I know that the authoritarian discipline style doesn't work on my kid. I know this. And yet, for some reason, I still try to use it. Mostly when we're in a hurry or it's important to me that something be done as quickly as possible. Of course, the result is always the same: defiance. She usually listens pretty well when I speak to her in the same tone I expect her to use toward others (i.e. polite). She is not a defiant child in general. However, she is very stubborn and independent, so whenever I attempt to exert my authority in a manner reminiscent of a drill sergeant (or maybe a strict schoolmarm would be more accurate), she rebels. This, of course, becomes a battle of wills that quickly spirals into a total loss of control, usually on her part (though plenty of times on my own, as well). 

Last week, we were supposed to have dinner with some friends. She enjoys going to their house and has no reason to delay going there; however, from the moment I walked in the door to pick her up after my class, I began barking orders at her because I wanted to get there as soon as possible. Mommy fail. Her stubborn streak immediately kicked in and within a few short minutes escalated into a full-blown tantrum. I attempted de-escalation tactics, but she was hot and tired and hungry and nothing I said made a bit of difference once she was already in her behavioral downward spiral. She fought me every inch of the way from getting shoes on to walking out the door to getting in the car and buckled, and even after we got home; I had to physically move her anywhere I wanted her to go, with her fighting me the whole way and screaming like she was possessed. At several points I was positive that her head was going to turn all the way around and I'd soon be drenched in split-pea soup (yes, it was that intense). I'm sure with all the dragging and screaming it looked like I was kidnapping her (I'm so glad I didn't get pulled over on the way home).

Once we were home, there were fewer distractions. She continued her tantrum in the chair I sat her in, but after a while she just cried. I came and sat across from her, waiting for her to calm down more so we could talk.

"I think...I'm going...to throw up," she wheezed in between heavy cry-breaths. "And...my throat...hurts."

I got her a cup of water and some tissues, sat back down, and said, "Sweetheart, the reason you feel like that is that you've been throwing a fit and crying and screaming. The screaming hurt your throat, and the hysterics made you feel like throwing up. You'll feel better after you're all the way calm." She wiped her eyes and nose, took small sips of water, and sat. She was still crying, but no longer tantruming.

After a while, her breathing evened out a bit. "I still feel sick."

"Drink some more water and take a few deep breaths," I told her, "you'll feel better soon. I'm glad you're finally calming down." After she'd fully stopped crying, I asked her why she was so upset in the first place.

"Because I thought you didn't love me!" She started crying all over again.

"Oh, honey," (I felt so bad), "of course I love you! But when I tell you to do something, I need you to do it. I just wanted you to get ready so we could go to our friends' house."

"I'm sorry Mommy!" she sobbed. "I want to go, I'll listen, I promise!"

"It's too late," I told her as gently as I could. "It's going to be bedtime soon. We can go another day."

She wailed inconsolably. "But I want to see them, I miss them!"

"Sweetheart, you've been out of control since I came to pick you up. You wouldn't have had any fun if we'd gone because you were too upset. We'll go another night." In hindsight, I should have apologized to her for my rude tone. I want her to be polite and respectful to others, even when she's upset herself, which means I need to show her how to do that. Unfortunately, it's a skill I'm still working on myself when it comes to parenting. Mommy fail again. Still, an apology from me probably would have gone a long way in driving home the message that it's really not okay to use a rude tone of voice (yes, I consider authoritarian order-barking to be rude; it tends to breed resentment, not respect -- at least, I tend to resent people who bark orders at me in an authoritarian manner, and I suspect that many people feel the same).

The old "do as I say, not as I do" idiom is bunk. It holds the child to a higher standard than the adult spouting the phrase holds themselves, even though the child has less experience and therefore fewer resources to draw upon, especially when under duress. I feel this philosophy very strongly, yet I struggle to live it. Guess I have my work cut out for me, as far as parenting is concerned.

Dr. Jekyll/Ms. Hyde

I would say that most of the time, my kid is pretty sweet; she's generally not intentionally mean, anyway. I say "generally" because, for the past few days, she's been out of control. I've gotten exceptionally bad reports from school about aggression, defiance, and extreme tantrums over not getting her way (as in, not wanting to do what she's supposed to do, then flipping the hell out when she gets in trouble for it). I have not been a happy mama. I was even less happy about the following exchange.

In the car yesterday evening, she told me more than once that she hated me and was going to kill me. I just said, "oh, okay" so as not to give her too much of a reaction. She went on to tell me that she wanted to be mean, that she wanted to hurt, that she wanted to be a bully. She kicked my seat repeatedly while saying these horrible, hateful things. As much as I wanted to pull the car over and show her what a real bully looks like, I kept my cool (which I'm actually way proud of, because I was super pissed). When we got home, she told me she was hungry and asked me what she could have to eat. My response was, "what makes you think I'm going to give you food?" She stared at me for a few seconds and started to reply, but I cut her off, saying, "you said you hated me, that you wanted to be mean and hurt me, that you were going to kill me, so why in the world would I give you anything?" She didn't say anything, so I went on: "If you killed me, would I be able to feed you?" She looked at the floor and shook her head. "If you killed me, what do you think would happen?"

That's when she burst into tears and ran to give me a hug, saying, "I'm sorry Mommy, I didn't mean it, I don't want to kill you or hurt you or be a bully, I'm so so so sorry!"

I accepted her hug, but told her, "it's not okay to say things like that. Ever. To anyone. It doesn't matter how mad you are, you don't say things like that, because the next time you need something from the person you said those things to, you're not going to get it. You can't hurt people and expect them to still be nice to you."

I hope that message sinks in.

Dreams

Lately the munchkin has become somewhat obsessed with dreams. Every morning she tells me about her dream from the night before and asks me what I dreamed (I usually don't remember mine, though). Before bed, we talk about what she thinks she's going to dream about that night. She has a pretty wild imagination, which I love.

A few weeks ago, she carried around "baby Spongebob." She picked him up off of a cloud in a dream and carried him with her into the waking world. He was invisible, and small enough to fit in her hand. He rode in her pocket and slept on her bed, and she fed him bottles and changed his diaper.

There have also been several occasions where she has insisted that something completely outlandish actually happened; it seems as though her dreams are so vivid that she sometimes has a hard time differentiating between them and waking life. Honestly, I'm kinda jealous.

Last night during dinner, my almost-5-year-old daughter looked at me and said, "Mom, can you get a baby in your belly so I can have a sister or a brother?"

I almost choked on my green beans; I was trying so hard not to laugh out loud. "Sorry honey, that's just not going to happen."

"But why, Mom? I want someone to play with me!"

"Sweetheart, if I had another baby, it wouldn't be able to play with you for a long time. Also, babies are a lot of work and I don't have time to take care of another kid." Yes, I realize it sounds like a "we're-not-getting-a-puppy" discussion.

"Okay, I guess I'll just have to play with my cousins and my neighbors."

Phew.

Space Girl

Ever since my daughter discovered that not only is there such a thing as outer space, but some people actually go there, she has wanted to become an astronaut. It's not something she talks about all the time, but she has said on more than one occasion that she wants to be a "Space Girl" when she grows up.

Based on her still-ongoing obsession with bodily functions, I've nurtured a small hope that perhaps one day she will go to medical school.

Last week, we were talking about bodily functions (read: normal conversation for us) and I asked her if she might ever want to be a doctor. She replied, "No, I want to be a Space Girl!"

Then I had a brilliant idea. I said, "What if you went to medical school, then entered astronaut training and became a Space Doctor?"

I could see the wheels turning as she considered my scenario. "Yeah!" was her enthusiastic response.

My kid is awesomesauce.

Man, I can't believe I haven't updated this in over a month. Not that Mommy's Little Monster hasn't been performing blog-worthy antics, I've just been a slacker. However, I have an awesome story to share.

Lately, Evelyn has been minorly obssessed with growing up and all that that entails. We have the "enjoy being a kid" discussion at least a few times a week (keep in mind that she will be 5 in May). There are only so many ways I can say, "I felt the same way at your age, pleasepleaseplease appreciate the benefit of my perspective." I hate saying "you'll understand when you're older," and I do my best to not say it. What I try to do instead is to make my adult responsibilities sound as boring as humanly possible and cast a fun, magical light on the joys of childhood.

I guess I'm not so much setting up the story as giving basic background information here. Let me just skip to the good part.

Last night, my precocious preschooler was telling me that she didn't want to grow up because she didn't want to have her period (yes, she knows what that is, and yes, we have many discussions about the basic functions of the human body. No, we have *not* had "The Talk"). While attempting to walk the line between body-acceptance and childhood-appreciation, I told her, "there are a lot of parts about being a grownup that are no fun, but you just have to accept them and move on."

~*The best part*~

Her reply: "But you're a fun grownup!"

I wish I'd had some kind of audio recorder handy. Not just so I could hear my child tell me I'm fun over and over, but also so I could play it back for her every time she says, "you're a mean mommy!"

It's all about appreciating the little things, right?

Baby's First F-Bomb

My four year old just screamed the "F" word. Yeah, the four-letter one that rhymes with "duck."

She likes to experiment with sounds, start words with different letters, and basically just play with language. Today she's been coming up with words that rhyme with "Lucky" (one of our cats). Just a few minutes ago, I hear something along the lines of: "Lucky, pucky, ducky, mucky...luck, suck, nuck...FUCK" (yeah, she kinda yelled it).

I don't want to make a big deal out of it; I don't want it to become something she does to push my buttons (she's really good at that). I also don't want her dropping F-bombs. So I told her that when that sound starts with an "F," it makes a word that's not nice and I don't want to hear her say it again. Fingers crossed that that's it and I don't hear it again until after she hits puberty and decides she hates me.