At a Loss with My Abby

My lovelies are not perfect, and I'm confident I do a fairly good job of being honest about that. But in general I think most people find them pleasant to be around, and dare I say entertaining & enjoyable. Life with two preschoolers is never perfectly smooth, but for a very long time we've had calm waters. In fact, the last time I truly found myself in parental peril was during the month-long Rotavirus Epidemic of '08.

We have now taken a turn into rough, uncharted waters. It was bound to happen. After all, Abby is typically a gentle spirit, but in recent days that has changed and I am at a loss for words, in seek of expert wisdom.

She picks fights with her sister, uses nasty phrases to classmates, refuses to participate in gymnastics at the slightest of slights, plays with her spit, writes on the wall with her poop, stamps on the little table, cuts up the table runner, puts stickers on the floor, cries, yells, pinches, throws tantrums, and whines all in marathon feats.

So what to do? She lost privileges for the fecal art. I can't say she fully learned her lesson, though she has accepted the fact that the rest of us get dessert and she sits at the table and watches us eat it without complaint. What else can I do? I can't take away her birthday; January is too far away to wait that long.

I thought the problem might be jealousy over the amount of one-on-one time Lauren has been getting while Abby is at preschool. Geoff and I talked last night and decided Abby could benefit from some alone time with me this weekend. Abby was elated about the idea and has big plans of going to Speedway for Icees. Yet even with that on the horizon the behavior persists.

I know she is struggling with seasonal allergies right now, and after overcoming an untiring cough, she is back on her daily allergy medication treatments.

In recent weeks, she has been enjoying more and more time alone in her room. I respect that as part of her growing process and keep Lauren occupied with other activities elsewhere. Mrs. Hart has been telling her preschool class that they need to practice for kindergarten. Abby takes this seriously and talks about it often.

So I've been operating under the assumption that she is going through a phase of great change and expectation in her life. The truth is, her problem could be a combination of many of these conflicts.

But what to do about it?

Obviously Not Nora's Mom

Another day at gymnastics. Today it was Abby's class, so once again, there I sat perched on the top row of the bleachers with my book in my hands. And lucky us, it was another day with a new mom & new kid.

It didn't take Lauren long to leave my side and make her way to the corner kids' play area. She was perfectly content to play peacefully on her own, and for a while she did. And then he showed up. I have no idea what his name is, and that is likely because his mother never uttered it. Back and forth he went with two large plastic train tracks in his hands, hitting a plastic Little People Toy, clickity clank, annoying every parent but his own and setting a bad example for the other young eyes. I waited patiently for his mother, at the very least, to ask him to stop; she never did. The rest of the parents exchanged glances of annoyance and just when I couldn't take it any more, Lauren belted out plea for help. A fellow parent eagerly moved his legs as I swiftly moved in to ask the boy to play with the toys as they were intended. It was only then that his mother, just a couple of feet away, turned around and asked her son if there was a problem. He cowered slowly to her side, and for the remainder of the hour he was on guard. Maybe it is the teacher in me that has no problem stepping in where there is a problem. And while I handled it calmly and with authority, I find it a bit sad that he was more intimidated by a stranger in a t-shirt than his own mother in BDUs (The Air Force's Battle Dress Uniform).

The ironic part of it all.... the book I was reading is aptly titled, No, Why Kids--of All Ages--Need to Hear It and Why Parents Can Say It. I'm guessing this piece of literature is not on her reading list.

Potty Talk

The following is a typical conversation between Abby & Lauren. They are usually not captured with such detail, I just happened to be at the computer as I overheard their exchange.

Lauren, from the bathroom: "Abby, I need your help."

Abby enters the bathroom and Lauren states: "I need you to stay in here."

Abby: "You need help getting your poop out?"

Lauren: "Yes, I need you to stay in here and close the door."

Abby: "Well, I don't want to smell it."

Lauren: "It will be okay. You just stay in here and there will be the fan on."

Abby exclaims as she exits: "No."

Lauren: "Abby, I need you. I need you for one more minute."

Abby: "Nooooooo."

Lauren: "Aaaaaabbbbby!"

A few minutes later Lauren emerged, solo, and announced she had completed her job. She seemed relieved. The sisters are now on their way outside where they are set to compete in Dancing with the Stars, then head to Macy's.

You can't make this stuff up.

Lessons From Nora

As the evening grew later and later my stomach filled with knots thinking about our afternoon. I'm not exaggerating when I say it was a horrible day; one of those days no mom truly wants to do over, but rather wishes she could just erase. It was a beautiful afternoon, and with that, the girls and I spent it outside. I worked on the landscaping around the house, they played. And they fought. They cried. Then the dog got out, and if you know our dog the chase can mean hours of misery. With the help of a neighbor it wasn't, but nonetheless it sent my heart racing and my anxiety into overdrive. Then there was the double-knee digger Abby took that tenderized both of her bony little knees. I was hot, crabby & full of complaints. Before the day was done the writing was on the wall, and it was literally written in poop.

While most of the exchanges and reprimands were uncomfortably staged out in the yard, they spilled over into our house of open windows. I was sure each and every neighbor within earshot deemed me an unfit parent by night's end.

But today I met Nora. Sweet little Nora. We arrived at gymnastics with time to spare, so after I got Lauren ready I took my usual place at the top of the bleachers. I'm always annoyed by the children who use the bleachers as their playground, so at first I was happy to see Nora's mom attentive to her playing ways. Nora had no sooner gotten a foot on the first bench when her mother laid into her. Hard core, she was bawling out her child. The parents and children fell silent as she sunk her anger into the preschooler, then hauled her out of the building. By this time I was certain my own disciplinary shortcomings had nothing on this mom; my girls were frozen stiff in their seats, probably afraid for their lives.

I don't know what kind of mother Nora's mom really is, this is the first time I've seen her. She seemed to get along well with the other moms, and was certainly into keeping up her social calendar.

Thanks to Nora and her mom I indulged in deep self reflection. Maybe I don't do enough socializing or otherwise for myself. But at least, on most days, I am doing right by my kids. Although if you ask Abby, she may have a different opinion. Those poop smears earned her a week without dessert, movies, or her shows.

Tiny's Self Image

Lauren wanted her hair curled today. While patiently sitting on the counter as Mommy fixed her do she boasted, "I'm going to look in the mirror and see how tiny I am." She picked up the two-sided make-up mirror and flipped it to the magnified side and smiled, "Now I'm big." And with another quick flip she exuded, "I'm tiny again." With that, Tiny's hair was curled and she was happy to greet the world. She may be small, but she is not short on patience and imagination!

Cute Cargo

Knock, knock.

Who's there?

Cargo.

Cargo, who?

Cargo beep, beep.

Abby's first joke.

Harsh Words from Woody

From the family room I could hear whimpers. It was just Lauren, and with no Abigail in sight I knew it was either her thoughts or the movie that had put my Tiny in a somber mood.

I called in to my movie watcher, "Lauren, are you crying?"

"Yes," she replied burying her head into the floor. "Don't see me!"

Curious, I got down on the floor and asked, "Is the movie making you sad?"

"Yes. I don't like this part."

I could hear Woody's voice-over as Buzz was sadly climbing a rail, "Buzz, you can't fly."

Weeping, Lauren exclaimed, "This part makes me sad."

Who knew she was so emotionally connected to the cinema.