I guess you could say that amongst the three of us, I am probably the Alpha Taurus. I'm not proud of it, it just *is what it is*. Growing up, my nickname was "Testa dura" which loosely translates to "hard in the head" in Italian. I was a piece of work as a child and my daughter is giving me a nice, tasty dose of my own medicine.
Lately, it has been power struggle after power struggle with Sofia. To the point of my not liking her very much as an individual more often than not. The biggest thing? What she is going to wear. She insists on wearing the most god awful get ups or summer dresses in 30 degree weather, both of which I have to fight her on. I know this is completely appropriate for her developmental stage, but it gets tiresome day after day after day. I try to cut her off at the pass, hiding the things I don't want her to wear or picking things out together the night before. This was not one of those times when I'd planned ahead. I was already at my wits end with her because of something that had happened the previous evening:
On the drive home from pre-school, she had her Scholastic book club order form and ripped it. I explained to hear calmly that I was now not going to be able to order her any books from the book club. Suffering from lack-of-nap-itis, she became unglued at this news. She proceeded to cry and whine for the entire 40 minute drive. This behavior, coupled with my PMS and nervous condition caused by the events of the day (housing sitch) almost put me on overload. I honestly wanted to tell my husband to pull over and I'd walk home.
I shut down. I did not acknowledge her, not even one time. Thank god Steve was driving or I am not sure I could have ignored it. I knew she was trying to get a rise out of me, kicking my chair, calling out my name, begging me to look at her, but I would.not.budge. I didn't speak to her, did not engage her, did not react when she repeatedly said "Mooooooooooooooom! I wanted to rip it! I wanted to rip it!" We finally got home and Steve gave the kids dinner and I had some "alone time" in my bedroom to calm down and all was fine after that.
Fast forward to this morning. Sofia wants to wear these god awful, pink leopard leggings to school (my own fault, I bought them to wear under dresses.) Something you would have seen David Lee Roth wear, circa 1984. I repeatedly explained to her that the leggings were not appropriate for school and she actually said something to the effect of " all the kids wear them."
God give me strength. Seriously? Already with this? She's 4!! I am doomed.
So, I pick out very cute, flared, brown sweat pants for her to wear and tell her that if she does not put them on, I will have to take leopard pants away. This escalates into me threatening to cut the pants into pieces. She still is hysterical, screaming "NO! PLEASE DON'T CUT THEM! PLEASE DON'T CUT THEM!" but is refusing to get dressed.
I now regret saying I'd cut them as it's becoming clear she is not going to comply. I count to three...
I am now left with no choice but to get the scissors. I even held them up to the pants, hoping this would force her to give in.
She didn't.
In the end, I cut the pants. I had no choice. Well, I probably did, but I had reached the end of my rope. Part of the problem is my lack of giving her consequences for her actions or following through on consequences. I am usually so distracted and in survival mode that I don't always have the energy or mental fortitude to take on my little tyrant. I knew that today had to be different.
Once I cut the pants, she crumpled into tears, but I walked away, cut pants in hand. I then told Steve he needed to handle the situation from here and went to take a shower.
About 5 minutes after my shower, there was a knock on the bathroom door.
There stood Sofia, eyes brimmed with red, hair disheveled and lip quivering. But she was wearing the outfit I had asked her to put on.
Truth be told, I felt like a "Mean Mom" for this scene, but I am tired of her challenging me on every.little.thing. I really needed her to understand that I mean what I say and will follow through on my words.
It was a tough morning, but we hugged and all was well after that.
As for the leggings, I am thinking they will make lovely biker shorts come summer.
3 comments:
I am one who won't fight the clothing battles. Or the hair battles. I remember my mom and I getting into the biggest fights over my hair and clothes, and it would ruin my day (and I think hers, too). In so many of our formal family portraits neither of us is really smiling, because I hated my hair and she hated fighting with me for hours before we left.
So I would have let her wear the leggings, but I completely react this way over other things -- I find myself taking a stand just because I am sick of everything being a fight.
This also reminded me of a hilarious thing my sister did once -- she had told her oldest he couldn't have his pacifier anymore in the car, and he was crying for it and crying for it (I guess he knew it was in her purse or something) so she threw it out the window! It still makes me laugh thinking about it, just because I can relate to getting to *that point* with a kid.
They will make great shorts. They'll last longer that way, too.
You TOTALLY did the right thing. L and I have a lot of power struggles already. I deal with it all day with my students too. It's so hard but I am convinced you have to stick to what you say.
I cried a little reading this because I could feel your frustration. I love my recently-turned 4-year old more than anything but...MAN...she knows what buttons to push. And we fight - exactly how you have described - and then, it's over. She moves on (as your next post shows!) and I dwell and dwell and dwell. And the say the teen years will be the hard ones... siiiiiiigh....It's posts like these that help me realize it's not just me. Thanks for sharing!
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