It’s Hard Being Little
January 28, 2013 § 1 Comment
Journal Entry on 1/21/13 –
Both girls are home from school and I have Lily.
First mistake, I didn’t have a plan of action so beginning around 2pm, things started getting out of control. The girls were getting on each other’s nerves, Lily wouldn’t and still won’t take a nap; I’ve had to warn, attempt time out and think of things to do unsuccessfully.
Now we are separated into our own spaces in the small apartment. Lily squirms in my lap as I type. Eva flings her sticky worms on the wall like bows and arrows and Annie plays Polly Pocket quietly in the other room. I take a breath and am thankful that in an hour, I can pack up.
I am learning to appreciate more and more the difficulties of a child’s behavior and not being able to get away from it or look on from a distance saying to whoever’s next to me that I would never let my child behave that way. I have also just experienced a reward for my labor that didn’t come in the form of a paycheck.
About a week and a half ago, I sat at the kitchen table nursing Lily while Eva stood next to me telling me about the talent show coming up at school. From the other room Annie started screaming. We turn to look – she peers at us through the doorway, her tiny fists clenched, her arms stiffened along the sides of her body and she stomps one foot with each pelt of her voice.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her. She seethed.
“Annie, tell me what’s…”
She screamed and seethed.
“Okay Annie, I don’t…”
She screamed. I feel my blood pressure start to spike.
“I don’t respond to…”
“I don’t respond to screaming!” I said in a millisecond.
She continued to scream in irritating spurts. Eva and I tried to ignore her. She slammed the door and began sobbing. After 30 seconds I went to the door and told her I wanted to help but that I needed her to use her words. A sentiment my husband has had to use on me in our marriage…
After a bit of persuasion she let me in and immediately began complaining that she couldn’t get the cloths on the doll.
“I’m fwastrated!” she exclaimed.
I praised her on her word choice, knelt down by the spread of mismatched Barbie shoes, naked dolls with limbs held together by hot pink duct taped, and random pieces of plastic toy furniture. She knelt down beside me and handed me the doll.
Fixing the outfit on the toy I told her that it wasn’t polite to scream at someone and what should she say.
“Sawwey.” She eeked out.
“What are you sorry for?”
“Sawwey for scweameng at you.”
So today, as we were all separated from each other catching our breath, she came to me with her inch and half tall doll and its rubber outfit and asked me if I could help her get it on before she got angry. I felt my heart smile.
“Annie, I’m so proud of you for coming to me before you lost your temper.”
She confessed that she got a little frustrated and stomped her foot once when I wasn’t watching.
It’s hard being little.