Revising the Parenting Handbook
In the How To Raise Laurel handbook, I have noted the challenges of day-to-day activities involving my amazing four year old. Getting her to put on clothing appropriate for going out into the world is a daily challenge. Getting her to go to the potty is a challenge, and one I have decided to give up on, as we’re locked in a power struggle. It’s not a struggle *I* can win. The only way to win here is for Laurel to take control and give up the fight. I tell myself this every day. I’m trying to be patient with this.
Last night, we had a huge meltdown because it was Kelsey’s night to pick out the book. Today’s meltdown is about Laurel’s clothing to go to the dentist. Nothing unusual here. And then she has another meltdown because Kelsey won’t let her get in on her side of the car.
Both Kelsey and I are refusing to take the path of least resistance with Laurel and let her have her way all the time. I can tell, as Kelsey asserts herself, that she tires of all the battles and tantrums. It’s important to Kelsey that she doesn’t always give in to her sister. Part of me wishes she would in this case, but I need to let K have her own relationship with L instead of negotiating every exchange.
At the dentist, Laurel runs around like a crazy thing while I am trying to schedule a return visit for Kelsey’s mouth full of cavities. This is very unlike Laurel, as she is usually very well behaved in public places. Then, on the way out, she decides to make us wait while she counts every chair in the office before exiting. THEN, she runs back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the car, grinning at me while I’m doing the 1-2-3 count. Finally, she gets in and I strap her into her seat.
We drive to a store to fax some documents for Allen’s new employer, and I am waiting for both girls to get out so that I can push the lock button on my side, as my remote is broken. Laurel doesn’t move. I wait. She doesn’t move or say anything. Finally, at the end of my patience, I reach over and undo her seat belt and motivate her physically to get out of the car, as she slumps like a boneless chicken.
“Are you punishing me for something?” I ask, my voice frustrated.
“You wouldn’t let me wear the glass slippers” she mumbles around fingers stuck into her mouth. Big sad eyes look up at me.
Flashback to 2 hours ago: While trying to get kids out the door, I see Laurel in a pink dress, crown, and dress-up heels. I can deal with the crown. I mean, how many little girls do you see walking around with a crown on? Probably a few at least, right? But the dress up shoes are clicky, and too big, and plastic with no rubber on the soles. Not appropriate footwear for leaving the house. I ask her to please put on her shoes, and she refuses. Curls up in a ball on the floor and whines. So, I get her shoes and socks, put them on her while she is in said position, and muscle everyone out the door so that we aren’t late for our appointment.
All this plays through my mind as I’m walking my kids across the street to fax the documents.
“So, you’re sad and angry that I wouldn’t let you wear the dress-up shoes, and THAT is the reason for this behavior?”
“Uh huh,” she replies.
My child is getting her vengeance. And maybe she’s justified.
There are some things I know I need to tirelessly fight for: Parking lot safety, appropriate behavior in public places, crossing streets, required parental permission before going anywhere out of my range of vision — things where the common element is the safety of my children.
And then there are the other things.
The manual for Laurel has been updated with a note, suggesting that fighting over things such as wardrobe are in the “Is it really worthwhile” column. Yes, the glass slippers are an injury-waiting-to-happen. But, they are also important to the way she wants to identify herself. What’s the better road to take? Let her wear the dress-up shoes and risk the possibility of a boo boo. OR, take the dress-up shoes away, and with it you take away a child’s fantasy, her sense of power, of identity.
Suddenly, I am the evil stepmother, and Cinderella is a sad little four year old who will never become a princess.
Every day. Every day we have this fight. Caroline wants to wear a sundress every day, even in the dead of winter. She tries to wear her glass slippers to school. Not appropriate. I have stopped her from wearing them to the grocery store and beyond because, as you say, they are a sprained ankle waiting to happen. Those shoes ain’t made for walkin’ and we do some walkin’ on my days off. I would let her wear the little mermaid costume if she would wear clothes underneath, but that is just not acceptable to the Princess. So, I have to drag her back upstairs (dropping keys, jackets, and purse in utter frustration) to put real clothes on while she cries and carries on. Bad Mommy. Kiljoy Mommy. Oh well. I’m not her friend, I’m her Mom.
It’s like inside play and outside play. It’s like inside voices and playground
voices. Throwing footballs and yelling are outside play, princess dresses, crowns
and shoes are for dressup inside activities, not the dentist.
Oh and you are in charge, not her.
It could be skating gloves, dog collar, flaming shirt, pins all over the pants,
bracelets to the elbow, handcuffs on the rope belt next to the cell phone,
10 zippers on each leg of the parachute material pants each leg two feet wide,
and whatever else they can think of.
That’s what Shannon’s newest boyfriend wears. His mother is stressed,
I am disgusted, she thinks he’s cute. So does her mother. Alden pukes,
his friends won’t come over when he’s here, AND YOU DON’T LIKE WHAT
YOUR KIDS WEAR……
Hi. I think you have a clone of my four year old. This sounds *exactly* like my struggles with my daughter Hannah. My eight year old son was never like this. I wonder if second-borns need to exert what little control they can since they get so little sometimes. I have also decided to try to stop clashing over “inappropriate” clothing choices.