On Not Murdering Your Children

I consistently experience a fascinating phenomena when interacting with my child.  Perhaps this example will resonate with you parents out there.

“Fiend, could you please brush your hair?”

“I have to go to the bathroom first.”

Twenty minutes later.

“Fiend, can you please brush your hair?”

“I have to finish this art thing first!  It’s important.”

Ten minutes later.

“Fiend brush your hair.”

“I have to kill this fly first.”

Five minutes later.

“Brush. Your. Hair”

“But I’m rearranging my dolls.”

This goes on until I have a mini nervous breakdown that leaves the Fiend pouting, Bayou hiding under the table, TR stifling laughter and me feeling like 2010′s Worst Parent of the Year.

I am aware that in all likelihood I did the very same thing to my poor mother with similar results.  Somehow this doesn’t make dealing with it any easier.

In the moment I can not wrap my brain around her insistence on not just doing what I ask when I ask it.  Why is it so impossible to just brush her hair, put on her shoes, get dressed, pick up her toys or get in the shower when I ask her to?  Does she just have faulty wiring?

When I stop seeing red and fire ceases to shoot from my eyes it occurs to me that a seven year old has very little control over much of her lives.  She is subject to the will of adults all the time.  Her mother, TR, her teachers, even her bus driver.

The Fiend has suffered through more than her fair share of boring adult events because she was forced to by her mother.  She can’t to go to the playground without one of us coming along.  She doesn’t get to decide when she gets up in the morning or when she goes to bed at night.  She rarely gets a say in what she eats.

Perhaps doing things on her in time is her way of saying, “I am my own person and I will do things my own way.”  Maybe her distractions have less to do with acting out and more to do with asserting her individuality.

Or maybe she just thinks its hilarious when I lose my cool.  I know TR does.

Roller Skating

On New Year’s Day, the Fiend went roller skating for the very first time.  There was all the excitement and anticipation of trying something new.  The rink was packed and the sight of all the other kids squirming impatiently to get going just increased this.

 

We finally got into the rink and went to get skates.  The Fiend was absorbing everything, the flashing lights, the loud music, the painted teenagers and the movement in the rink.  She was a bit hesitant but still open to the idea. 

The family we were meeting up with skated over and showed us where to stow our coats.  Then we sat on one of benches and put on the skates.  Right about that time a boy approximately the Fiend’s age did an epic face plant right in front of where we were sitting.  She turned to me and said, “Ok.  I’m ready to take my skates off now.”

I told falling was part of it, but it wasn’t so bad.  I told her the skating was a lot of fun.  Her response?  ”Falling is not fun.  Falling means you get hurt.  If I fall I could hurt my belly or my back or my bum or my face.  Especially my face.  That is not fun.”

 

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad.  See the boy is back up and skating around again.  I think you should try.  I brought you here because I wanted you to try.” I countered, smiling encouragingly.

 

“So you are telling me that you want me to get hurt.”

 

My expression must have been priceless.  “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all.  I want you to try.”

 

The Fiend raised her eyebrows and cocked her head.  When she makes this face I know I am in for it.  “If I try I will fall.  And if I fall I will get hurt, maybe even on my face.  So you are saying you want me to get hurt.  On my face.”

I continued to try and reason with her.  She was not having it.  Our friend John tried to help.  He got her as far as the little practice area.  She clung tenaciously to the railing and scowled furiously at both of us.  “I can not do this.” she said.  She raised a shaking finger and pointed it at me, “I hate you for bringing me here.”  John released a bark of laughter.  It’s not as though I can blame him.  It was hilarious.  And he did try not to laugh.

 

Unfortunately it just drew her attention.  She moved her quivering finger and poked it toward him.  “I hate you for having the idea”.

 

We all finally came to the conclusion that we needed to leave the Fiend to her own grumpy devices and show her that skating could indeed be fun.  I hadn’t been on roller skates in about a decade, so I spent my first few rounds hugging the wall.  Just when I thought I had it I miraculously found myself on my ass.  I am fairly certain my tailbone is now dust.

 

Fortunately the Fiend did not see this.  I was surprised to discover her clinging to the rail on my next circuit.  I stopped and asked if she wanted me to skate with her.  “No, just keep skating and don’t look at me.”

She crawled along the wall, hugging the railing the whole time.  When she was about halfway around they declared backwards skate.  Brilliant.

 

John took her by the hands and skated backward pulling her off the rink.  She looked much like Bambi on ice.  I told her to pay attention to her feet and try to keep them under her.  She did and miraculously started to do pretty well. 

John made the mistake of telling her that right as they reached the exit point.  She grimaced and said, “No I’m not!”  At which point she looked up from her feet, pulled on her arms and drove her skates into John’s.  John’s legs flew out behind him and the both went down, John on top.

 

I figured that was the game.  We all decided to continue to skate, and the Fiend sat on the bench watching.  Then I saw her stand up, shake her head once and make her way to the rink.  She stepped out on the floor.  She held the rail with only one hand.  And she started to skate.

 

She still didn’t want any of us to skate with her at first.  Then she started to have fun.  Then she let John take one of her hands and me take the other.  We did four circles before they announced it was time to go.

She frowned and looked up at me.  “Already?  I was just having fun!”

Mama No Like Booster Shots

Today I took the Fiend in to see her doctor for a very belated five year well kiddo check up.  She turned five in May.  The reason I brought her was because the nurse at her school called the other day to very sweetly remind me the Fiend was way behind on her booster shots.  The nurse needed to do her end of the year paperwork and really needed to have updated records for everyone.

This of course meant shots.  The Fiend hasn’t had shots for awhile.  She can’t get through brushing her hair in the morning without crying lately.  I was not looking forward to this trip.

The feeling of impending doom was exacerbated by her extreme overtiredness the morning of the appointment.  She had just not been able to fall asleep the night before and was rockin’ the purple circles under her baby blues.  Bad news.

We arrived at the office and the Fiend was in good spirits.  We were joking around, laughing and snuggling while we waited.  She made a new friend.  Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Her name was called and we followed the nurse down labyrinthine hallways to a small room near a nurse’s station. The Fiend happily cooperated with the weighing, measuring and eye examination.  She had her blood pressure checked, her temperature taken and her pulse gauged.  Healthy as a horse.

The nurse then made the mistake of asking her if anything was bothering her today.  The Fiend is a bit of a drama queen and particularly relishes the role of martyr.  She explained to the nurse that her legs were hurting her at school all the time.  In fact they were hurting her right then.

The nurse finished her routine and told us the doctor would be in soon.  The Fiend began to moan about her legs.  I could see where this was going.

When Dr. Jeff arrived in the room the Fiend was slumped down on the table frowning with gusto.  Dr. Jeff obligingly examined her legs and declared she simply needed to more careful not to get so many bruises.  He went about the rest of the check up. 

The Fiend was not cooperative.  She wouldn’t answer questions.  She pouted.  She pretended her legs wouldn’t work because they hurt so terribly. 

I told her she needed to cooperate.  She didn’t.  I told her she was at one.  She scowled at me.  I gave her the “the only reason I haven’t lost my temper is because Dr. Jeff is here” look.  She crossed her arms and looked in the other direction.

When Dr. Jeff was done he told us the Fiend needed six boosters.  Six!  This was not good. 

He left the room and the Fiend and I had a quick conversation in hushed tones about why her behavior was not acceptable.  She told me that she was going to have a bad day and not do anything fun at all.  I told her that was her choice.  She told me it was my fault.

The nurse poked her head in to let us know it would be a few minutes.  She also let us know that the Fiend didn’t need one of the shots on the list.  That took a bit of the pressure off.  But just a bit.

The nurse came in followed by a bigger male nurse.  They had the shots.  They the Fiend to sit on my lap and asked me to hold her arms down.  I felt nauseous.  They came at her from both sides.  She refused to look away and close her eyes.  Then they struck.

For a brief but beautiful moment I thought, “OK, this isn’t so bad”.  The Fiend said “Ow” and appeared to be OK.  But then a horrible expression came over her face.  And then she screamed.

The nurse said, “I know sweetie, it stings.  That’s because they were refrigerated. Ready for the next ones?”

I wasn’t ready.  I wasn’t ready for any of it.  My baby was sitting on my lapping wailing, tears streaming down her face and I was holding her arms down.  Kids get punished for that on the playground.

Round two was no better.  The nurses covered up her puncture wounds with band aids and told her how well she had done.  And she really had.  She didn’t try to get away or squirm around.  She just sat very still and sobbed.  It was horrible.

She was given a Christmas pencil for her troubles and we made our way back to school.  The Fiend sat in the back seat sniffling and wiping her eyes.  I felt like the worst mom in the world.

I know that it is important for her to have these boosters.  I understand it keeps her safe and healthy.  But can’t they get someone else to hold her down while they do it?  Or at least give me a drink first?

Ahhhhh, parenthood.

Togetherness

So lately the Fiend and I have been experiencing a lot of togetherness.  Babydaddy is going through a bit of a rough patch and doesn’t feel that he has a stable place to bring her to.  My routine of Tuesday and Friday nights off is, for the moment, disrupted.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with my daughter.  I have also really come to appreciate time away from my daughter.  Some events in the past few weeks of togetherness have led me to believe that she might have come to appreciate her time away from me.

There is a really fantastic gallery in town which hosts all sorts of wonderful exhibits and puts on great shows.  For their 1000th event they threw open their doors to all.  There was a giant game of Twister.  There was a mural painting project.  There was silk screening.

The Fiend and I being the hip chicks that we are naturally attended said event.  Unfortunately while at the gallery we hit critical mass of togetherness.  We had grown weary of each others company. 

The early hours of the event were populated with happy artistic families with their beautiful ruddy cheeked angels basking in the glow of their familial contentment.  Children were giggling and zooming about.  Couples were holding hands and beaming at each other.

The Fiend and I created the contrast to the otherwise idyllic scene.  First, she was dressed all in black.  Head to toe.  She was even wearing a black beret.  Have I mentioned that she’s five?

Second, we could not agree on what to do.  Nor could we come to a compromise.  When I finally begrudgingly acquiesced to the Fiend’s desire to start with Twister, we were both grumpy about it.  Surrounded by these cherubic children and there proud parents, we scowled our way through the first few calls.  Then the Fiend says, loudly, “Mom, get your butt out of my face!”

My highly mature reply was, “Get your face out of my butt!”

I noticed that after this exchange the other families on the board were doing there best to find ways to detanglethemselves from us and move farther away.  We both eventually gave up on Twister, much to all the other players’ relief.

We tried painting for awhile.  The Fiend didn’t like anything she did and kept wanting to paint different tiles.  I kept trying to explain that each tile was a piece of a larger mural and that she shouldn’t swipe a paintbrush across it twice and want a new one.  She responded by stomping her foot and scowling.  Unfortunately her stomp landed on my foot.  I let forth a stream of inappropriate semi-expletives.  We decided it was time to move on to something else.

There was a pack of wild toddlers carousing through the gallery at that point.  My amazonian daughter asked if she could join in the revelries.  I agreed but asked to to remember that she was much bigger and stronger than the other kids.  I brought our t-shirts over to where the silk screening was going down keeping an ever-watchful eye on the Fiend.

It took six times longer to complete the silkscreen than it should have due to the number of times that I had to remind the Fiend that running full tilt at someone with half your body mass is only appropriate when engaging in hand to hand combat.  I’m pretty sure the adorable 3 year old boy who would have been on the receiving end of the Fienda train was not looking for a fight.  Maybe she was simply having the same gag reflex reaction to cute, well behaved children that I was having to happy, well-adjusted couples.

There was a table laid out with soups, breads and baked goods.  The suggested donation was $5.  I hadn’t brought any money.  The Fiend wanted to eat.  I explained the lack of cash.  She frowned and thought for a moment.  And then she said, with feeling, “I’m sick of your face!”

It was time to leave.  We bundled up against the chill air and set off down the road to our car.  The walk was very very quiet.  We got into the car and set off homeward.  The Fiend broke the silence as we neared our destination.  “I love you Mom, but I just don’t love you that much.”

So much togetherness.

Combating the Self-Indulgence of Sadness

So the other day I wrote all about how sad I’ve been lately.  It occured to me last night that spending so much time concentrating on the feelings of discontent is a terribly self-centered thing to do.  So I decided to pay attention to the things around me for awhile.

The Fiend was all snuggled up and sleeping contentedly beside me.  She is an angel when she sleeps.  There is such tremendous possibility in a sleeping child.  My mind reels at what she is capable of acheiving.  The world is so wide open and new for her.  It is a truly amazing experience to be a parent and usher that potential into the world.  To nuture it and encourage it and feed it.

If for no other reason than the exsistence of The Fiend, I am exceptionally blessed.

The Saga Continues…

I got pulled aside while picking The Fiend up at rec again.  This time it was by the woman who runs the program.  It was about the not listening thing.  Apparently something we still need to work on.

The difference was I didn’t feel attacked in this conversation.  It was explained to me that one of the tactics they use with the kids is if they don’t comply with requests after a few tries the if-you-can’t-cooperate-we-will-have-to-talk-to-Mom-or-Dad card gets pulled.  Obviously to make it an effective tactic they actually have to tell Mom or Dad.  Makes sense to me.

The rec leader was very open to discussion.  She assured me that they think The Fiend is a great kid and that this is a temporary problem.  Letting me know was a disciplinary tactic, but also a way to get backup from me regarding the issue.  She pointed out that even the older kids have a hard time listening from time to time. 

I took the opportunity to voice my concerns regarding Amy’s response to The Fiend’s earlier apology.  The rec leader explained that she has been working with Amy to learn to not focus so much on being the kid’s friends and focus more on being the adult.  She let me know that she was modeling this ability for Amy.

In that moment I realized Amy was not picking on The Fiend, she just didn’t know how to handle her.  Here was a young woman struggling to learn how to deal with kids, and a big rowdy group of kindergarteners at that.  The Fiend, as you may have gathered from earlier posts, is not your typical kindergartener.  A kid like her would be pretty intimidating to an unseasoned child care provider.

The Fiend and I talked about this on the way home.  I told her that Amy was still learning how to take care of kids.  I let her know that I would be proud if she worked hard to help Amy by listening and cooperating.  She seemed to understand and get excited about the prospect of being a helper to Amy.  We had a great conversation.  Right up until I told her that she wouldn’t be having any desert for not listening again at rec, a previously agreed upon consequence.  Things got pretty quiet and grumpy after that.

Ah well, you can’t make everybody happy all of the time.

The Sweetness

She wraps her arms around one of mine and snuggles in.  I feel the warmth of her breath and smell her freshly washed hair.  She sighs, expressing the contentment we both feel.

These are the moments that I live for.  When the frantic pace of work, school, laundry, dinner, dishes subsides and we are still.  It is in these moments I breathe deeply and feel whole.  I experience an incredible peace and an overwhelming wave of love for this amazing being beside me.

I can let go of the stress of my job, the pressure of maintaining a house and the strain of making ends meet.  It is one of the few moments in the day where I am really present.  At those times the only thing that exists is us.  It is perfect.

There is nothing that compares to the love you have for your children.  It is a depth of feeling you would not believe possible until you are blessed by it.  You become greater as a result.  You come to expect more of yourself because you realize what you are truly capable of.

You learn you have reserves of strength that are deep.  You discover that you have infinite patience…most of the time.  You uncover gifts you did not know you had.

It is the most fulfilling job you will ever have.  It is the most rewarding obligation you will ever accept.  It is the most profound sweetness you will ever know.