the little pitcher loses her mind

I'm sitting on the couch with my laptop while J is in the kitchen cooking dinner. Small whirlygig child person come flying into the room and catapults herself onto said couch crying.

Me: Babe, what's wrong?
Her: He's ruining MY WHOLE LIFE!
Me: Who?
Her: Daddy!
Me: Why?
Her: He just IS! My WHOLE LIFE!
Me: Dude. Why?
Her: (Flailed across the couch, arms tossed over face for dramatic effect). Because he won't let me have a fruit roll up!
Me to J: M says you are ruining her whole life!
Her: HE IS!
J: (laughing) She hasn't seen anything yet.
Me: (reaching for my wine) Yeah babe. You haven't seen anything yet.

And with that she catapults herself down the hall to her bed, where more hysterics ensue while J and I giggle at each other and occasionally remark that we are ruining each others lives.

This high drama? This is normal for a four year old, right?

Right?

happiest place on earth

On our way to school this morning:

M: (chanting) happily ever after, happily ever after, happily ever after.....
Me: Hey baby, it's important to remember that we might not always be happy and that's okay too.
M: I didn't say HAPPY, mama. I said HAPPILY. It's different!
Me: How is it different?
M: Happily means MARRIED!
Me: Ah. So what does married mean?
M: I don't know. But I think it means there's a prince. And a castle.

And with that, she's officially joined the ranks of millions of deluded young women everywhere. Thank you (oh, and fuck you for setting unreasonable expectations), Disney.

bitter and sweet

This past weekend a neighbor kid was a total bastard to M. He said some horribly cruel things to her, her precious naivete and trusting wide open heart shattered while I watched. And I wanted to kick his four year old ass. (Which doesn't say a lot for me, or perhaps it does and none of it good). I'm still upset over it even though she's long forgotten it (or has she, dammit you bastard neighbor kid). I just can't believe cruel starts this young.

But on the good side it's Just Post time so please send me writings on social issues big or small, yours or anothers and we'll include them in our monthly roundtable on the 10th. If this is new to you, clickety click on one of the purple and white buttons on your right or email me at girlplustwoATyahooDOTcom. Join us. It's cruelty free and safer than most playgrounds.

busted

Yesterday I was going through the stack of papery junk that always accumulates a mile high. Mixed in were piles of M's papers from school. The school likes to send home any paper M touches, whether it was to draw a single shaky blue line across a 16" piece of paper or glue a piece of trash 1" in width to a gigantic blue posterboard. I know you know what I mean.

So I sorted out the actual "art" from the "crap" and feeling slightly bad I tossed the crap. This morning M goes to throw something away and screams MAMA SOMEONE THREW MY ARTWORK IN THE TRASH! IN THE TRASH! and starts crying.

Well, fuck.

So I run into the kitchen and peer inside, last nights dinner congealing on the papers. She reaches in and starts pulling them out. Mama, this is my artwork. It's NOT TRASH.

I help her pull the endless papers and we stack them on the table. It's my art!, she says again. I know baby, and I'm sorry. That should not have gone in the trash. (In the kitchen trash, you stupid woman, the OUTSIDE TRASH would have been better) I think silently.

I bet daddy did it! she says and opportunity for absolution briefly rises. I ponder that route, briefly weigh the benefits, and decide I have to suck it up. No baby, it was me. I did that.

YOU?! (her tone is incredulous and I feel the weight of a million therapy sessions in the balance) You threw away my artwork? Yes love, but I'm sorry.

It's not trash, mama. Don't do that again. Hands covered in coffee grounds.

And I walk by the bathroom and J says thanks for not selling me down the river on that one.
I should have put it in the outside trash, I reply.

Exactly, he says. Exactly.

game over

Some days I am so disappointed in my mothering. Some days I don't have much of a choice, but I hear the nagging tone bundled in frustration and I feel like an asshole. Today was one of those days, this morning at least.

M to her credit, has been hell on wheels. She's melting down at the slightest thing that doesn't go her way. As I am stepping over her this morning as she's losing her mind for the third time in 15 minutes (you will not wear the freaking princess dress five days in a row to school you will not you will not no way no it's filthy and it's wet and it's just not happening) she's puddled on the floor, alligator tears and I turn to J and say I can't take this anymore, I simply cannot. And I feel bad as I say it, I know it's not true and I can take this and I will take this and it's not even in perspective that much to take but I lose my center and fall from grace.

So we are driving to school and I ask her why, why we can't be on the same team, this one little team that has to bend and flex and give. She grunts and folds her arms, I see her in the mirror. Baby, I say, I really could use your help. I want to be a better mama than this. I am utterly heartfelt and gooey. I mean this. I can almost taste us reaching a paradigm shift right here in the car. I wait, I hope, I hedge my bets for her response.

And she eyes me in the mirror and utters Me too, mama, me too. We should negotiate more so I can get what I want.

And with that I start laughing and you know, holy shit. I might just do better admitting defeat.

yet another reason i love it here

Thank you all so much for your insight into my recent parenting dilemma. Even as I hit publish I knew instinctively what I wanted to do and your wealth of comments from all angles helped drive it home. Chani's thoughts came the closest to what I already felt but was trying to talk myself out of and yet hearing it from her caused something to click. It's all too easy for me to sometimes get caught up in what I think I should be doing versus what simply feels right, and so often right is influenced very heavily by western ideals and practices and it's important to remind myself there are many, many different ways to raise a family. So for now, it feels right to let M find her way, and if that means she winds up in our bed then we've decided to roll with it because in the end I think her feelings are right on - it makes less sense for her to be holed up in there alone sometimes. And as Den put it so succinctly, we are pack animals anyways.

So last night when she was getting ready for bed she proclaimed I not staying in my bed tonight mommy so I asked her to give it a try and if she wakes up and can't sleep later she knows where to find me. And then she slept in her bed the entire night. So I can't help but remember that having a choice means you can choose a lot of different things. It's the forever balance of treating your children like adults while remembering they are children and basically at the end of the day we need to do what feels right for all of us together. And how fabulous that I get to keep making mistakes and learning from it and then try something else and then succeed or fail and then do it all over again. It's one of the coolest things about being a parent, the continual evolution of thought and love and boundaries and most of all, letting go.

So thank you for your wisdom and community. You make a fine village.

jen asks for advice

Alright internets, I need your counsel. And rather than consulting the many cross conflicting parenting books I am instead turning to the village.

Here's the deal: M has been a champion sleeper for the past 2 1/2 years. About two months ago she started waking in the night and refusing to go back to sleep in her own bed. Often I'd just wake up in the morning and find her next to me, J relegated to the couch. We've talked to her about it a lot and she claims to simply not like sleeping in her bed anymore. Nothing has happened, no nightmares, nothing scary, that we can ascertain (other than turning three). So night after night we are suffering with broken sleep and toddler feet in our faces and to be honest, we've let her manipulate us because she seems so entirely sincere in her pleading that she really needs to do this right now. And she's really adorable about it but then it's not so cute at 1am. We always make her go to bed in her room at bedtime (which is also a consistent ritual thank you very much) no matter how she pleads but she'll wake up and eventually find her way out. Have we shot the whole self-soothing mechanism to pieces?

I am left in a conundrum. Tow the parenting line and listen to her weep in her bed? Allow her this time to sort out whatever she is going through (and hope to freaking god she's not still in bed with us when she's twelve)? I've always strived to find the balance in listening to her needs and trying to meet them while maintaining a sense of order and consistency but this one has thrown us - mostly because I simply want to do the right thing and my heart says she needs this and my head says I am being worked over like an old car in one of those crushing machines at a junkyard, screeching metal and all.

So I am turning to you. Has this happened to you and if so, how did you resolve it? Does it resolve naturally? Do the little people sometimes simply need this closeness or are they cunning little wizards who dive into the weak spots? Where's the line? And where's the love? Give it to me straight.

the problem with two psych majors under one roof

Overheard while washing dishes last night.

M: Daddy, do you have a pen*is?
J: (pause) Yes baby, I do.
M: Why?
J: Because I am a boy. You and mommy are girls so you don't have a pen*is. You have vagina*s instead.
M: Why?
J: (longer pausing) because we are made differently, boys and girls. (another pause where I can feel the wheels turning from the other room) But you know, some people aren't born in the right bodies. Some boys are born in boys bodies and wish they were girls and some girls are born in girls bodies and wish they were boys. It's called gender identity disorder. I have a friend at work who...
M: Let's play airplane!

one plus two = dumbasses

A milestone of sorts on our fourth official Family Night:

Me: M baby, your first day at (pre) preschool! baby girl you are so grown up! We are going to have Family Night to celebrate!
M: Yay! Family Night! Me want ice cream!
Me: Ok, but first tell me what you love about your new classroom. Tell me everything, leave nothing out.
M: Me love going big girl potty at school like N. (a little school dude) but I want a peenus and go like this (grabbing non existent peenus) but me no have peenus like N and me can't go like this and me have to go like this (mimes squatting)
J: What did she say?
Me: She wishes she had a peenus. You know, like N.
M: Peenus! Me want peenus!! Mommy, you have peenus? Me want peenus!
Me: I guess I thought we'd have a few more years till we got to this one.
J: I'm not really sure where we go from here.
Me: M, do you want to talk about why you don't have a peenus?
M: Me want ice cream!
Me: Ice cream, dude. When in doubt, let's just go with ice cream.

You still have time to get in on our seventh Just Post Roundtable. If you have a written a post about social justice in it's various forms or you've appreciated one that was written by someone else, please send them my way to girlplustwo (at) yahoo(dot) com by tomorrow and I'll send you the button. Go on. It's good for the soul and everyone is welcome. We'll link all posts and anyone who refers one (or more) in our Just Post Roundtable on the 10th. If this is new to you, please feel free to check it out at the Just Post buttons to your right.

timing out

So I was sitting on the couch with my laptop working (whatever, blogging) when I peer over to M's table and notice she'd thrown her crackers on the floor. So I said dude, pick those up right now. And she said me no want to so I replied ok, let's show your daddy. Daddy, come here. So J walks in the room and said what is it you want me to do? To which I replied I feel like being one of those women, you know, the 'wait till your father gets home' sort of chick, the kind that puts the fear of god in her children by ensuring the wrath of their father is coming. So J, ever wrathful, said M pick that crap up, and turns around and walks off.

All the while, M is joyously smashing them into the carpet. J goes back into the kitchen to finish cooking dinner, and I am still firmly lodged on the couch. After a few minutes he asks from the other room is she cleaning it up? And I look over. Negative.

So he says, you need to give her a time out. Followed by the subtle You never give her time outs.

Whatever, friend. I just don't like time outs. In fact, I'd prefer to never give another time out. They are so punative, time outs. They bore me. Time outs are boring. Chew on that, daddy-o.

So I said you challenging me to throw down the time out gauntlet? I can give her a time out any day of the week, my friend. I just choose not to. Then do it, he says. Game on, dude.

Let's not forget M is listening to this whole exchange while continuing to smash crackers.

And I'd like to state for the record I am not usually this lazy.

So I look over at M, who is now on the floor on all fours mid smash and I say M. This is so not cool. Pick up the crackers. And she says It's ok mommy, I go time out. And gets up and goes to her room. I am cracking up. And I am still on the couch. I decide our carpet sucks anyways.

J looks around the corner and says where is she? She's gone to time out, friend. I am the queen of the time out, so put that in your pipe and smoke it. I can give time outs all day long.

A few minutes later M wanders back out. Time out over, Mommy? Yes, baby. Good girl.

I like it this strategy. Now if I can only train M to feed me the crackers instead of smashing them into the floor, life would be money.

splitting pairs

I've spoken before about M's inclination of all things mommy. Mommy, mommy, mommy, she chants while eating, while playing, almost every single sentence begins with Mommy. Mommy-daddy is how she addresses J most of the time. I am center stage every waking minute. It's just how it is.

I've got the mojo, friends. Touch me, I'm golden.

This has been long coupled with Mommy Do It. Others of you have occasionally spoken of this. I know I am not alone in having a child who only wants their mother to do any and everything. It's caused some strain but for the most part, we roll.

Perhaps we were rolling along a little too well for her two year old brain to manage, because this weekend, along with my previous post of minor woeful musings, brought this little morsel:

I no love daddy. I only love mommy.

We were at the grocery store this afternoon and M and I were traipsing (she rolls, I traipse) through the aisles when all of a sudden she says I no love daddy. I only love mommy.

Baby, I say, why would you say that? She was rather cheeky, words drawn out, a smile that could break glass. She wasn't upset, but rather working an angle (is that bad to say about my kid, because I swear, she was).

So I said honey, do you know it's okay to love us both? You don't have to choose, you can love us both and it only means there is more love. M started in on another topic so I let it go.

But when we got home she went up to J and said Me no love you daddy. Me only love mommy.

Ouch. I glance at J, and watch his face fall. He's been a trooper these past months; all the mommyness has been wearing on us both. It's worth noting that since we both work, we both take fairly equal responsibility at home; there isn't a lot of one doing more than the other. But M has made equality difficult lately, hysterics abound if we are both home and I am not the one to do her bidding.

He said, baby, I love you and you love me. It's okay if you don't feel it right now. I love you no matter what.

But I know it hurts. And while I want to respect her process, I don't want to reinforce this behavior, because frankly, it's kind of shitty. I did offer to go to the beach for a week and let them get on without me in the picture, but no one (besides me) seemed to think that was a good idea. I still think if that's the best idea we can come up with, I'll take one for the team.

Because I'm sacrificial like that.

cold blue water

One of the most obvious (and best) things about California is the weather. It means we can do all sorts of things that aren't possible in other parts of the western world. Like taking M to the beach in January.

She's had very little exposure to the ocean, and I, of course, am the mother who sets her back a decade. We walked down to the surf and I plopped her down in the sand so we could watch the waves up close when all of a sudden, wham....a wave smackdown. One might have thought I'd have seen it coming, but sadly, it somehow snuck up on me.

We were both soaked from the waist down, shoes and all.

M was rather put out. She started crying and yelling waterstopnostopwaterstop at the ocean, which responded by curling and foaming and laughing at us. J stood a bit farther up on the shore shaking his head. I decided since I was already wet, I might as well get wetter.

Because nothing says freedom like standing fully clothed in the ocean on a Sunday in January.