There once was a little girl. Tan, spunky, and feisty. As a toddler she screamed the entire way to Disneyland, using her apple juice box to spray sticky juice graffiti all over the roof of her parent's car. She loved neon green water-guns and used them to shoot at her mama's friends whenever her mother was not paying enough attention to her--or simply because she did not like a particular friend of her mother's. She clung to her mother with wild abandoned. She cried when her mother left her. She opposed Sunday School and dance class with a passion because she wanted her mommy.
This little girl was me. And now a second-generation-spitfire is here in full force. Her name is Blake. She is my strong willed, stubborn, first born. I am clearly paying penance for my past. I am also trying to grasp and balance when to be firm, when to have grace, when to just hug that little tyrant--or in Blake's case let her cool down in her room and press her inner reset button, and then offer hugs and chats about appropriate behavior.
Last Saturday seemed to bring a flashback of my own childhood... Blake has been going to a dance combo class for the past few weeks and from all accounts seemed to be loving it. Her bestie Mia is also in the class and we would hear the girls' joyful giggles and silly-gleeful tap-taps of their shiny new black tap shoes from outside the waiting area.
And then last Saturday, with a false sense of 'Hey Mom, you're doing great this morning! On time! No meltdowns! Ry peacefully catching a snooze on the ride to class. Blake singing and already doing dance-like hand motions in her carseat... self: you've got this surburban-domestic-bliss thing down pat!' running happily through my mind, Blake stated as we walked into the dance studio "I don't want to go to class anymore!" Thinking that upon Mia's arrival she would change her mind, I ushered her into class with a quick kiss, hug, and reassuring smile. Ry was now awake and in need of a bottle.
Before the contents of his bottle could even reach his hungry tummy, Blake comes running out of class. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she exclaimed she had to go potty. Pushing Ry's stroller through the waiting area, past tiny ballerinas, dance moms, and curious looks, we made it to the bathroom on time and Blake said she wanted to go back into class. Yet, as soon as we exited the bathroom she started to shy away. Talked to her a bit, let her watch through the class window and she was ready to go back in... only to start sobbing inside the class that she wanted her mommy. The teacher firmly told her to leave and go get me... the -I-must-coddle-this-hurting-babe-of-mine slightly bristled at the teacher's firm tone, but I also understand it is her place to teach all the other well-listening students. So I got Blake and we headed out to the car--of course, that process was not smooth in itself as Blake did the infamous-strong-willed-girl-indecisive-fight of "no! I stay now! I listen! no! I need to go potty again!" We somehow made it to the car, took another 10 mins of calming down, and then finally everyone was strapped safely in and we were headed home.
After her nap, she left me quite the mess on the toilet... so maybe she was sick and didn't know how to articulate her ickiness? Or maybe she had gotten herself so worked up? Oh! These parenting maybes!!!
Tuesday rolled around, and I was already dreading preschool and wondering if she was going through another phase. So many new adjustments with starting school, she kept saying "I stay home with Mommy and Ryker. I miss you Mommy." Arrow to the heart.
We got ready as planned, and despite our usual small battle of outfit selection, we were out the door and all seemed happy--even as she walked the path to her class. Then as I was signing her in, I hear her mumble "I'm not going today. I stay with Mommy."
I walked her to her door, only to have her bolt backwards and start kicking and letting her entire school know just how much she was NOT going to go to class. Blake's awesome teacher's aid quickly reached out for Blake and shut the door, saying she would be fine. Ack. I left feeling sad for Blake, disheveled, worried, embarrassed at her outburst, and worked up myself. I kept checking my phone to see if her school was calling to expel her--err, let me know she screamed the whole time.
Apparently, it took about 10 minutes or so of the teacher's aid just holding her and reassuring her. When I came to pick her up, she was happy as could be and ran into my arms shouting "Buenos Dias!" Gotta love her new love for her Spanish class.
Come Thursday, Blake hid in her bed after breakfast. "I need five more minutes!" she stated. As Ryker got loaded into his car seat, she informed me "Ryker goes to school. I stay home." Ohh, Blake and your logic... he would probably just sleep and grin goofily the whole time--as he apparently does during Tuesday mornings while I go to a Bible study at church. He clearly got the chill-dude gene. (Thank you Lord!!!!)
Blake was a little timid walking up to school on Thursday and inched her way to the door ever so slowly, let out one fierce cry/yell and by the time I was finished signing her in, her lovely teacher's aid informed me Blake was already happy and doing her table task.
So that bring us to today... a beautiful Saturday. With the weather hinting at fall... all I wanted to do was snuggle up with the kiddos. Yet, I knew today was dance day. Last night we talked about dance and she kept insisting she wanted a different teacher. She said she loved dance, but not the particular teacher... Bobby and I decided to play it by ear to see how the morning went as to whether we would try to go or not.
I don't want to push her to do something that clearly made her so upset, yet I also don't want to cave to the demands of a three year old. Dance is only an hour class and obviously not structured like preschool where they want parents to just let go and leave and will handle said child... Anyways, the kids decided for me what to do this morning.
This morning starting at 3:00 am today. Ugh. Blake cried out that she was "on froggy potty!!!" she quickly fell back asleep. Of course, out of the blue, Ry decided it was his turn to cry out and stay crying at 3:40 am... the both were up for good at 6:40 am. Needless to say they are both in bed snoozing now. Naps needed to come early today. We did take a walk to the park and had a lovely lunch and playtime. That is until a mean-ole-sticker made its' way into Blake's left foot. No tears. Just "Go home, get new feet, come back to park!" I told her we would go home and I would look at her feet and help get it out. Oh dear, wrong thing to say apparently. Kicks, screams, and result? My pushing Ry's jogging stroller, the big bag of sand toys that somehow would not stay put on the stroller handle, holding--or doing my best--a wiggly, defiant Blake.
I got them both in the bath. Somehow? I already am forgetting how that actually worked. Hoping the warm water would help get the prickly sticker out of her foot. No luck. No luck with tweezers and a three year old either. She ran to her bed exhausted. Equally, exasperated I got Ryker down for his nap and have decided to try for the tweezers well AFTER a well-rested Blake returns.
I know there is a happy, awesome kiddo in there... some days she shows up for the whole day. Some days just half-days. I saw said happy munchkin just last night play , laugh and litterally rough house with her precious Mia. It was this same Blake that said this morning at the park, pre-meltdown, "Thank you Mommy for the park day. It's beautiful here. I love you!" and shared her sand toys with her little brother and told him "No eating sand buddy boy cuz we love you we tell you no sometimes!" Seriously, this kid can be a yo-yo of emotions, wisdom, lessons, and definitely reminders of how crazy childhood is for both the kiddos and parents!
