The girls’ school has been hosting a book fair. One of the book fair events was a pajama night story-time. It was aimed at the littler kids, but who doesn’t love to wear pajamas to school? I thought it sounded fun. Kallan was having none of it. NONE OF IT.
And then she changed her mind. Too late.
From Kallan, yesterday, as she tried to explain that I was not listening . . .
“You listen to everything I say, and I get in trouble all the time for things that I say. Things I don’t even mean! So how come the one time I actually mean something, you don’t listen? I want to go! I mean it! I want to go!”
Oh my god, how much do I love her?
“Kallan, I am not taking you to the story-time at school this evening. I asked you twenty times over the last week if you wanted to go, and you said NO. You said it was for babies. You rolled your eyes. You said it was stupid. I listened to you. And now I have made other plans for the evening that do not involve taking you to school for story-time.”
At the top of her lungs, two inches away from my face, “BUT I WANT TO GO! MY FRIENDS ARE ALL GOING!!! YOU NEVER LET ME DO ANYTHING I WANT TO DO! AAAAAEEEEEEIIIIIIEEEE!!!!!!!!!!”
Ugh.
“Kallan, do not scream in my face unless you plan to continue the rest of this discussion with yourself by yourself up in your room.”
And then she was on the floor, weeping inconsolably, not quite screaming, but not quite reasonable. “I want to go! I want to go! I want to go! I want to go!”
“Kallan, please get under control and move on with your evening. For an entire week, you didn’t want to go, and now, twenty minutes before the event starts, you do want to go. We’re not going. The answer is no.”
“You never listen to anything I say!”
“I am listening. You want to go to the story-time event. I hear that. I have taken in that request. And the answer is no.”
“AAAAAEEEEEEIIIIIEEEE!!!!!!! YOU’RE NOT LISTENING!!!!”
“Ok, well now I can’t listen, because you have damaged my eardrums. Go to your room until you calm down.”
“THIS . . . . . IS . . . . . AS . . . . . CALM . . . . . AS . . . . I . . . . AM . . . . EVER . . . GOING. . . .TO . . . BE.”
“Then I guess I will see you in the morning. Be sure to feed your turtle before you go to bed.”
“I’m not going to my room,” arms crossed, eyes flashing with defiance.
“Really?”
“Nope, I’m not going.”
“Huh. That is so weird.” I looked up at her from my book, “I guess you have totally won this battle.”
She stood there for a moment. And then another moment. And another.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Can I make cookies?”
“Did I miss the part where you went up to your room and then came back and apologized for screaming in my face?”
“No.”
“Then we are not talking about cookies.”
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“If I go up to my room and then come back and apologize, can we make cookies?”
“Not necessarily. But who knows what we might be able to discuss once you get past the part where you are not doing what I asked you to do.”
“So you are not promising cookies?”
“Nope.”
“And I still have to go to my room and then come down and apologize?”
“Yup.”
She leaned in close. An apology? Nope.
“AAAAAEEEEEEIIIEEEE!!!!!!!! I WANT TO GO TO STORY-TIME!!!! LISTEN TO ME!!!! MY FRIENDS ARE GOING!!!! I WANT TO GO TO THE BOOK FAIR!!!!!”
I said nothing, and just pointed up the stairs toward her room.
Glare of hatred, and then she stomped away and up to her room. Ten minutes later she reappeared, still angry, but with mumbled apologies.
“I’m sorry I screamed at you.”
“Thank you.”
“I really wanted to go to the story-time.”
“I’m sorry that didn’t work out.”
“I really still want to go. We’d only be a little bit late.”
“Ummmmm . . . we’re not going.”
“WHY NOT?????” She threw herself down on the floor again, rolling and writhing in crabbiness at my feet.
I looked over my book at her, “It just feels to me as though we have already had this conversation. How long do you think it will take for you to recover from this disappointment and move on?”
She kicked her feet in the air and considered, “Until you say yes and we go to the book fair.”
“That’s the only way you’re going to move on?”
“Yes.”
I flipped a page of my book, “That is just so sad.”
“So we’re not going to story-time?”
“Nope.”
I went back to my book and Kallan lay on the ground in front of me. Still angry. For a while.
And then she was next to me on the couch, her own book in hand, reading and snuggling. For a while. Then she put her arm around me. Smiled as she hugged me. Pushed her way onto my lap, thrust her head between my face and my book, and touched her nose to mine.
“Mom? You know what would be really cool? You know what would be perfect?”
I kissed the tip of her nose, “What?”
“Cookies.”
Oh my god, how much do I love her?
The cookies were delicious, by the way.
Chocolate chip.
I’ve said it before, but you are screwed.
Mmmmmm . . . cookies.
Ha ha. Your daughter reminds me of my son (9yr old). I almost wish the teachers would not send those events/reminders home with the kids, because then when we cannot go, or if we are talking my kids, they are grounded, then they freak out.
I agree! Although this particular event was one I wanted to attend . . . until Kallan informed me endlessly that she was not a baby and that she did not do babyish things. Throwing a big screaming tantrum of hatred is apparently big girl behavior in her book. Oh, the irony.
Kris you are my hero. You stood firm, remind me how to do that. And you stayed calm, I love that. And cookies.
I am not always calm and firm . . . a good book that you are determined not to abandon in favor of your daughter’s last minute change of plans helps. Plus, yelling at Kallan only escalates matters. She doesn’t need help from me; she is perfectly capable of escalating all on her own.
This is a post that confirms I may never be capable of having children AND being able to parent them in a healthy way. All the while you were asking Kallan how long it was going to take her to recover and move on from her disappointment, I was wondering how long it would take you to get over being yelled and whined at? The answer… 2.2 seconds. You’d recovered by the time you kissed the tip of Kallan’s nose. If I am having a bad day, it may take me the whole evening to recover from an episode like this one. Which wasn’t really an episode but rather regular child ‘I didn’t get my way behavior’. Perhaps I’m not equipped for a life with children?! Insert smiley/confused/embarrassed emoticon here.
April -
A secret? Before children, I was capable of holding a grudge against Mark for the smallest slight. I just would not let it go.
That worried me, as I did not want to spend my whole life angry and resentful of my children.
But being a mom has changed me . . . I am more patient and tolerant and giving than I ever would have expected that I could be.
A huge gift, not only to me, but to my family.
Children change you, I think. They make you a better version of yourself.
They ARE a better version of yourself.
It’s bizarre and wonderful . . . and you would be awesome as a mom.
Pretty all sure.
Kris
i want to have this resolve to make them deal with the consequences of their actions!! i am all weak, wanting to give into them for things like this!
and i love the snuggling and reading together. :) oh, and the cookies. i totally love cookies!
Sarah -
I try to follow through on consequences, because if my daughters smell weakness?
They move in quickly to exploit that weakness.
They so do.
Kids are like sharks. If they can smell a chink in your armor they attack!
7 y.o. Audriana does this tantrum over plans, which makes me smile. Because maybe its normal?
Also I really do believe that my love little 3 y.o. Emmalee may be a midget Kallan.
Yes, it’s normal.
Which is why it is so easy to keep my patience with her. To smile inside.
She is perfectly normal having a perfectly normal childhood.
I love that.