Wednesday, June 23, 2004
High Drama
One of the unexpected joys for me of Max starting "school" at our church is the comraderie I've developed with some of my fellow moms. A major benefit of these fledgling friendships is the note-trading we do at the playground or pool about vexing issues like "How are you dealing with biting?" and "How do you manage a 5-hour plane flight with two kids under the age of three?" I feel fortunate to have found a group of moms with whom the experience seems more like surviving boot camp together than competing in the parenting Olympics.
What many of us are facing right now, with sadness and trepidation, is the realization that our kids are about to abandon their naps. And we are all in agreement: This is not a good development. Naptime is my window of opportunity to start dinner, pay bills, write emails, have a little uninterrupted adult conversation, make incremental progress on one of my house projects, or--imagine this--put my heels on the coffee table for a few minutes and exhale.
It's now 3:29 in the afternoon, and Max and I are entrenched in a typical battle of wills over his nap. We've been at this drama since 2:00. Here's a loose transcript of the last 30 minutes. (I'll let you extrapolate what the previous hour was like....)
Max (yelling from behind the closed door in his room): One Blues Clues And Then A Nap!
Mommy (making a serious tactical error): Okay, Max, one Blues Clues. Then it's nap time.
I situate Max in front of the telly and proceed to the nursery/office to finish the bill-paying which I started yesterday afternoon. Then I hear the door to the kitchen. I go in to find Max standing on a barstool, peering into the refrigerator.
Max: I'm hungry, mommy.
Mommy: Would you like some yogurt, Max?
Max: I want a sandwich.
Mommy: Okay, a sandwich (Never mind that he already had a sandwich for lunch at 12:00.)
Max: I want turkey and cheese and bread on top and bread on the bottom.
Mommy: Okay, Max.
Max: No no no no no. I don't want that cheese.
Mommy: Okay, Max.
Max: No no no no no. I want cheese.
Mommy: Okay, Max (handing the turkey and cheese sandwich to him).
Max: No no no no no. I want it on a plate.
Mommy: Okay (handing a plate to him).
Max: No no no no no. It's too big. I want it in pieces.
Mommy: Okay (approaching the sandwich with a knife to cut it into quarters).
Max: No no no no no. I want the other knife.
Whenever there are this many sentences that begin with "no no no no no," you can be sure that we are building up to a meltdown. It's not a matter of if, but when. I take another knife from the drawer and put it on Max's plate.
Max: I want it cut into pieces.
Mommy: Like this?
I simulate cutting it into squares. I have learned to use this much specificity because if I cut it the wrong way he will want it "put back togeder" and the tantrum will ensue.
Max: Uh huh.
I divide the sandwich into squares.
Max: Please feed me mommy.
I acquiesce. The sandwich now consumed, Max begins to renegotiate our deal.
Max: One Dora, mommy.
Mommy: It's time for a nap, Max. Let's go.
Max: No, mommy. I don't want a nap.
I carry him into his bedroom, plop him on the pillows on the floor and leave.
The moment of meltdown has now arrived, and the wailing begins in earnest.
Max: Mommy, arghhhhhh. Melony, arghhhhh. Mommy, arghhhhhh. Melony, arghhhhh. Mommy, I want my mommy. Mommy....mommy? Arghhhh. Mommy, I have a dirty diaper.
This is a fairly common scenario at naptime, and Max does not bluff about these things, at least not yet. I go into Max's bedroom and change his diaper.
Max: I'm still crying, mommy.
Mommy: Why are you crying, Max?
Max: I'm crying about you. (Ouch!)
Mommy: Why are you crying about me?
Max: I need you, mommy.
Mommy: You need me?
Max: I need your help.
Mommy: How can I help you, Max?
Max: I need to take a nap in the living room, not my bedroom.
Mommy: Max, you need to take a nap on your pillows. It's naptime.
Max: No, mommy I DO need to go to the living room.
Mommy: Max, you need to take a nap.
Max: I need to help you throw away my dirty diaper. I need one Dora.
If Max wails much longer, Baby Reed will awaken from his nap, and then I will have two tired, cranky children on my hands.
Mommy: Max, you need to take a nap.
And then I hear a sound I dread even more than the sound of Max wailing: the yardmen have arrived. With the lawnmowers and leaf blowers* around the perimeter of the house for the next half-hour, getting Max to sleep is now impossible.
The battle is over for the afternoon. I've taken Max to the living room, where he is now lying down, watching Dora. There will be no nap today. Hopefully he will go to bed early. Very early.
*Remember the Bernard Pivot questionnaire? One of the questions is, "What noise do you hate?" My answer: LEAF BLOWERS! I'd have prefaced that with an adjectival phrase, but you know I'm trying to give up swearing....
What many of us are facing right now, with sadness and trepidation, is the realization that our kids are about to abandon their naps. And we are all in agreement: This is not a good development. Naptime is my window of opportunity to start dinner, pay bills, write emails, have a little uninterrupted adult conversation, make incremental progress on one of my house projects, or--imagine this--put my heels on the coffee table for a few minutes and exhale.
It's now 3:29 in the afternoon, and Max and I are entrenched in a typical battle of wills over his nap. We've been at this drama since 2:00. Here's a loose transcript of the last 30 minutes. (I'll let you extrapolate what the previous hour was like....)
Max (yelling from behind the closed door in his room): One Blues Clues And Then A Nap!
Mommy (making a serious tactical error): Okay, Max, one Blues Clues. Then it's nap time.
I situate Max in front of the telly and proceed to the nursery/office to finish the bill-paying which I started yesterday afternoon. Then I hear the door to the kitchen. I go in to find Max standing on a barstool, peering into the refrigerator.
Max: I'm hungry, mommy.
Mommy: Would you like some yogurt, Max?
Max: I want a sandwich.
Mommy: Okay, a sandwich (Never mind that he already had a sandwich for lunch at 12:00.)
Max: I want turkey and cheese and bread on top and bread on the bottom.
Mommy: Okay, Max.
Max: No no no no no. I don't want that cheese.
Mommy: Okay, Max.
Max: No no no no no. I want cheese.
Mommy: Okay, Max (handing the turkey and cheese sandwich to him).
Max: No no no no no. I want it on a plate.
Mommy: Okay (handing a plate to him).
Max: No no no no no. It's too big. I want it in pieces.
Mommy: Okay (approaching the sandwich with a knife to cut it into quarters).
Max: No no no no no. I want the other knife.
Whenever there are this many sentences that begin with "no no no no no," you can be sure that we are building up to a meltdown. It's not a matter of if, but when. I take another knife from the drawer and put it on Max's plate.
Max: I want it cut into pieces.
Mommy: Like this?
I simulate cutting it into squares. I have learned to use this much specificity because if I cut it the wrong way he will want it "put back togeder" and the tantrum will ensue.
Max: Uh huh.
I divide the sandwich into squares.
Max: Please feed me mommy.
I acquiesce. The sandwich now consumed, Max begins to renegotiate our deal.
Max: One Dora, mommy.
Mommy: It's time for a nap, Max. Let's go.
Max: No, mommy. I don't want a nap.
I carry him into his bedroom, plop him on the pillows on the floor and leave.
The moment of meltdown has now arrived, and the wailing begins in earnest.
Max: Mommy, arghhhhhh. Melony, arghhhhh. Mommy, arghhhhhh. Melony, arghhhhh. Mommy, I want my mommy. Mommy....mommy? Arghhhh. Mommy, I have a dirty diaper.
This is a fairly common scenario at naptime, and Max does not bluff about these things, at least not yet. I go into Max's bedroom and change his diaper.
Max: I'm still crying, mommy.
Mommy: Why are you crying, Max?
Max: I'm crying about you. (Ouch!)
Mommy: Why are you crying about me?
Max: I need you, mommy.
Mommy: You need me?
Max: I need your help.
Mommy: How can I help you, Max?
Max: I need to take a nap in the living room, not my bedroom.
Mommy: Max, you need to take a nap on your pillows. It's naptime.
Max: No, mommy I DO need to go to the living room.
Mommy: Max, you need to take a nap.
Max: I need to help you throw away my dirty diaper. I need one Dora.
If Max wails much longer, Baby Reed will awaken from his nap, and then I will have two tired, cranky children on my hands.
Mommy: Max, you need to take a nap.
And then I hear a sound I dread even more than the sound of Max wailing: the yardmen have arrived. With the lawnmowers and leaf blowers* around the perimeter of the house for the next half-hour, getting Max to sleep is now impossible.
The battle is over for the afternoon. I've taken Max to the living room, where he is now lying down, watching Dora. There will be no nap today. Hopefully he will go to bed early. Very early.
*Remember the Bernard Pivot questionnaire? One of the questions is, "What noise do you hate?" My answer: LEAF BLOWERS! I'd have prefaced that with an adjectival phrase, but you know I'm trying to give up swearing....
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