Sophia Anne is my youngest child, a little peanut, and complete handful. I've been having quite a time with her lately because we've both been stuck at home for various reasons . Well, we hit our breaking point yesterday.
I was exhausted and needed a nap, she was exhausted but apparently didn't need a nap. So I decided to put her in the bath and get a little cleaning done. I thought I'd be a nice mommy and sing to her to lift her spirits while getting the bathroom organized and all. You know, a picture perfect Mormon mom, singing a lovely rendition of the Sunbeam song. At the end of my song, we both smiled at each other and she says to me with a straight face, "Please go away".
So after a snack, a bath and some warm milk, I try to coax her into laying down by laying down with her, hoping I would get my long awaited nap and she would wake up in a better mood. No dice. At this point I'm getting somewhat desperate so I tell her a story by memory, because I can hardly keep my eyes open to read. I must have fallen asleep like 10 times during the story because she kept poking me and saying, "That's not the end, Mommy because it doesn't make sense."
Trying to be patient I say to her, "Listen, if you don't want to take a nap, go upstairs while Mommy lays down."
She goes upstairs alright, but immediately comes back down with the loudest jingle bell I've ever heard, tied to a string. I realize at this point I'm not going to get any rest. I do insist, however, she take the jingle bell on a string upstairs while I try to get some things done. She refuses and starts swinging it around and around as fast as she can. When I turn to tell her she's going to time out, the bell hits me hard, square in the cheekbone... you know, the really bony part that has no fatty protection. I immediately snatch it away and say in a not so nice voice, "Go Upstairs!"
She of course, starts to cry and goes upstairs.
If you're all judging me at this point, I understand. If you're judging her, I understand as well. Not our finest moment. About two seconds later, Oliver comes home from school and says, "Mom, you look bad. Are you sick or something?" What happened to your face?
Yes, I'm sick or something.
So I get Oliver on task with his homework and he asks me where Sophia is. It's been about 5 minutes since the cheekbone incident and I realize it's mighty quiet up there. So once I get Oliver settled, I run up to check on her and there she is, all tucked into her bed, fast asleep, looking so peaceful and happy.
I'd like to say I felt humbled and appreciative of my little one, so beautiful and quiet- but I didn't. I threw my hands in the air and silently screamed, "NOOOOOO!" Too late for me.
I was exhausted and needed a nap, she was exhausted but apparently didn't need a nap. So I decided to put her in the bath and get a little cleaning done. I thought I'd be a nice mommy and sing to her to lift her spirits while getting the bathroom organized and all. You know, a picture perfect Mormon mom, singing a lovely rendition of the Sunbeam song. At the end of my song, we both smiled at each other and she says to me with a straight face, "Please go away".
So after a snack, a bath and some warm milk, I try to coax her into laying down by laying down with her, hoping I would get my long awaited nap and she would wake up in a better mood. No dice. At this point I'm getting somewhat desperate so I tell her a story by memory, because I can hardly keep my eyes open to read. I must have fallen asleep like 10 times during the story because she kept poking me and saying, "That's not the end, Mommy because it doesn't make sense."
Trying to be patient I say to her, "Listen, if you don't want to take a nap, go upstairs while Mommy lays down."
She goes upstairs alright, but immediately comes back down with the loudest jingle bell I've ever heard, tied to a string. I realize at this point I'm not going to get any rest. I do insist, however, she take the jingle bell on a string upstairs while I try to get some things done. She refuses and starts swinging it around and around as fast as she can. When I turn to tell her she's going to time out, the bell hits me hard, square in the cheekbone... you know, the really bony part that has no fatty protection. I immediately snatch it away and say in a not so nice voice, "Go Upstairs!"
She of course, starts to cry and goes upstairs.
If you're all judging me at this point, I understand. If you're judging her, I understand as well. Not our finest moment. About two seconds later, Oliver comes home from school and says, "Mom, you look bad. Are you sick or something?" What happened to your face?
Yes, I'm sick or something.
So I get Oliver on task with his homework and he asks me where Sophia is. It's been about 5 minutes since the cheekbone incident and I realize it's mighty quiet up there. So once I get Oliver settled, I run up to check on her and there she is, all tucked into her bed, fast asleep, looking so peaceful and happy.
I'd like to say I felt humbled and appreciative of my little one, so beautiful and quiet- but I didn't. I threw my hands in the air and silently screamed, "NOOOOOO!" Too late for me.
It's not too late to try again however. I'm determined to be more productive today and hopefully more patient. It's never too late to improve, right?
Thanks for listening.
Thanks for listening.
7 comments:
She's lucky she's so cute.
Stinky Sophie! Haha! You have all of my sympathies! So you're saying that once they turn three, the "terrible's" don't go away? CRAP!!!
I so know exaclty what you are going through...my four year old still acts like she is three.
Jingle bell? what in the world?
I busted out laughing when she told you to "Please go away"
You get an 'A+' for the day simply for putting forth such an effort. Most of the time I don't even do that.
This reminds me of my two daughters when they were little. It seems to me that the oldest rarely took a nap and the youngest was somewhat of a handful at that age so this story brings back some great memories. Remenber that grandpartents and grandchildren are natural allies.
You're a handful.
i love your dad's comment. i think it's called the parent's curse.
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