First Week

I never thought that parenthood would be easy.  I knew what I had put my mother through, I had heard stories of how naughty Andy could be.  I figured that he and I were going to have to buckle up and hang on tight, especially through the teen years. 
What I didn't know was that the teen years would start at the age of five.

To say the first week of Kindergarten was bumpy would be a massive understatement.  Addie lost privileges left and right - no screen time, no books before bed, no playdates.  It was as though someone had taken my sweet, occasionally mercurial, five year old and swapped her with a 16 year old in the throws of puberty.
All week long Andy and I were treated to eye rolling, foot stomping and huffing.  I would catch Addie muttering behind our backs or glaring at us for no particular reason.  She didn't want to do her chores;  She hated what was for dinner.  She didn't want to play with her sister; She lied about the littlest thing.  She was sassy and mouthy and mean.  For no reason she hit her sister's bottom as hard as she could, and then lied when she was caught.
Andy and I were at a loss.  Our spirited, independent, sweet five year old had morphed into a moody, opinionated, grouchy brat.  We talked and talked to her, we took away privileges, we punished her actions - we got nowhere.

If this was what Kindergarten looked like, then I wanted preschool back.  I was so disappointed - I thought school would make Addie blossom and bloom.  I thought she would come home full of stories and eager to show me what she had learned.  I had not bargained on the tired, aloof, mean-spiritedness that was I was getting.

And then on Friday morning she woke up with fever and cough.  She had to stay home with me where she she snuggled, and rested, and napped.  Half way through the day she curled up on my lap and whispered I really miss you and Brenna when I am at school, Mama. 
I know, I told her, we miss you too.  But when you're at school we don't do anything fun with out you.  B naps and I do laundry and wait for you to come home.
Oh, she murmured and snuggled a bit closer with a hint of a smile.

Friday night her fever broke.  We spent the long weekend with family and friends and back she went to school yesterday.  When she got home I was told about meeting Ronald McDonald and going to the gymnasium.  I heard all about what bullies are and was shown new work in the homework folder.  She chatted and she played with her sister - and finally I got a glimpse of Kindergartner I thought I would have.

Being Four

I know I complained about two.  I definitely griped about three.  But, hot damn, four has been a totally different adventure in itself.

Four is temperamental.  And by temperamental I mean down right schizophrenic.  Tears become laughter, laughter often devolves into tears.  There are sweet smiles, tender hugs and massive amounts of foot stomping and huffing.  With Four, you navigate a maze of pouts and demands, sometimes making a wrong turn and ending up in the corridor of insolence, on occasion the right path is chosen and you are rewarded with warms smiles and happiness.

Four is wildly independent, until she's not - then Four is ridiculously needy and unsure.  Sometimes Four can make her own bed, get dressed and put peanut butter on a bagel.  Other times, Four can't pick up her room, put on socks or peel a banana.  Four loves school and learning, and loves it even more if you are the parent helper.  Four can snuggle up in her bed and read stories to her baby dolls, but Four also says she's scared of the dark, that noise, and the possibility of a rat sneaking into her room.

Four is creative.  She is full of ideas and stories and make believe lands.  Four likes to glue and cut and color.  Four likes to do crafts, play dolls, make believe, have fashion shows and dance.  Four does not like it if you don't glue, cut, color, make believe, play exactly the way Four demands you to.

Four has opinions about everything.  Four will tell you what she thinks about the lunch you packed, the dinner you cooked, the music you're playing.  Four will compliment or criticize what you are wearing, your singing, your hair, your plans for the weekend.  Four likes ponytails better than pigtails, pink and purple more than any other color, skirts and dresses best of all.  Four will notice characteristics of strangers, in public, and comment loudly about them. 

Four is right.  You are wrong.  Period.

Four is defiant and difficult.  Four is loving and wonderful.  Four keeps you on your toes and has you exhausted by the end of the day.  Four is frustrating and rewarding and exhilarating and exhausting.

Four is a ballerina.  Four is a T-ball player.  Four is a big sister, a little girl, a best friend.  Four is a preschooler, a dictator, an observer.

Four can tie her own shoes.

And five?  Five is just around the corner.

Additude

Yesterday I didn't have it in me to be thankful. 
I had taken Addie and a friend to see Winnie the Pooh.  Before we got there I told the girls we weren't getting snacks since we'd be going out to lunch right afterward.  No sooner had we walked in the theater and I was asked for popcorn and a drink and candy.  I inhaled deepy and with little less patience I told the girls "No".  For heaven's sakes the movie, which was all of about an hour long, cost us over $21 to get into, I was not buying $9 popcorn.  During the movie Addie cried and stomped her feet because her friend "hit" her (translate, barely touched her arm).  Obviously money well spent.


At the beach showing Additude



At lunch the Additude continued.  There were tears because the waitress brought dreaded french fries in addition to her requested apple sauce.  There was pouting when she got the red crayon instead of the blue crayon and more tears because the air conditioning was too cold.  As we left to bring her friend home there was an argument in the car over what her Petshop animals' voices sounded like.  And more tears and whining because once her friend went home Addie "just wanted someone to play with her".  The pouting, sobbing and drama were epic -and annoying.

By the time we got home, at 1:30, she was passed out in the back seat.  I lugged her inside, plopped her into bed, swallowed a few Tylenol and curled up on the couch myself.  Laundry and floors could wait...I needed silence.

And silence was what I got, until almost four o'clock when little Miss Grouchy woke up.  Woke up in a much better mood - full of cuddles and hugs.  We played games and checked the mail.  We snacked on grapes and waited for Daddy to come home.  And then she got invited to her buddy's house to watch Toy Story and I got to go to a grown up dinner. 

So I went to bed feeling a bit more thankful.  Thankful that I survived a day a high Additude.  Thankful that my husband suggested a dinner out.  Thankful that my neighbor invited Addie down for a movie.  Thankful for icecream while watching Project Runway.  Thankful that friends are coming to visit.  And hopeful that today would lack Attitude.

So far there have been hugs and kisses and thank yous.  She has been coloring and painting and telling me stories.  Manners have been used.  As I sang along to "Don't Stop Believeing" while Journey performed on the Today show Addie asked me how I knew the song.  I told her I knew it because I was old - You're not old Mama she said.  You're beautiful.

Yes, I think today has the potential to be a better day.

I want

That attitude, er Additude, that I wrote about a while back, seems to have taken up permanent residence in my sweet baby. Only now it is coupled with the endless soundtrack of I want I want I want.

I want a treat.
I want that cool thing.
I want those princesses.
I want this.
I want that.
I want it because it's all so beautiful.
I want it and I'm gonna ask Santa for it.
I want those because they're sparkly.
I want these because they are my perfect size.
I want this and that and those and these and MORE.

At just over three years old, she has managed to submerge herself completely the consumerism of Christmas.
She seems to think that anything and everything she sees, she needs and wants, and must put on her Christmas list. And it's not like she lacks for anything.
The child has three sets of grandparents.
She is the only granddaughter.
She has aunts and uncles up the wazoo.
She is surrounded by adults who think she is precious and shower her in gifts and surprises just because.

I have tried to talk to her about what it means to be greedy. Or explain to her that there are little girls who do not have bins of toys, shelves of books and a closet full of dresses. We have discussed the difference between need and want. I know those are high brow concepts for a toddler, but I don't think I can stomach one more I want.

How are we going to combat her growing avarice for all things, particularly all things princess-y and sparkly?

We, in our infinite wisdom, are whisking her off to Disney World at the end of this week.

I have a feeling the I want I want I want phase is about to be totally redefined.

Ugh.

A thump in the night

I remember being slightly terrified when Addison figured out how to breach her crib. I had visions of her wandering at night, falling down the stairs and breaking something.

For the most part her wandering hasn't been a problem. Sure there have been plenty of post midnight visits to our room. There have been multitudes of times that we have had to walk her back down the hallway, blurry with our own sleep.
When we have company she occasionally comes downstairs for fear of missing out on some big event. And, in the last several weeks, almost every night there is something pressingly urgent she has to tell us.

Usually she'll call out to one of us and then say "Um. I gotta tell you a question".
We exchange a look, suppress our smiles and indulge her one question. Most likely it's a very important question like Why you eating a Popsicle? or Why Mrs. _________'s light on? or Why we didn't go to Meijer today?.
After a quick response we firmly tell her to go back to bed and remind her that she is big girl and big girls stay in bed.

Last night was one of those endless not-going-to-bed nights. She came down to tell me a question at least three times. On her last trip down both her father and I informed that it was time for bed and to not even think about coming down again. She huffed, stomped a foot and headed back up to bed.

About an hour later Andy heard a dull thump and Addie was standing in the kitchen crying for me and looking confused. Andy walked her back up to bed where she promptly started snoring.

She didn't exactly fall down the stairs, as I had been afraid of in the early days. Instead, it turns out she had fallen asleep on our bottom stair, quite obviously ignoring our firm request that she go to bed and be a big girl.
And then she must've rolled over - thus the dull thump.

Guess I was right to worry all along.

Mama said there'd be days like this

My mom used to say me "You just wait" or "One day you'll understand" and more than once she said to me "I'll always love you, but I don't always like you".

We are home at my Mom's house and, for the most part, it is wonderful. I have gotten to sleep in, spend quality time with my Kindle and drink a fair amount of wine. We've gone to a pumpkin patch, had a marshmallow roast, driven to the highest point in the state, taken a train ride, had Addie's teeth cleaned, carved a pumpkin and played, played, played. There have been tons of giggles and lots of fun - but there has also been a crapton of Additude.

Feet stomping, hands on hips, screeching. Pouting, hitting, grouchiness. She's been demanding and exhausting and snippy. She has been bossy and opinionated and short tempered. I have had a very small arsenal of patience - I have taken away treats and walked her out of restaurants and used multiple "thinking chairs".

And each time I am feeling like I am at the end of my rope, I look over at my mother, for her endless support, for reassurance, for her shoulder and all I see in her face is a satisfied, amused, totally tickled smirk.

And that smirk says "God I love this kid, I told you to just wait and that you'd understand." And then she looks me in the eye and with one look let's me know it's okay to "love my daughter, but not always like her".

It's only been a little over 72 hours, but I think that Mom's smirk and Addie's Additude have decided to be pretty good friends.

Whaddayou think?

Dancing Queen

Sometimes I wish I could just step into her shoes and twirl. I would pivot and pirouette and spin like a dervish.

I would wear tutus and hair bows and constantly say "I wanna dance wiff you". I would courtesy and bow several times a day. I would grab the closest person and make them have ants in their pants, we would boogie down and jump around. I would be Beauty and I'd find a Beast and we'd float across the dance floor.

And then I would laugh and endlessly giggle and feel graceful, even though not even a little bit of me is.

Daily Report

I have to remind myself, when she's whining or pouting or spitting, that I'd rather have her act this way with me than with other people.

Most adults that Addie comes in contact think that she is a perfect princess. I am always told, by whomever she has just been with, that she is so sweet or has such good manners or listens so well. More often than not I am told that she was no trouble at all.

I am always thankful to hear such kind things about my daughter. Who doesn't want to have a child that other people genuinely like? I would much prefer to hear such compliments over gosh, she was moody today or she could use a little work on her P's and Q's or I had to ask her 17 times to pick up her toys.

What bothers me, I guess, is that the last three statements are some variation of what Andy gets to hear each night when he gets home. He'll inevitably ask How was she today? and I'll, without hesitation, provide a list of the things that went bad during the day. Whether it be her screeching at the cat, throwing toys, blatantly not listening or sticking her tongue out at me. It is rare that Andy gets to hear all the good things about Addie, because after ten hours of she and I one-on-one all I seem to be able to remember is the bad stuff.

Somehow I block out the good. Like how she feeds the cat and reminds me to refill the water bowl. Or when she tells me the frozen waffle I toasted is yummy and that I am such a good cook. I forget that she tried to help clean the kitchen or that she drew a picture just for me.

By then time he gets home it slips my mind that she hugged me just because she felt like it and that she curled up on my lap to read princess stories and fell asleep. Instead of remembering the giggles during our tea parties all I can focus on is the tantrum that occurred when it was time to pick up her room.

I think that I need to tell Andy about our day - all of it. From the tears when I made her pigtails too tight to the smiles because I cut her peanut butter sandwich into a heart. He needs to know about her temper tantrums and her kindness.

I am sure that not everyday I can greet him when he comes home and say She is so sweet - she was no trouble at all, but I think it would be best if I could, more often than not, find the silver lining instead of just seeing the storm cloud.

Because it is true - she is so sweet.

And just a tad bit sassy...

This is the face I see most often these days. It is her response to:

Did you eat your breakfast?
Did you feed the cat?
Would you like bath?
Do you want to take a shower?
Please use your napkin.
Please use your fork.
Time to pick up.
Go use the potty, we've got to get going.
Did you wipe?
Did you flush?
Would you wash your hands, please!
Do you want to go outside?
Please stop yelling.
Please stop shrieking.
Time for bed.
Go up stairs, its quiet time.

It's also her response to:
Smile for the camera!

How Sweet It Was

Over the past year there were moments that I thought I experienced the so-called terrible twos. There were tantrums and testing. Tears and screaming.

Those were moments.

I have discovered that my version of the terrible twos was a cake walk. It was rainbows and daisies and fluffy bunnies. I didn't know it then, but the twos were a dream.

We are one solid day into the threes and I am getting a little worried.
She is sassy to say the least. She says things about my 'big old butt' and points out my moles, freckles, zits. She has some catch phrases, that are about to push me right off the reservation.

• One minute! (Huff)
• OKAY! I said ENOUGH! (Huff)
• Fine, I'll DO IT! Gimme a minute. (Huff)
• I don't want to! NO THANK YOU! (Huff)
• I told you I DID. I told you. (Huuuuuufffff)

Most of this is said with rolling eyes or hands on the hips or stomps. Occasionally, an index finger is wagged in my general direction.

I swear, you can see the attitude swirling above her head.

Bedtime is a nightmare - she has been getting up, several times a week, multiple times a night. For a run to the potty, for a tissue, to check on the cat. Twice in the past week or so we've found her sound asleep on the stairs and under a blanket in the middle of the kitchen floor.

We've taken away stuffed animals, privileges and so on - thus far the only thing that is effective in keeping her arse in bed is to take away her dresses. All of them. You know you are the mother of a princess when the only fate worse than death is having to wear shorts.

For the record, tomorrow she's wearing shorts.

One day in and it's all defiance and testing and sassiness and volume. Those 'terrible twos'? I miss them. I mourn them. And now I face what appears to be the terrifying threes.

Pass the wine please.

Out of the mouth of my Babe 2

This sickness, this hacking, snarfling, mucusy miserableness is finally leaving our lives. The pink eye is gone, as is having to put ointment in her eyes twice a day. The amoxicillin is still with us and the cough lingers a bit, but her energy is returning.

And trust me her Additude has stayed perfectly in tact over the past week. And with that attitude has been quite a few good snippets.

Like when I asked her to repeatedly not do something - jump in a puddle, grab peanuts out of the bowl, climb on the arm of couch, stomp her feet - and she did anyway triumphantly declaring I WIN!

Like when I asked her to get in bed for the umpteenth time and she slammed the door, yelling No THANKYOU I don't WANT TO. Followed soon after by a muttering of I win.

Like when when she told me she liked my beautiful blue dress and my big old butt all in the same breath.

Like when at breakfast with Grandma Patty they were discussing the color of the princesses' hair and Grandma said she had brown hair just like Belle and Addie retorted Your hair's not brown Grandma! It's gray. It's gray here and here and here...

Like when she continued to get out of bed last and her father finally threatened that all her pretty dresses were going to be Daddy and Mommy's if she got up again and she replied Boys don't wear dresses Daaaddeeee.

Or like this afternoon, when she climbed on my lap after her nap and said Gimme a hug, you're my best bud, Mama.

Hope For Tomorrow

It's true, tomorrow is always another day.
And in my case, it wasn't just another day - it was a better day. A wonderful day.

Today was not marked with threats or raised voices. I did not get hit, spit on or kicked. I got hugs, tons of kisses and multiple requests of "Mama, you hold me".
Uh, okay. I would love to hold you, you polar opposite child of yesterday, are you here to stay?

Today she peed on the potty and only had one accident, which she was sad about. Today she said excuse me, I love you, please, thank you and you're welcome. Today she listened and barely argued and demonstrated some patience.
Today she played with her friends, shared her cookies and didn't tattle. Most importantly, today she napped...

******************************************************************

She and I chatted in the car on the way to exercise class tonight and she was telling me that her friend Max is "a big, good boy", and her friend Maddie is "a good girl and nice". Then she told me that I was a "good lady. You a real good lady Mommy".
I replied with a thank you and then I asked if I was a good Mommy. I know, I know - dumb move.

She thought for a second and then said "No. No you no good Mommy. You good lady, mama. Not good Mommy".

Additude Again

A dear friend of mine, who is a mother of two with impeccable style, has the poster Keep Calm and Carry On hanging in her home.

I have always loved it. I find it hopeful, reassuring, and, well, calming. When we moved into our house I searched for a copy for my mudroom. A gentle reminder to keep my chin up, to trudge forward, to believe in the possibility that everything will be okay. At the time I couldn't find the darn poster. About two months ago I found my own gentle reminder, and these days I need it.
I need it because these days I get a lot of Additude. And when I say a lot, that is a colossal understatement.
I get Additude over potty training, over picking up toys, over getting dressed. It's delivered to me in the morning with a demand to watch cartoons. It's flaunted in front of me with a refusal to eat breakfast.

Additude abounds at exercise class, when she locks horns with another 2 1/2 year old. It shows up when Rylan comes over and glances at her toys. It is always present for nap time, usually rears it's ugly head in Target, and without fail it comes out in force when she is overtired.

The overtired Additude? That is a special treat. Overtired Additude is irrational. And loud. And inconsolable. Overtired Additude is characterized by the shrieking. And the spitting. And the hitting. And the foot stomping....and the DR.A.MA.

No one believes that the above Additude truly exists. Everyone looks at Andy and I as though we are the ones being overly dramatic. We must be exaggerating, their looks say, as this sweet cherub could never cause such a fuss.

Tonight, however, she defended our word with gusto. She looked at GG, Grandma Patty, her aunt, uncles and cousin and said "You doubt the accuracy of my parents. Take this, suckers."

She melted down. She sobbed. She screamed and kicked and slobbered. She slammed doors and babbled and got mean.
She was promptly stuffed into her car seat by my loving, wonderful husband. They went home, I stayed and played games. And worried, and felt guilty and maybe a little incompetent.

When I returned home an hour later, she was passed out. He was on the couch looking defeated. We talked and wondered what happened to our sweet, snugly little girl. What happened to our agreeable, loving babe? Where did she go? Will she ever return?

We couldn't get any answers, so we brewed a pot of Millionaire's Coffee and crossed our fingers, and quietly hoped for tomorrow.

***Update 1/25***

Between 10 p.m. and 10:30 p.m. she came into our room crying and wanting to be cuddled three times. She begged me to sleep on her floor and said "Lay down, MAMA".

At 11:45 p.m. she came back in our room sobbing and wanting mommy. When Andy brought her back to bed she cried like he was punching her.

At 2:00 a.m. I woke up to a tiny body curled up against mine, snoring. I carried her back to bed at 2:30 a.m. She slept until 7 a.m. And already is feeling a little bossy.

Oi. Vey.