Martha and the Sneaky Weasel

Princess hit the ground kicking this morning.
But so did I.
(Mwa ha ha ha haaaaa.)

We had play therapy right away in the morning. In light of this new Not Getting Enough Attention revelation, I chose some books, excellent books, thought-provoking books, erm, appropriate books to read to Princess while Peanut had her session.






















and















And read them, we did. I alternated stoking her hair, cuddling her like a baby, and rubbing her arms and fingers with reading. I read each book three times. Here are some of my favorite lines:

From Sneaky Weasel
"Nobody came to your party because you're mean and nasty and a bad friend. And you never ever say sorry!" (Princess said, "that sounds like me!" in a disturbingly chipper voice.)

"'I must find a way to be a good friend,' he thought desperately, 'but how?'"

I liked that Ms. Shew did not tiptoe around the concept that no one will play with you if you are mean. And bonus, she pointed out that it is hard work to be friendly, that you may not actually "want" to, but despite those two things, you can push ahead and acheive the results you want, namely, having people at your party. Because these are things I harp on constantly. In a pleasant voice, of course.

From Martha:
"There are many things Martha does, but apologizing isn't one of them."

"Martha doesn't say sorry. Martha does, however, want a cookie! But Martha's mother doesn't give cookies to people who don't say sorry."

I loved that Martha does all the same good and not-so-good things that Princess does. I loved that she tried saying sorry by mumbling unintelligibly, and her family pretended they could not understand her until she said it appropriately. I loved that Ms. Berger pointed out that Martha wanted in her heart to make things right.

Good stuff.

We went to the beach after therapy, and all was well until Princess thought she couldn't touch (she could), got scared, and attempted to drown Peanut in her floatie fish to save herself. She wouldn't let go, or come out, so I went in to get her. She was mad that I made her get out of the water. But worse, she was embarrassed because as soon as I grabbed her, she realized if she put her feet down the water only went up to her stomach.

There is nothing worse than an embarrassed RADling.

The good news is that, if you keep a pleasant look on your face, it is possible to restrain a RADlet in a way that looks like you're having a nice snuggle with your daughter who is inexplicably trying to kick sand in your face from an impossible position. I know because someone smiled at us while walking past.

On the way home, the other three started to play a guessing game, and formed a "team" of them and a "team" of Princess. Princess was ticked. I wondered out loud why siblings might not want to be on Princess's team, and mused about how it reminded me of Sneaky Weasel. What did Sneaky Weasel do? Hmmmm. I could not remember for the life of me.

Fortunately, Buddy, Peanut, and the Cuddle Bear did, and they were happy to fill me in. He made things right by helping the people he hurt? Hmmmmm... He apologized? Hmmmmmm.... How interesting.

We got home and changed, with Princess stomping around a grousing a bit, but nothing that called for intervention. Then, suddenly she stopped what she was doing and went to the table. Fifteen minutes later, with a gigantic smile, she gave me (and Peanut) this:

("I'm sorry for being mean to you guys. What do you need? Can I do something for you?")


I'm still in a bit of shock.
The shock wore off a little when she asked for the dessert she knew she couldn't have. But it's still mostly there.

Attention Mongering

After Princess finished breakfast I (subtly) cornered her and said, "so last night you were so mad that Miss K wouldn't let you have a hard time swimming with no bubble that you ruined your whole evening and went to bed early. Tell me about that decision. What were you thinking?"

False Start #1
False Start #2
False Start #3
False Start #4

On the fifth try, she came out with that the thing she got that she wanted was attention. "So, you don't think I give you enough attention (!), and you would rather have no fun attention than no attention at all."

"Yes."

"Ok then. What can we do together so you get enough attention?"
"I want you to draw with me."
"Not a problem. We'll draw together at 10:00. Will that be enough?"
"No. I want you to read with me, where you read a page and then I read it."
"Ok. Is that enough? Or do you need more?"
"No. That's enough."

Ummmm. Hmm.

You want to know how it worked out, don't you. Ok. I gave her the attention she told me she needed, and the day was glorious. We romped hand-in-hand through a field of daisies, and after we fell from joyous exhaustion we made each other crowns and stared at the wispy clouds while Princess told me of her hopes and dreams for the future.

Ok. You can stop laughing now.

Princess wanted us to draw pictures of us eating Skittles. She had gotten as far as her head and hair when she told me she couldn't find a cap to one of Peanut's Special Birthday Markers. "Well, go tell her then," I said. She left, and I heard her say, "Peanut! Did you have a cap for your marker?"

"Princess! Come here please!"
"What?"
"You told me you took the cap off the marker (she had, by the way). So you already knew she had a cap. Your job is to tell her you lost it."

Princess left. Cue Princess yelling, "Peanut! I lost your cap!" repeatedly. "Mom! She's not listening!"

"Well, what was your job?"
"But she's not listening!"
"What was you job?"
"SHE'S NOT LISTENING!"
"So. What. Was. Your. Job?"
"I don't know. Will you tell me again?"

For anyone who may not recognize it: that last line there? Pure RAD. Not only that, pure I'm About to Start a Rage RAD.

I had her get the regulation piece of paper so that she could write her directions out in order to be able to "remember" them the "next time (she) forgets." This involved waaaay more crumpled sheets of paper than one would have thought possible. Then she told Peanut she lost the cap.

And maybe you though it ended there.
But you'd be wrong.

Peanut walked in and complemented me on my picture, and Princess felt offended that the two marker strokes she had added did not gain the same admiration. She asked that I stop coloring so that she could "catch up" because apparently I was going to "finish first." I reminder her that drawing was not a race, so there was no "catching up" to be done.

Enter the RADy Eye Color Discussion.

"Wmmimble ungumble shmumble grumble."
"Hmmm?"
"Wmmimble ungumble shmumble grumble."
"You know, I bet our little talks would be so interesting if you would move your lips."
"Do you KNOW what color my EYES are!"
"Why yes, honey. Of course I do."
"NO! Can you see my EYES!"
"Absolutely."
"NO! Can you see them NOW! Show me!"
(Mom looks at Princess's eyes)
(Repeat conversation with increasing amounts of angst)
"WHAT! COLOR! ARE! MY! EYYYYYYYYYYES!!!!"
"They're orange."



"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Things did not get better from there.

Later, I asked her what she was thinking when she wrecked her Mom time. She said, "I wanted to finish first."

Or, possibly, it might have been that Buddy was invited to ride Neighbor's tandem bike with Neighbor, and no one else's legs were long enough. Just a thought.

Emotionally Crushed by Bubbles

It's not fair. It is totally not fair. Because it is not me who has a problem with the speed at which Princess learns to swim. It is not me at all. But it is me who has to sit holding her in restraint for 40 minutes, with sweat so slick I can barely keep the fingers from pinching me, the hand from slipping out and hitting my face, the head from rearing back and knocking me out by my temples. So, really. If "things being fair" ever actually entered into consideration in real life, I would be on the list.

I've got three children for which everything comes easily, and I oh so desperately wish Princess were the youngest. I can already see that Peanut is academically slightly ahead of where Buddy was at her age, which means that with Princess going into second grade and Peanut going into first, they now read at the same level. And Princess knows. Oh, she knows. Not that she's ever said anything about it, or about (heaven forbid!) how it makes her feel, but I can tell because every time Peanut picks up a book, Princess loudly and not-very-nicely proclaims that Peanut can't read that. And, while the Cuddle Bear is comfortably enough behind Princess, it's not so much behind (she can already spell some words correctly) that Princess doesn't copy what the Cuddle Bear gets praised for.

But academics is still not as obvious as swim. I ran into the swim teacher at the grocery store, and we strategised together for this session. I told her that Peanut had swum the length of a hotel pools with no floaty things; she said she had been waiting for Peanut to want to not use a "bubble" (the handy device that keeps the learning children from actual drowning). We decided to move the Cuddle Bear from four to two bubbles, mostly because she's so tiny that four bubble actually keeps her from moving. Buddy was to be allowed to try out the next class up. And then there's Princess. Who still looks like she might manage to drown, even while wearing the four bubble. We decided two, for now. Because either she'll be able to do it, or she won't and won't feel secure, and might come to the conclusion of what she needs on her own. Maybe. Or not.

So I tell Buddy the new plan privately. And I tell Peanut the new plan privately. But when I tell Peanut, I can see from 50 feet away that Princess's ears have changed their shape. They are now large and pointy and hairy, remarkably like those of a bat. When I near Princess, she jumps up and says,

"Can I have no bubble too?"

Crap.

"Um, well, Princess, you'll have to talk to Miss K about it (like the deflection there? Nice!). But I'm not sure you'd feel safe that way. I notice that when we're swimming in other pools, you hold on to the wall."

She wore the two bubble. And she tried to get the (very young) lifeguards to take it off her. Twice. Until Miss K told her she was absolutely not to do that again. At dinner the kids told Josh their swim lesson news. Except Princess, who said nothing. Until Peanut asked for seconds. Seconds are rare at our table, but Peanut is about to hit a growth spurt and had shoveled in her dinner entirely in about 90 seconds. I told her to wait awhile to see if she was still hungry after the food actually made it to her stomach, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Princess's ears go pointy again right before she fit the rest of her dinner into her mouth all at once.

"Can I have more?"

Crap.

"Well, yes, but just you'll need to wait like Peanut so you can listen to your stomach."

And really, what followed could have been about the food, on another day, because that is a typical "thing." But it wasn't. Because after she decided on green mouldy teeth and no pajamas and her shirt not all the way off her head and we were on her bed I said in her ear, "I love you Princess. I think you're great. I thought you were great when you used the four bubble. I think you're great now that you're using the two bubble. And I'll think you're great when you're using no bubble. I just think you're great."

I know, because then she howled, "NO I'M NOT!!!!!!" and renewed the pinching scratching hitting kicking biting head-butting unetheral-screaming.

Until Josh came in and turned a fan on me and I said loudly and theatrically, "thank you for showing my your love that way, honey."

We are not an aceivement-oriented family. Princess is a very, very hard worker, and we feel good about the work she does.

I just wish she could feel good, too.

Chlorine-Induced Apologies

I wanted one of these soooooo badly last year, but times were lean so I made do with two wading pools and four sprinklers and waited until the end-of-season clearance to snag one for $30. The children have been riding my rear asking politely in their sweet, musical voices when it would be ready since the first crocus appeared in February. Finally, this weekend our Neighbor took a Kubota ride down and leveled the designated Pool Spot. Which turned out to be a much bigger deal than I had envisioned. Specifically, my mind had blocked out the small detail of Where Would the Dirt Go? So, instead of cleaning the rental, I helped with the leveling. Then, instead of cleaning the rental, I spent the ENTIRE afternoon in the blazing sun trying to understand Filter Assembly Directions.

The children have a lot of experience by now with Mom and Dad working on Projects, and the know to leave a wide amount of space between them and us, and they know it's a bad time to ask for snacks. But they were so excited, and three of them kept hugging me and telling me thank-you for putting the pool up and it was so darling and sweet and every. single. time I'd forget completely what I was thinking and had to stare at the directions for another five minutes to remember.

And you'll notice I said three of the children. Somewhere in there Princess hit a snag. She was trying to ride her (large) bike on our (small and crowded with stuff) patio, and snarling at anybody or anything that happened to be in her way. She had already been warned, so I directed her to ride her bike not on the patio. On any of the other three acres. As this was obviously unacceptable, she threw down her bike and stomped around, nearby enough to be sure she was irritating someone, anyone. I asked her what her plan was, and she growled, "nothing!" so I told her to go get a card. She stomped inside, stomped back out, stomped up to the swing set, and stood in front of a swing. Which quickly filled with another child's body. Ok, ok, the Cuddle Bear definitely did it on purpose. For the reaction. I never said she was pure of heart.

Things started to get ugly. I didn't overreact, but I was not feeling filled with patience, and Princess escalated. She got stuck on "swings," couldn't flex, and began yelling at me. I'm mean, apparently, and also only try to make things hard for her. Plus I'm ugly.

The pool got done (mostly. In the interest of your precious time, I will leave out the Chemical Saga, only to mention: WHAT is a skimmer, WHERE the heck is it on this thing, and EXACTLY where do you put the stinkin' balance granules if one does not exist on the blue form of hideousness one purchased???), and the sucking up began. I finally, with no reserves of good feeling left, leaned into her and said in a low, low voice:

"You said mean and hurtful things to me while I was trying to do something nice for you and your brother and sisters. I strongly suggest not asking me for stuff until you fix my hurt feelings." And walked away. I did actually see her reel back, out of the corner of my eye.

Not long after, she came up to me and said, looking in my eyes, "Mom? I'm really sorry I said that stuff. I'm sorry I made you feel bad."


!!!!

!!!!


I guess the heatstroke payed off.

Idea Box Ideas

Here is a semi-condensed list of the Ideas in Princess's Idea Box. Keep in mind she is seven chronologicaly and about four emotionally. I generated the card by thinking of things she likes to do and things I would like to be easier for her. Guess which ones she picks more often. Yep! So here they are:

Story Starters

*Write a story about...
   Jorge
   something that happened in first grade
   Buddy/Peanut/the Cuddle Bear/Mom/Dad
   your birthday party
   a time you felt mad/happy/worried/excited/sad
   something you did in Daisy Girl Scouts
   something you did with K
   Read your Journey Book (Girl Scouts) and answer some questions

Arts and Crafts

*Draw a picture of...
   swimming in a pool
   a day at the beach
   your favorite thing to do with Mom/Dad
   playing in the sprinkler
   going shopping
   a camping trip
   going fishing
*Work on your weaving loom
*Use your Aqua Dots



















*Make a meal/cookies/ocean of sea creatures with playdough
*Use foam stickers to make a critter
*Ask Mom to do your I Am Special card
(this was the brain child of Dr. S. The card has four statements: "I am smart! I am special! I am successful! I am somebody!" I put a Skittle on each sentence for the child to eat after they've said it. This becomes really fun after your children have done it for a while, because they will chant it in the ophthalmologist's office while one child is having her eye tests done, causing the staff to wonder if you run a small cult)

Pretend Play/Toys

*Put on "make up" and change your hair
*Build a house with Legos
*Pretend a baby doll needs to go to the doctor
*Play:
   "going out for ice cream" with Playmobils
   "haircuts" with Ponies
   "pizza party" with Ponies
   "wedding" with Playmobils
*Dress your dolls and give one a birthday party
*Make a puppet show

Outdoor

*Swing
*See how many times you can jump rope/skip ball without missing. Tell Mom your best one
*Ride your bike
*Fill the wagon with bark. Dump it in the garden
*Run three laps around the garden
*Spread Hyperdash out far. See what your best time is














*Jump 50 times on the trampoline. See how high you can go
*Dig a deep hole in the sandbox
*Draw hopscotch. Play it.


So, with any luck, it'll keep her busy for the summer

Good-by, Storage Box in the Shower

Ok. I'm going to have to type this very, very quietly. Hopefully it's not too soon.


I think we may have kicked the pe(e) thing.


I know, I know. Shhh.


This has been going down since April. Since school has been out, I've been sending Princess on a timed toilet sit if she's gone without for two or three hours, but, believe it or not, I rarely have to do it. Buddy has been urging me to reinstate her long-lost Webshmuz privileges. That step is still giving me chills, but I took a step toward it this week:


I put away the storage box.


Princess's laundry is now officially mixed back in with the rest of the family females. I am now officially doing her laundry again. I've been observing on pins and needles for the past few days, and it does not seemed to have rocked her world. She has been heard to say, bouncing up and down, "hurry up Peanut! I have to go! Bad!"


Am I really going to have to give back the Webshmuz?
Do I really have room for more of this in my ears?

And, on top of that, there's been three tantrum-free days. In a row. Since Tuesday, any time Princess so much as thinks about fussing, there I am. "Getting along with your sister is hard. I'm right here. Take as much of my time as you want. And don't worry! I'll let you pay it back." She only escalated to throwing something once, but I was right there. She calmed almost immediately (!) and then sat quietly for the prescribed five minutes. Then she changed her sheets to "pay back" my time. Seriously. That was it. For three days. This whole I-don't-follow-through-as-well-as-I-think-I-do revelation has been astounding. Dare I hope we've turned a corner? Dare I?

Dare I compose a Webshmuz song about it?

Mom=Genius

I am a super-genius, and here is why:

When we transitioned into school the past fall, Princess completely came unraveled after school. She'd pace around the kitchen driving me nutso for a half-hour, and follow it up by picking fights for the rest of the evening. I guessed it was too much unstructured time, so I bought some table activities (playdoh, lite brite, barrel of monkeys, etc.) that were only for me to give. After the half-hour pacing session, I sat her at the table (because I was nearby) and switched out activities every fifteen minutes. We worked up to choices, then finally to (relatively) free choice by the end of October.

It was with this in mind that I approached the first week of summer. I bought a small file box and spent an unspeakable amount of time writing ideas on color-coded cards (outside, writing, art, imaginative -oh! the horror!). I set the box on the counter and told Princess, "you can use one whenever you want," which is true, but I also send her to it when I see her pacing, when her voice gets loud and brassy, or when her personality changes after not getting something she wants (like one gumdrop. For an example that may or may not have occurred five minutes ago).

This was such a brilliant idea. And, like most of my brilliant ideas, I had no idea whatsoever how fabulous it was going to be.

See, that's the problem. Well, maybe not THE problem. Anyway. I never, ever, never can even take a stab at how well something will work until I try it. I have had the most dismal failures you can possibly imagine from the most intricate planning you can imagine. And wild successes that left me shaking my head saying, "was that all? Why didn't I do that before? What the heck took me so long to come up with that?

I'm haunted at night by a horrible fear that complete healing will be a result of something like breathing out of one nostril at a time instead of two. All this work? For all these years? And it was just a nostril?

But then, I guess I can be thankful for nostril-induced progress, too.