cannot go anywhere quietly or sneakily, but with Audrey, I sense danger ahead…
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
If only I could bottle it...
That baby smell. I swear I really WANT AB to sleep through the night without waking up, but when she wakes up and just needs to eat or snuggle, I have to admit I secretly love it. That snuggly, sweaty baby smell is almost more than I can handle. I get the overwhelming rush of love for her, combined with the fear of how fast she's growing up and what I'm missing in her "second baby chaos," mixed with the irresistible desire to stay in there and snuggle her forever.
She has this new habit of nursing until she's full, then laying her head on my shoulder, but lifting up, rearing her head back and flashing me a grin before flopping back down and closing her eyes. If I nuzzle her to breathe in that magical smell, she smiles as she's falling asleep. It's this kind of thing I want to remember when she's 15, dressed like a Goth queen, and hating me.
And on the days when I'm at work and she's with my mom or father in law, she often doesn't drink much milk, so tends to wake up once or twice in the evening. It's mostly just to eat more and go back to sleep, but it seems like she just didn't get enough Mama or Daddy time, so needs one more snuggle. Who can resist that offer?
I might have to use that silly Dreft detergent forever - that baby powder smell is powerful. Or powderful, I guess.
She has this new habit of nursing until she's full, then laying her head on my shoulder, but lifting up, rearing her head back and flashing me a grin before flopping back down and closing her eyes. If I nuzzle her to breathe in that magical smell, she smiles as she's falling asleep. It's this kind of thing I want to remember when she's 15, dressed like a Goth queen, and hating me.
And on the days when I'm at work and she's with my mom or father in law, she often doesn't drink much milk, so tends to wake up once or twice in the evening. It's mostly just to eat more and go back to sleep, but it seems like she just didn't get enough Mama or Daddy time, so needs one more snuggle. Who can resist that offer?
I might have to use that silly Dreft detergent forever - that baby powder smell is powerful. Or powderful, I guess.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Unglued
I have diagnosed Lance with post-traumatic non-swimming disorder. Either that or he has multiple personalities. It's hard to watch Lance come unglued. It seems to happen fairly easily, which worries me a bit. I know he's 4 and wild emotions come and go, but I worry that he has my temper and Pat's temper all rolled into one.
Our latest turmoil has been swim lessons, more specifically SUBSTITUTE TEACHERS for swim lessons. But after my last post about substitute teachers for gym and swim lessons, I vowed that I would act more like a kind, compassionate person (i.e. a MOTHER!!!) in situations like these.
So Friday 3/23, I was prepared with all the Zen I could muster. We had talked about it in advance, he still said no swimming for a sub. Since we only had 2 lessons left, I gave in and called the pool to see if the teacher was there. They couldn't confirm, hadn't seen her since the day before. We got all ready, hopeful that she'd be there. No luck, but at least he didn't shower. I handled it better this time - much calmer and focused on him, determined to be empathetic and more neutral. We had already discussed the fact that he didn't have to go in if there was a sub, but I asked if he wanted to think about it before going back to get dressed. He did, we sat for a few minutes, and then left. But it was on good terms, no arguing, and everyone seemed happy. (cue foreshadowy music). We made a trip to Target and had a good afternoon.
I convinced Lance to take a bath before Pat got home. (mistake #1) but it was fine until the end. Audrey was playing in the hall, happily throwing washcloths in and out of her inflatable bathtub. Lance purposely tried to get out before soap and shampoo, then got mad when I wouldn't put Audrey back in the tub in the hallway so he could play with her. (From Audrey's side, she was already done - she had been patient, gotten kicked out of the bathroom when Lance didn't want her throwing toys into his tub, played by herself, and was ready to go downstairs with Daddy).
So he got soaped and shampooed by an impatient Mommy--clueless Mommy who obviously didn't see the wave building. He asks to watch a movie and I said no, but maybe if he made helping choices until bedtime.
HE. CAME. UNGLUED.
Here's a sample of the 10 minute screaming tirade he unleashed on me. "Bad stinky Mommy! Go be someone else's Mommy! You are the worst Mommy - I don't like you! I AM going to watch a movie" I went downstairs for most of this, so he was screaming after me. And then when he came down to yell directly at me and Pat followed him, "Daddy. STOP. Stay there -do NOT follow me!"
He was still yelling at me, but he let me stop him, doing this weird "sit in my lap and half hit me, half snuggle" thing. He calmed down, we talked about feeling mad vs. yelling and hitting, and then the storm passed and he was fine for the rest of the evening. He was hungry too - ate a ton before bed. Again, what is my deal? I know I get grouchy if I don't eat, and he's the same way. I should have seen that coming.
I think it's all fallout from swimming, so we're done - we're skipping the last lesson and not signing up for more. Lance and I discussed this and he agreed. But what happens when he wants to play soccer?
As we were lying in his bed, we talked quietly. I told him that we love him no matter what, but that it's not ok to yell at me like that. I said we need to work on strategies for dealing with the mad feelings, like counting, breathing, punching a pillow, etc. I said, "What if you get mad at school? You can't yell at someone like that."
Lance said, "I don't get that mad at school."
Me: "Why not?
Lance: "Because they do everything that I like."
There you have it. Distilled down to its 4 year old logical essence: My way or the highway, and hold your ears...
Our latest turmoil has been swim lessons, more specifically SUBSTITUTE TEACHERS for swim lessons. But after my last post about substitute teachers for gym and swim lessons, I vowed that I would act more like a kind, compassionate person (i.e. a MOTHER!!!) in situations like these.
So Friday 3/23, I was prepared with all the Zen I could muster. We had talked about it in advance, he still said no swimming for a sub. Since we only had 2 lessons left, I gave in and called the pool to see if the teacher was there. They couldn't confirm, hadn't seen her since the day before. We got all ready, hopeful that she'd be there. No luck, but at least he didn't shower. I handled it better this time - much calmer and focused on him, determined to be empathetic and more neutral. We had already discussed the fact that he didn't have to go in if there was a sub, but I asked if he wanted to think about it before going back to get dressed. He did, we sat for a few minutes, and then left. But it was on good terms, no arguing, and everyone seemed happy. (cue foreshadowy music). We made a trip to Target and had a good afternoon.
I convinced Lance to take a bath before Pat got home. (mistake #1) but it was fine until the end. Audrey was playing in the hall, happily throwing washcloths in and out of her inflatable bathtub. Lance purposely tried to get out before soap and shampoo, then got mad when I wouldn't put Audrey back in the tub in the hallway so he could play with her. (From Audrey's side, she was already done - she had been patient, gotten kicked out of the bathroom when Lance didn't want her throwing toys into his tub, played by herself, and was ready to go downstairs with Daddy).
So he got soaped and shampooed by an impatient Mommy--clueless Mommy who obviously didn't see the wave building. He asks to watch a movie and I said no, but maybe if he made helping choices until bedtime.
HE. CAME. UNGLUED.
Here's a sample of the 10 minute screaming tirade he unleashed on me. "Bad stinky Mommy! Go be someone else's Mommy! You are the worst Mommy - I don't like you! I AM going to watch a movie" I went downstairs for most of this, so he was screaming after me. And then when he came down to yell directly at me and Pat followed him, "Daddy. STOP. Stay there -do NOT follow me!"
He was still yelling at me, but he let me stop him, doing this weird "sit in my lap and half hit me, half snuggle" thing. He calmed down, we talked about feeling mad vs. yelling and hitting, and then the storm passed and he was fine for the rest of the evening. He was hungry too - ate a ton before bed. Again, what is my deal? I know I get grouchy if I don't eat, and he's the same way. I should have seen that coming.
I think it's all fallout from swimming, so we're done - we're skipping the last lesson and not signing up for more. Lance and I discussed this and he agreed. But what happens when he wants to play soccer?
As we were lying in his bed, we talked quietly. I told him that we love him no matter what, but that it's not ok to yell at me like that. I said we need to work on strategies for dealing with the mad feelings, like counting, breathing, punching a pillow, etc. I said, "What if you get mad at school? You can't yell at someone like that."
Lance said, "I don't get that mad at school."
Me: "Why not?
Lance: "Because they do everything that I like."
There you have it. Distilled down to its 4 year old logical essence: My way or the highway, and hold your ears...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
