Cleverly Defiant

It's no secret, my kid's a tad bit defiant. Alright, some days she's a hell of a lot defiant.

But she's a smart one.

This morning, for reasons I'm not entirely sure of, she threw her juice cup on the floor when she was finished with it.

"K, come back in here and pick up this cup and put it in the sink."

"No," she said so casually.

My gut reaction was to pick up the cup and launch it in her direction, but I did some deep breathing and counted to ten to think it through. In the end I decided to use my big girl words instead.

"If you don't come pick up this cup, there will be no orange juice with breakfast tomorrow morning."

In her hap, hap, happiest voice she said, "Oh that's okay Mama. I'm having pink lemonade tomorrow."

So pleased with her quick witted response, she practically skipped into the next room.

Let it be known though, I am ruler supreme. She did pick up the cup and she even put it in the sink.

The Day She Threw Her Shoe At Me

"I always say moms have the toughest job in the world if you're doing it right."

- Oprah

Today, without a doubt, I believe that quote. I don't always feel that way. The toughest job? I'm sure I could think of a few tougher.

And then I have a day like today.

Today was a day from hell.

Today I was wishing I had dropped my daughter off at daycare and worked in an office with adults.

I sit here and think...where did the day go so wrong? Where did I go wrong? It was a beautiful 70 degree pre-spring day. Meltdowns and tantrums aren't supposed to happen on those days. I had simple, enjoyable plans. A morning trip to the library and then spend the rest of the time, before nap, at the playground, including a picnic. Not a tough day. I had even agreed to drive to the playground with the sandbox, her favorite.

I will not rehash the pivitol moment in the morning. I know this will come as a great disappointment to the readers who relish in hearing my trials and tribulations with dear, sweet K, but I just can't do it today. I will say I was searching for a specific book on raising the spirited child when the fireworks began.

Spirited. Hmm...I can think of a few other words.

The tantrum continued as I forced K out of the library, crying the whole way. Library book bag empty. No fun day spent playing in the sandbox. No swings. No picnic. She screamed and sobbed the entire ride home. She even threw her shoe at me.

K doesn't embarrass me in public often. She generally saves the naughtiness for home. Today was rough, for both of us.

We talked this afternoon, agreed to be bestest best friends from now on. We will try the fun plan again tomorrow, minus the 70 degree weather. Here's to hoping the library book bag will come back full and I won't be placing an Amazon order for the spirited child book during nap time.

It's Not Going to Be Easy

The season premier of Cougar Town aired this past Tuesday. I'm a fan. It was Valentine's Day and I was elated with my evening plans to stay in with my fishbowl of wine and watch. I'm cool, huh.

If you, like me, are super-duper awesome and already saw the episode, bear with me on this brief recap. Anyway, between season 2 and 3 little Stan grew up. No longer a baby, now a young kid...a devil child. During the episode, Ellie struggles with little Stan and his behavior. They fear him. And it hits her, this is just the kind of kid he is. Maybe she has to accept he's going to grow to be a hell-raiser.

It made me think of lovely K. No, I don't truly think she's the spawn of Satan. But, kids come in all kinds, and maybe she's just the curious, creative, strong-willed, slightly defiant kind. It's very likely I will still be struggling with how to parent her antics when she's a teenager. Maybe she's just not gonna be an easy one.

The other night I walked into her room to see this on her dresser.

Not sure what you're looking at? Here's a close up.

"What the eff? How in the hell did she get chalk."

See, this is what the hallway outside of K's room looks like as of late. It's a staging area, if you will, for the toys that a responsible, trustworthy child should have in her room. But, as we are discovering more and more every week, that is not K. Somewhere in the row of toys is a basket of chalk, because as we know, K can't be trusted alone with chalk.

She's a smart one, that girl. Left with nothing in her room, she still finds creative ways to explore her mischievous side.

This day, my brilliant daughter learned there is more than one way to accomplish a goal. A life lesson, really. I should be proud. Who needs sticks of chalk when you can just smear the palms of your hands on your existing chalk board drawing and, voila, chalk to decorate with.

She did later confide in me that she was upset she messed up Belle and her pretty dress in the mountains. Life lesson #2 for the day, perhaps? Regret.

"But dont worry, Mama, I'll just draw it again."

Nope, no regret.

 

Spit Happens

Toddlers and preschoolers are not merely small people. They are their own breed, with their own set of laws governing their world. Understanding this helps me find patience for irrational hair loss fears and chalk drawn murals.

But, I believe, my patience has reached its boiling point. When confronted with an undesirable situation, some young kids hit, others bite. K has chosen to spit.

In Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Violet Beauregarde informs Willy Wonka, "Spitting's a nasty habit," to which he retorts, "I know a worse one." I'm calling your bluff candy man. I would give anything to be writing about K having a boogie picking addiction.

Instead, here I am describing a battle I am losing. I'm just moments away from waving the white flag. 

Incase you don't have much experience with spitting preschoolers, let me fill you in on what it's like.

Backseat of the car, I'm buckling her in her car seat.

She demands, "I want my lollipop NOW!" 

"Not how you ask, and you know the rules. No lollipops in the car," I rationally explain.

And just like that, spit in my face. Directly in my face.

Now I'm a good mom. But at that moment, it takes all the willpower I possess to not slap her across the face. Lucky for her, I see the big picture. She's a little girl, who is really, really mad at me for telling her no. And the first way her little brain can think to convey this anger is to spit. She doesn't sit around thinking up all the ways she can disrespect me. She doesn't plot a plan of action to send me crazy. But let me tell you, incase you've never experienced it first hand, the knowledge of why doesn't make it any easier to endure.

She's a spitter. What next? That's where we're at. 

I've googled. Babycenter says its a normal phase, one of those "this too shall pass" ones. Once she perfects her language skills, it should fade away on it own. Countless yahoo members offer little to no help, but they sure can share their own "been there, done that" stories. K's pediatrician offers his advice, when she spits give her as little attention as possible, theorizing that she's doing it for attention. We've taken away privileges. Removed toys. I've been putting into practice techniques I learned in my Elementary Education classes from years past. 

I've had countless conversations like...

"I understand you're angry cause Mama said its bedtime. Instead of spitting is there anything else you could do to let Mama know you're mad? Could you stomp your foot and say argh? Take 5 deep breaths? Could you use your words and tell me that you're mad?"

Nothing is working. She's still spitting. 

A recent conversation with a friend inspired our most current effort to curb the spitting. It's a marble in the jar plan. Anytime K is caught handling her anger the proper way, she gets a marble in the jar. Anytime she spits instead, she loses a marble. Five marbles earns a prize. This plan has been in affect since February 1. She hasn't earned a prize yet. At the present moment, there are 3 marbles in the jar. Not writing it off yet, but the plan doesn't seem to be helping. 

I'm considering alternative solutions. My husband wants to run away to Jamaica when K hits puberty. I say I present a nice, effective trade. I go first and leave him with the spitter. I promise I'll come back...probably. Eventually.

Lights Out

"And the hits just keep on coming." 

 Tom Cruise -- A Few Good Men 

I'm not heartless. I get it. The dark can be a scary thing to kids. Hell, even as a teenager, when I got home from work late at night, I would run from my car to the front door. In my defense, I lived on a farm in East Jabip and it was extremely dark in the evening.

But I swear, K has taken it to a whole new level this time.

She has successfully suckered me into giving her not one, not two, but four light sources in her room at bedtime. For her first birthday, she received a ladybug that shines constellations on the ceiling. Then, when she started potty training and needed to go to the potty after bedtime, she picked out an angel that lights up and she can hold it and carry it around. She named it La La. Really, I think it's just another doll to her, but nonetheless, it glows. After that scam, she demanded that we leave the hall light outside her room on at night. And finally, after Christmas was over, she had grown so accustomed to the lights on the little tree in her room, I removed the lights from the tree and wrapped them around a feature on her dresser.

For sure, this is enough light for one little 3 year old and her fears. With all of the light in her room, she could read books, play dolls, build a rocket. But, no...my lovely Veruca Salt insists her bedroom light be left on. And if I'm not going to leave the light on for her, she will take matters into her own hands. See, she can't reach the light switch yet, not quite tall enough. But if she climbs into her stuffed animal basket...bingo. Once that was discovered, of course I removed the basket from her room. K was not discouraged. She tried to build a tower of books to stand on. I don't think she was ever successful with that plan, but occasionally I still see a stack of books under the light switch. So clearly, she's still trying to work out the kinks in that method. Then came her sneak outs to the bathroom to get the stool. Usually she would be discovered. But I'm sure in her mind it was still a success. 

And then...sigh...and then, she got really smart. She almost outwitted me. Actually, she had outwitted me. 

 About a week ago was the first time we noticed her dresser was broken. 

 

We blamed it on cheap craftsmanship. My husband fixed it and we went about our day. The top drawer broke again yesterday. Once more, I blamed it on a faulty product. But, still I knew K had a hand in it. I had no idea the extent until tonight. 

She let it slip. 

 Her: If you don't put the stool in here, I'll just climb over the drawer.

Me: Wait. What? What do you mean, you'll climb over the drawer?

Her: I'll climb over it and reach.

Aha! (lightbulb moment) Is she freakin climbing her dresser to turn the light on? She broke her dresser drawer climbing to the top? No way! She's too cautious to do that. No freakin way!!

Me:  Show me. Show me how you turn the light on.

And damned if she didn't. She started to put one foot on the pull to the bottom drawer. One hand on the top of the dresser. Second foot on the other bottom drawer pull. I saw it happening...with my own two eyes. My daughter had been climbing her dresser like a mountain to reach her light switch.

She had me. I had two choices. Remove her dresser from her room or give her a stool. 

It's 10pm, 3 hours past bedtime, and here we sit, in a stand off. Me blogging my frustrations away. Her still awake, doing God only knows what, in her room...with the light on.  

It's a Good Day

If my calculations are correct, I have exactly 224 days, 11 hours, and 30 minutes until I can drop K off at preschool.

That's a very significant amount of time left, and I'm starting to become a little concerned. Scratch that, a lot concerned. For my house. And my sanity.

When K was a baby, some aspects of parenthood were easy. I could put her on a blanket, go run a marathon (I, too, am laughing at that. Me run a marathon, ha!) come back and be certain she was still laying on the blanket, mesmerized by the ceiling fan.

When she was a toddler, I knew what I was in for. We childproofed the cabinets, gated the steps, and put breakables out of reach. The worse that would happen was she would knock over stacks of magazines or chew on her books. Again, easy.

But this stage we're in now, anything but easy. Bathing both of my cats every day for a month would be easy compared to this. I think I've pinpointed the reason the vandalism has reached an all time high in my house, K is not on lock down in solitary confinement similar to the programs in place at San Quentin or Pelican Bay. Unfortunately for me, she's free to roam around the house like a normal preschooler. Another problem, she's growing. She can now climb furniture and reach my hiding spots. I'm being forced to scale counters and furniture myself, just to place things out of her reach.

And after her most recent stunt...

That's chalk. On the walls in my guest room. I needed clarification as to what exactly I was looking at. I'm not sure what you see, but my husband and I had an identical initial reaction. She said the drawing on the right is Rapunzel, apparently you can see her crown. Below Rapunzel is her dress. And, of course, spanning the length of two walls, is Rapunzel's hair. The figure on the left wall is the beloved Flynn Rider. Yeah, that's not what I saw.

Anyway.  In an effort to preserve my sanity, I've decided I need to think outside of the box on this one. Maybe K isn't being a naughty 3 year old.  Maybe, just maybe, my artsy daughter is trying to tell me something. This room needs art. And if I'm not going to take care of the matter, she will take care of it for me.

I'm not sure, but I know that every day her and I don't hurt each other is a good day.