Well, I did an elaborate post on pre-Christmas and planned to immediately follow it up with a Christmas Day post...but, it appears that life has happened and I didn't get to it. In short, it was a great Christmas....one of the best yet. Ryan and Charley were at magical ages and it was fun rather than exhausting.
We've had some changes around here lately. Charley had some trouble at Batesville Montessori and we did what most parents would do and immediately pulled her from the school and placed her in the same class as her big sister. No, actually....we tried to wait it out. Her favorite teacher (Miss Kallie) left at Christmas and she was never settled after that. Then, she got strep throat and it took over a week to diagnose it but she wasn't feeling good and we didn't know why. She had started observing at Hope Lutheran and we think observing at one school and going to another was confusing to her. She started having rip-roaring tantrums with Mommie at nap time. I've never seen anything like it. I needed Super Nanny. She screamed, cried, ran from me, screamed at me, spit at me, and threw herself on the floor for several naps. It was during one of these fun times together that she got her second swat on the bottom (the first was also at a nap time). I am not a fan of spanking or swatting. Ryan has never been swatted. I didn't do it out of anger-I did it because nothing was working and she wouldn't listen to me. The other crowning moment I would like to document for her to use against me in later years and use as the reason she is in therapy is this: I locked her in her room and held the door shut as she tried to get out and screamed and stuck her fingers dramatically under the door. Yes, I did. This was on the same day that I swatted her. Good times had by all. I was being completely reasonable with her. I told her she didn't have to get in bed or go to sleep. Just stay in her room and play quietly for an hour. Note to self: 3-year-olds are not reasonable. Well, after a few episodes like that at this very moment she is playing in her room quietly (for the most part....she comes out occasionally to throw a picture for me over the banister or tell Pat she needs pretend food for her baby from the lemonade stand).
For posterity purposes (what does that mean anyway? Daddy says it), I will also briefly document the worst morning thus far of my life as a working mother. I was already running late to a meeting at the hospital that only happens once a week. I'm sometimes late due to shenanigans around our house and I was determined to be on time. As Charley and I are backing away from the house she reminded me that Pat told her she could have a band-aid in the morning. Since she was so patient the night before when she asked for it I thought it would be good to show her we mean what we say so I backed up and ran in to get the band-aid. All was well. I prided myself on focusing on her needs despite my rush. What a good mother I am (if I can erase the spanking and locking a 3-year-old in a room from my mind). We are about halfway to school and Charley says she needs a new band-aid because hers is now crumpled. No big deal, I think. I tell her we'll just get one at school. Well, you would have thought I told her that Dora, all of the Princesses, Snowball, and Elmo had just been massacred and thrown into a pit of fire. She then proceeded to scream all the way to school as I calmly told her that we couldn't turn around and go back to get a band-aid. I don't think there are words in the English language to describe her screaming. It was primal, guttural, and as if I was burning her with cigarette butts. I called Pat and just put the phone down so he could hear what I was dealing with because for some reason these fits only happen with me. We pull into the parking lot while all of the other children are being dropped off and I get out to unbuckle her and she throws herself over the back seat into the back as if I'm coming at her with a knife and breathing fire. I calmly walk to the back of the car and open the hatch and she scrambles over the seat -again as if I'm coming to harm her. I then get in the car and fish her out of the car kicking and screaming (with no shoes because she decided she didn't like her rain boots-yes, insert rain into this story). In between going from door to door Pat called and told me I just had to drop her off and leave. He obviously had never dealt with wild, rabid 3-year-olds before. So, I got in the front seat with her as she kicked and screamed and I smiled and waved pleasantly at the other mothers who looked at me with horror and I'm sure wondered why I couldn't control my own child. She kept saying something about "Bonnie and Elmo" I thought. Bonnie is in her class and I thought there was a problem sharing an Elmo. Our conversation was going nowhere and I'm late at this point so I just take her shoeless and coatless (the coat was off by now) kicking and screaming into the school. She is hysterical and has lost all sense of anything. Her teacher offers to get her a band-aid. I suggest that they could decorate a band-aid. But, she kept wanting to go home to get a band-aid. I finally decipher through her tears that "one time when I forgot a picture and envelope I made for Bonnie Daddy took me back home to get it and I want to go back home to get a band-aid." Elmo and envelope sound similar-that's where I got Bonnie and Elmo. In actuality the reason Pat did that was because there were a bunch of kids crying that morning and he thought she would break down too so he wanted to get her out of there until things calmed down. But, the message to her was if I want to go back home to get something then Mommy and Daddy should take me. Any old parent knows that following through with what you say is important. Idiots know that if you hold your ground and then later give in then it's going to be even worse the next time. I even know more than most idiots because I have a Ph.D. in psychology-the study of human behavior. So you would think I calmly told her we would get the band-aid after school and that I loved her and then leave. Well, you would be wrong. I picked her up, carried her to the car, drove her home to get the band-aid, and drove her back to school as happy as a clam and missed my meeting. Apparently book knowledge and degrees don't generalize to your own children.
Fast forward a couple of weeks: Charley took her antibiotics and was immediately much better. She has been at Hope Lutheran and is doing great. I haven't had to deal with a fit recently. Yes, she is more strong-willed that her sister and I think she will be a challenge to me. But, we've passed that hurdle for now. I'm just sitting back and enjoying the peace because I'm sure the next storm is brewing.
I'll write about Ryan soon. Charley's behavior took away from Ryan in real life too. I'll make up for it here on the ole blog.
KK
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