Some days I really suck at being the Mom.
My youngest daughter, while usually happy and smiling, is lately displaying tendencies for foul moods and vengeful fantasies. No idea where she gets THOSE from, but that's beside the point.
So, the other evening, she stomps into the living room, and flops down on the couch, arms crossed, frowning so severely her normally separated eyebrows were touching. I knew what her malfunction was about, but I decided to try and help ease her out of her potential fit. (She was upset because her big sister has lately been opting to take baths and showers by herself, thereby alienating her little sister.) So, I questioned her about what was wrong (she has a very compelling need to be heard, in her
own words, lately) and decided that a little sympathy might go a long way in this situation.
Mom: I'm sorry, sweetheart! It's tough being the little sister sometimes, isn't it?
Roo: YES! (insert pouty lip)
Mom: I know. But your sister has a right to some privacy, don't you think?
Roo: No.
Mom: Come on. You like to take baths by yourself sometimes, right?
Roo: No.
I should have seen, right about here, that my plan was going to fail miserably. She is not often difficult to coax out of a bad mood, but it's getting more difficult all of a sudden. But I took another stab...
Mom: Ok. So.. what would you like me to do about it?
Roo: MAKE her!
Mom: What? Make her let you in the tub?
Roo: Yes!
Mom: Well... I'll go make the request on your behalf, but if she says no, that's it. I'm not going to force her. Ok?
Roo: ... (incoherent grumbling) ...
I went. I inquired. I was shot down. I tried to reason, but got reasoned back. No problem. I get it. It was just a token request anyways - I already knew the answer.
Mom: Sorry, babe. She wants to be alone. How about we do something else?
Roo: I HATE her!
Mom: What?
Roo: I HATE HER! She's mean to me!
Mom: Oh.. come on. She loves you, and you know it. Stop that. It's just a silly bath. Go in my bathroom if you're dying to get clean.
Roo: (with a great big huff) I don't want to.
Alright. If I had quit here, everything would have been fine. But no. I can't stand it when she says she hates things. It bothers me - especially when I know she's just doing it because she knows I can't stand it. I decided to see how she would react if I gave her a choice with a twist.
Mom: Wow. I didn't realize you were so unhappy. What should we do about it??
Roo: I don't know.
Mom: Well... we could always trade her in for a dog. How would that be?
* side note 1* - my children want a dog so badly that it's not even funny any more. (We've been debating the merits of pet ownership, and they're so into it that they've already taken to referring to "our dog", that we don't even own yet, by his formal name: Legolas.)
Ok, now. Given the fact that she's normally suceptible to my attempts at guilt-tripping her when she gets out of hand, I suspected things would make an abrupt U-turn at this point. So I've dangled the fondest wish of her grinchy little heart in front of her - don't know why I didn't expect the obvious. I have officially stepped into the minefield - way into it. Getting out is going to cost me a limb.
Roo: (more genuinely excited than I've ever seen her before. ever.) CAN WE ??!!??!!
(I think my mouth actually fell open at this point, and it was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud)
Mom: Um. Uh. (shit shit shit shit shit. what now, genius?) Well, sure we can. Let me just make a phone call.
I'll spare you further blow-by-blow, but here are the highlights:
- I called, and ordered a Miniature Dachsund, in exchange for one 8-year-old big sister.
- It was decided that everything belonging to the big sister would be packed up and shipped off with her. Whatever she didn't take should be thrown away, because, "it's all just crap anyways".
- When the arrangements were final, she asked, in excited tones, if she could tell her sister herself that she was being booted from the family. I was all too aware that I was in trouble, and I needed some five-star help, so I brought in the big guns, and we called Grandma "just to let her know what was up". That conversation consisted of notification, justification, and blatantly excited guessing as to the eventual fate of the big sister. When asked where the big sister would be going to, Roo ventured to guess, "I don't know - China maybe. Or Hawaii".
- In a vain attempt at retrieval, I drafted the offending big sister, who cried and moaned and was a generally brilliant actress.
Any and all attempts at making the rotten little monster feel even remotely guilty for gleefully planning the dismissal of her sister failed miserably. As a last ditch, I supposed to the big sister that it really wasn't fair, what was being planned, and wasn't she here first, and didn't she think that maybe it should be the other way around. At which point I got on the phone again and corrected my "order" to a 5-year-old girl instead of an 8-year-old girl, and she went all hysterical. I mean, really.
So, we had the conversation that
should have been had about 30 minutes prior, about family, and how we're stuck with each other whether we are always happy about it or not, and how there's noplace on the planet that would let me trade in one of my children for a dog (I'm aware that's probably not completely true, but she'll learn cynicism and all that later - this day panic and paranoia were on the menu). She calmed down eventually, and they played together very peacefully the rest of the evening.
So, I'm aware that my parental stylings are weak and sad. They make for mildly amusing stories after the fact. I also started saving long ago for the eventuality that is psychotherapy, which, given the fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants nature of my decision making skills, would otherwise bankrupt me for sure. And I have to go now... CPS is here.
