The art of being a child

11.30.06

I think there must be an art to being a “difficult” child.  It can’t be easy to always be contrary, stubborn, and at odds with the whole world order.  There are time tables, expectations of behavior, and rules no matter where you end up.  It’s got to  take an awful lot of energy to constantly buck the system.  But my kid can handle it.  Nothing tires her out.

 

I just want to know where this “opposite of everything” child came from.  I was a sweet child, a people pleaser –  the teacher’s pet.  A little on the dramatic side, perhaps, but rarely contrary.  I agonized about getting in trouble and laid awake at night if I didn’t get my homework done. 

 

I wonder if I can toss her naughtiness into a basket labeled, “3 year old” and leave it there?  I read some research on the internet that claims 30 – 40 % of 3 year olds fight going to sleep and drive their parents to drink.  Yeah, yeah, ok, I’m paraphrasing, but you get the idea.  I’m not suffering alone, it just feels like I am.

 

What really blows my smokestack is my daughter’s uncanny ability to re-frame any consequence to her advantage.  What this means is even if I’m consistent, have follow-through, and never ever crumble, she still doesn’t learn anything MY way.

 

I say, “If I don’t finish this column we won’t be able to go to the library.”  She answers, “That’s okay, I don’t want to go to the library today.”

 

“If you turn on your light again after bedtime, I’m taking all your light bulbs.”  First she says, “Oh, Mom, you’re funny – you can’t reach the light bulbs.”  And when I prove that I can find a way to reach them, she tells me, “That’s okay, Mom, I like playing in the dark!”

 

“Get off the dog!  If that dog bites you she can’t live here anymore.”  Big smile.  “Give her away now, Mommy, because I want a cat.”  This conversation can continue all day.  Me:  I’m allergic to cats, they make me itch.  Her:  But I’m not.  Me: I can’t live with a cat.  Her:  Go live somewhere else.  Me: Daddy doesn’t like cats.  Her:  He’d like my cat.

 

The funny thing is even when she tries not to be contrary she has trouble.  Yesterday she was having a tea-party with her invisible friend, Maisey, who has recently moved into our house, and the dog was standing at attention and observing the proceedings with great interest.  I suggested to Little Miss that she set a place for the dog and get some doggy biscuits.  She loved the idea.  “Jazz,” she said, “please come and have some tea with Maisey and me.”  When the dog biscuits were all gone, my girl surveyed her table and said, “I am angry and I can’t have no more tea.”  She planted her hands on her hips and glared at the dog, “Somebody left spit all over my table. You can’t come to my tea party anymore, you have too much spit.”  I could see the meltdown coming in her tight little face and her rigid little body.  Mom-must-intercept instincts kicked into overdrive.  Washcloth time.  It’s all good.

 

For the time being I can’t get a moments peace even to write this column today, so I guess I’ll leave it short and sweet. Maybe she’ll grow out of this contrariness.  But even if she doesn’t she’ll eventually go to school five days a week, so there’s hope for my sanity yet.