It's official and, as Pumpkin's teacher warned me, "it's real." The terrible (almost) twos are upon us.
This morning was the worst daycare drop off in history. Go ahead, look back at the blogs of yore where I lament leaving my sick, sad, pitiful, crying, screaming, hysterical, little Pumpkin at daycare. Today topped them all. The only difference was this time I was GLAD to leave her.
I will preface this story with the fact that we had a bad night. I think the weather mess is making Pumpkin sick again. She doesn’t feel good. However, that is no excuse.
This morning Pumpkin wore her favorite shirt and jacket combo to school. This is one she picked out herself at the store and is always thrilled to wear. It’s red and has Elmo and the rest of the Seasame Street crew under the heading "Best Friends." The first time she wore it to school she strutted around the room letting all her little friends admire it (which they obligingly did).
You can see why I thought the shirt would be a hit on a rainy Friday when Pumpkin wasn’t feeling her best. Every girl knows the right outfit can change your whole attitude.
Well, this time when we walk in the door, as if on cue, one of Pumpkin’s best school friends (who runs up to her EVERY morning and gives her a hug) runs up and says “I yike your Elmo Ay-yee.” Without missing a beat, Pumpkin smacks the little friend right in the kisser.
My eyes dart to the teacher and other mother standing in the room, and as I feared, all eyes were on me. How was Pumpkin’s mom going to handle this little discipline pickle?
Channeling every parenting skill I had or had ever read about, I kneel down on the girls’ level and instruct Pumpkin that hitting is wrong and that she should apologize. Feeling proud of my handling of this little situation, I rock back on my heels and await full compliance. Instead, Pumpkin juts out her bottom lip and sets her jaw in an act of utter defiance. I repeat my instruction. Pumpkin just glares. I feel the teacher and mother’s eyes boring into the back of my head and a small crowd of toddlers is gathering around me.
I repeat my instruction and add a threat of time-out. Pumpkin digs in. Ms. Lana gently informs me that time out is referred to as the thinking chair. I threaten the thinking chair. Pumpkin’s eyes don’t even blink. I have no choice. We go to the thinking chair where Pumpkin’s defiance only grows. I tell her she can get up when she apologizes.
The toddler mob shifts over to the thinking chair to watch the spectacle. The mom, who I am sure had finished checking her kid in by now and could have been well on her way, stayed for the show. At first, arms firmly crossed over her chest, Pumpkin sets her mind to outlast me. I hug the victim to show Pumpkin that she is a friend. Then, when one of the mob starts pointing at Pumpkin and softly chanting "Ay-yee, Ay-yee", something insider her clicks and she realizes she is in the thinking chair and all of her friends are free. I use the term friend loosely here, because with a friend like Pumpkin who needs enemies. This is when Ms. Lana says, “you know she is almost two…what they say is true; it’s real.” What air was left in my mommy spirit was quickly deflating.
About this time, Pumpkin starts bawling. Hysterical, sad bawling. I go to her and tell her again that she needs to apologize. The cries get louder. Finally I bring the victim over and ask Pumpkin if she is sorry and she nods. She gives the little victim a one-armed half hug. I cut her some slack and let that count as her apology. I scoop Pumpkin up, tell her I love her but that she cannot hit. Ms. Lana gives me a nod of approval. I throw her in Ms. Lana’s waiting arms and run out of the building as fast as I could without actually running.
I was already tired. Add to that a headache. This wasn’t how I wanted to start Friday. Couldn’t she have waited two minutes to start throwing fisticuffs until after I was gone so that someone else would have to deal with it? Is my little Aly really an Ali (as in Muhammad)? One thing is almost certain, right now, somewhere in this town, some other mom is typing a blog about what a bully that little Pumpkin Brown is.
This morning was the worst daycare drop off in history. Go ahead, look back at the blogs of yore where I lament leaving my sick, sad, pitiful, crying, screaming, hysterical, little Pumpkin at daycare. Today topped them all. The only difference was this time I was GLAD to leave her.
I will preface this story with the fact that we had a bad night. I think the weather mess is making Pumpkin sick again. She doesn’t feel good. However, that is no excuse.
This morning Pumpkin wore her favorite shirt and jacket combo to school. This is one she picked out herself at the store and is always thrilled to wear. It’s red and has Elmo and the rest of the Seasame Street crew under the heading "Best Friends." The first time she wore it to school she strutted around the room letting all her little friends admire it (which they obligingly did).
You can see why I thought the shirt would be a hit on a rainy Friday when Pumpkin wasn’t feeling her best. Every girl knows the right outfit can change your whole attitude.
Well, this time when we walk in the door, as if on cue, one of Pumpkin’s best school friends (who runs up to her EVERY morning and gives her a hug) runs up and says “I yike your Elmo Ay-yee.” Without missing a beat, Pumpkin smacks the little friend right in the kisser.
My eyes dart to the teacher and other mother standing in the room, and as I feared, all eyes were on me. How was Pumpkin’s mom going to handle this little discipline pickle?
Channeling every parenting skill I had or had ever read about, I kneel down on the girls’ level and instruct Pumpkin that hitting is wrong and that she should apologize. Feeling proud of my handling of this little situation, I rock back on my heels and await full compliance. Instead, Pumpkin juts out her bottom lip and sets her jaw in an act of utter defiance. I repeat my instruction. Pumpkin just glares. I feel the teacher and mother’s eyes boring into the back of my head and a small crowd of toddlers is gathering around me.
I repeat my instruction and add a threat of time-out. Pumpkin digs in. Ms. Lana gently informs me that time out is referred to as the thinking chair. I threaten the thinking chair. Pumpkin’s eyes don’t even blink. I have no choice. We go to the thinking chair where Pumpkin’s defiance only grows. I tell her she can get up when she apologizes.
The toddler mob shifts over to the thinking chair to watch the spectacle. The mom, who I am sure had finished checking her kid in by now and could have been well on her way, stayed for the show. At first, arms firmly crossed over her chest, Pumpkin sets her mind to outlast me. I hug the victim to show Pumpkin that she is a friend. Then, when one of the mob starts pointing at Pumpkin and softly chanting "Ay-yee, Ay-yee", something insider her clicks and she realizes she is in the thinking chair and all of her friends are free. I use the term friend loosely here, because with a friend like Pumpkin who needs enemies. This is when Ms. Lana says, “you know she is almost two…what they say is true; it’s real.” What air was left in my mommy spirit was quickly deflating.
About this time, Pumpkin starts bawling. Hysterical, sad bawling. I go to her and tell her again that she needs to apologize. The cries get louder. Finally I bring the victim over and ask Pumpkin if she is sorry and she nods. She gives the little victim a one-armed half hug. I cut her some slack and let that count as her apology. I scoop Pumpkin up, tell her I love her but that she cannot hit. Ms. Lana gives me a nod of approval. I throw her in Ms. Lana’s waiting arms and run out of the building as fast as I could without actually running.
I was already tired. Add to that a headache. This wasn’t how I wanted to start Friday. Couldn’t she have waited two minutes to start throwing fisticuffs until after I was gone so that someone else would have to deal with it? Is my little Aly really an Ali (as in Muhammad)? One thing is almost certain, right now, somewhere in this town, some other mom is typing a blog about what a bully that little Pumpkin Brown is.
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