Just Try to Make Me!

Sarah is a sweet, brilliant, happy child, but she's also extremely strong-willed and can be, well, difficult. Don has always jokingly called me a "thoroughbred" because I'm intense and high-strung (but, apparently, worth the effort).  I'm afraid Sarah surpasses even me in the high-maintenance department, though. 

Since she turned two, I am constantly trying to figure out how to make her do what I want without confrontation.  Most requests are met with a defiant stare.  A couple of months ago, I started telling her that if she didn't do what I told her by the time I counted to three, I'd do it.  Since she wants to do everything herself, that gets her moving.  Now, she doesn't even consider doing anything unless I count to three.  To get her to wash her hands, I have to do it no fewer than six times (push up your sleeves...1,2,3...get your hands wet...1,2,3...get soap...1,2,3...make bubbles...1,2,3...rinse...1,2,3...dry...1,2,3). Getting her into her highchair, onto the changing table, up the stairs...it all takes enumeration.  And it's driving me crazy.

A couple of days ago, I tried asking her to "show me how to do it." She still does just a step at a time, then I have to say "then what?" but I hope it's a move toward her just doing what I ask (a foreign concept to her at the moment).

She is also a control-freak.  I know that's a common trait of toddlers, but I think she takes it to new heights.  If anything is out of place (in her mind), it must be tended to, now.  And don't even think of moving something she has left in your way.  It belongs there!  Never mind that you're cooking dinner and it's right in front of the stove -- work around it.

She notices every detail.  The other day, she was walking through the kitchen when she saw one of the cabinet doors was ajar.  She exclaimed, "Oh, oh!" and ran over to close it.  Dad left his coffee mug on the counter instead of taking it into the bathroom to shave one morning, and she had a fit.  If her bedroom door isn't closed just right at bedtime, she'll take a few moments to adjust it (not all the way closed, but the latch has to touch the door frame).

While I'm relating this in a humorous way, it concerned me so much that I spoke with the attachment specialist at the International Adoption Clinic about it.  She said it's common for children who were in foster care before they were adopted to feel an exaggerated need to control their surroundings.  It stems from her being taken from the home and people she loved and handed over against her will to strangers (albeit kind strangers).  She feels she has to keep tabs on everything to prevent that from  happening again.  That makes me so sad. 

I'm doing my best to reassure her and convince her it's okay that things get moved or aren't exactly the way they should be.  I give her some say in where things go ("it can go here or there, but not where it is").  I'm also trying to temper my own controlling nature.  I'm not exactly a model of letting go.  I think we're making some progress, though.  She is gradually lightening up and allowing some things to slide.

And then there's sleep....  After a couple of months of fairly smooth sailing, we hit rough waters again in early September.  Sarah started crying hysterically when I put her in her crib at bedtime and again during the night most nights.  I went back to sitting oustide her door while she fell asleep and lying on the twin bed next to her crib during the night.  It was frustrating and exhausting.

Knowing that it was about time to move her out of the crib anyway, I came up with a plan to go to a full-size bed on the floor instead of a toddler bed.  The twin bed in her room was killing my back, and I thought she might enjoy having me sleep with her.  I could lie with her while she fell asleep and return if she cried in the night. 

We made the switch a couple of weeks ago.  I was right about one thing -- she likes having me in bed with her -- but she isn't too interested in sleeping.  Unless she's skipped her nap (which is happening more often now), she can take up to two hours to go to sleep with me lying there.  It's very hard to maintain my patience for that long.  The killer is that about three hours after she finally goes to sleep, she's awake crying for me to come back to bed with her, which I do.  The only improvement in our sleep routine from a year ago is that I get to go to sleep in my own bed.  I certainly don't stay there.

As for naps, she's usually tired enough after lunch that, if I'm stern with her, I can get her to lie still and fall asleep in 10-15 minutes.  At least I could for a while.  Did I mention she's strong-willed?  She seems to have decided now that there will be no napping.  And guess what -- I can't MAKE her sleep! 

If there was any question at all that my new plan was failing, it was clear by naptime on Friday.  I'd decided that lying with her was actually making things worse, so I put her in bed and sat in the rocking chair in her room.  She proceeded to climb around the bed, then out of bed.  I put her back, and she was down again instantly.  After a few more times, I was at the end of my rope.  I put the child safety gate up in her doorway and left. 

So, now we have quiet time instead of nap time.  Fortunately, she doesn't complain much about it.  Today, she was in her room for an hour and sat in the chair reading books for most of it.  Thank goodness she's an introvert (I think).  For the last couple of nights (no nap, remember), I've put her in bed and sat in the chair.  She's been asleep in about five minutes.

Although I hate to see her give up naps, I think I'm ready to let go.  I am so tired of trying to make her sleep.  I hope that I can gradually move my way out the door again at bedtime and we can get back to her going to sleep alone.  Once she can do that, I think she'll stop crying for me when she wakes at night.  Oh, how I hope so.

My friend Amanda reminds me that this, too, shall pass, and I know she's right.  Soon, we'll be on to new challenges, and today's struggles will be forgotten (really????).   I never realized how mentally exhausting parenthood is. I guess no one does until they've done it.  I can certainly see the advantage of taking it on when your brain is young and nimble.  I'm afraid my muddled perimenopausal mind is stretched to its limits trying to stay one step ahead of Sarah.

I've kept a daily journal ever since we brought Sarah home. I'm just about through volume 2 and need to pick up a new blank book soon. Most of it is about sleep (surprise!) -- the scientist in me recording what I did when and what the results were, determined to solve the mystery.  I write down every novel thing she does, too, though. Maybe someday it will just be about the new developments....

Random Acts of Cuteness

Thought I'd take a few minutes to catch up on the latest developments in the World of Sarah:

• She knows just about all of the letters of the alphabet and takes great pride in pointing them out as she sees them.  At storytime today, she pointed excitedly to the lit "EXIT" sign over the door and spelled it out.  She also loves STOP signs.  We have to spell out the titles of books before we read them now.
• She's learned all of her colors (including silver and gold) and her shapes (including octagon and pentagon) from a set of flashcards that her friend Allie gave her this summer.  She's a serious student and insists we practice at least once a day.
• I've been feeling a little guilty about not teaching her some Chinese (or helping her retain what she may have known).  I've been so focused on her speaking at all that I didn't think it was a priority right now.  The other night, while we were reading I Love You Like Crazy Cakes, I pointed to the Chinese character for "love" on the inside cover and said, "Wo ai ni" (I love you).  She whipped her head around and smiled at me.  I repeated it, and she was soon saying "ai ni."   On our way to a gathering of our local Chinese association on Sunday, I taught her "Ni hao" (hello).  She says it very carefully and clearly.  When she says the Chinese phrases, she uses the sweetest little voice.
• She can now make the ASL sign for "I love you" without having to hold her little finger up with the other hand. 
• We were greeters at church on Sunday.  Don and I stood her on a chair between us, and she was shy at first, but after a few minutes, she was shaking people's hands.  Soon, she was looking out the door saying "More!"  She even got offended when a little boy passed by her without offering his hand.  She gave me a look like, "Hey, he's not following the rules!" 
• She's gotten really bossy with Cadi the Lab lately.  She yells "Cay-ji da!" (Cadi-dog) to call her and attempts to whistle like Daddy does by putting her fingers in her mouth and shrieking.  When Cadi ignores her, she marches over to her, gets right in her face, and "whistles."  Of course, Cadi continues about her business, just as she does when I call her.
• She sets the table every night, putting out forks and (butter) knives for Mama and Dada and a spoon and fork for herself.
• She screws the tops on and off shampoo bottles in the tub and goes potty on the toilet after bath every night.
• She has started really dancing in the last couple of days.  After dinner the other night, she repeatedly (about 20 times) played When the Saints Come Marching In on her laptop and danced in the dining room.  She'd push the button, then run to get into place and wait for the music to start.

Of course, interspersed with all the cuteness are various displays of her strong will, but we won't get into that right now.  :)

Ruminating on Rummaging

Today's our church's annual rummage sale, sponsored by the Women's Fellowship.  I've helped out all but one of the last six years, and I wrote this little piece a few years ago:

Fair Trade at the Rummage Sale

Each fall, I volunteer for my church’s rummage sale, sorting clothes the day before. While my actions appear altruistic, I receive much in return. For one thing, I get first crack at the goods. No less meaningful, however, are the precious interactions with other volunteers.

I am a relative newcomer to the sale, and, at 44, among the youngest there. Most of the others are well into their golden years and have been doing this for decades.

Each woman has her domain, which she guards as resolutely as a dog defends its yard. One measures men’s pants and marks them with the correct sizes. Another sorts glassware and cookware, assigning value. Still another, who is blessed with impeccable taste, scrutinizes the better-quality attire, setting prices that are a tad higher than the usual 50¢ or $1.  I spend my time unobtrusively organizing the women's clothing by size, a job that apparently doesn't have as much cachet as the others and hasn't been staked out.

Because I'm on the petite side, the women enjoy finding nice, smaller-sized clothes for me to try on and model for them. Last year, they insisted I buy a gold and black, beaded dress, that I will probably never wear, because it “looked fabulous.” This year, I barely escaped without a bright green wool jacket that was definitely not my taste.

I’ll admit that I enjoy the attention, despite feeling a bit self-conscious. This year, a woman drew me aside and said, "I just have to tell you, you're as cute as a bug's ear!" A little over the top, maybe, but flattering nonetheless, when you're my age.

When lunch is served, I sit quietly, as the others catch up on gossip and grandchildren and reminisce about the colorful characters who are no longer there. This year, one of them turned to me and said, "Someday, you'll be talking about all the crazy old ladies who used to work the rummage sale!" Little does she know I already am.

Inevitably, someone will ask if I have children. In years past, my negative response has brought an awkward pause, as minds frantically search for another course of conversation. This year, however, I eagerly offered that Don and I are adopting a baby from China. At this, everyone beamed and spouted well wishes. There’s nothing like the prospect of a new life to rejuvenate those who have lived much of theirs.

Most people go to rummage sales looking for bargains and maybe a treasure or two, and I'm no exception. I find more at our sale, though -- a priceless exchange between generations. I soak up encouragement from women who are well beyond me in years and wisdom. In return, I offer a reminder of what their lives were like a few decades ago, when perhaps their dress sizes were smaller and their houses fuller. It’s a transaction that I believe leaves us all enriched.

Yesterday's experience was much the same, except for the conversations about children. This year, many of the women asked about Sarah, and I was ready with my new keychain of her latest photos.  It strikes me as more humorous each year when one of the grande-dames of the event tells me how nice it is to see young faces there volunteering, but I'm not complaining.

I did pretty well resisting the pressure to buy clothing that really isn't me, but I did score a few nice pieces.  The "trophy," though, was a window seat toy box for Sarah's room.  I've wanted one for years, and it's been on Don's to-do list to build one, but this one works perfectly!

Finding Satisfaction in Another "Failed" Evening Out

Don and I had another futile attempt at a date Thursday night, but, in a strange way, I'm considering it a mothering success story.

I've been waiting all year to attend the annual banquet of a local conservation organization on whose board Don serves. I knew it was way too soon to leave Sarah last year at this time, but I figured we'd be set for this year. Then, we had the anniversary dinner that was called for tears a couple of weeks ago, and I wasn't so sure.

I agonized over whether to try leaving Sarah with the babysitter again so soon. We didn't buy a banquet ticket for me, because I couldn't make up my mind whether to go. Finally, on Tuesday, I decided it was worth a try -- just because things didn't go well last time doesn't mean they won't the next. So, Don arranged for me to go.

Sarah didn't sleep well Wednesday night, but I tried to be optimistic and hoped that meant she'd have a good nap Thursday afternoon. She didn't look like herself, but I thought it was probably lack of rest. After lunch, I held my breath, waiting for her to doze off. She was soon snoozing, and I let out a sigh of relief, thinking we were set for an uneventful evening with the sitter.

Half an hour later, however, I heard her whimpering and calling, "Mama." I went in and tried to re-settle her, lying on the bed beside her crib for a while. She kept lifting her head to make sure I was still there. Still hoping to salvage the nap, I sat outside her door reading for 45 minutes, but she was done, and I was home for the night. I wasn't going to put all of us through the stress of leaving her home unrested.

She was okay in the afternoon, but 90 minutes after going to bed, she was whimpering and calling for me. I went in and found her sitting up, all disheveled, with a runny nose. I ended up sleeping on the bed in her room for the rest of the night, her little hand reaching through the crib slats to hold mine. By morning, it was clear she had a cold.

I was disappointed about missing the banquet and sending Don alone, and, of course, sorry to see Sarah sick. I was pleased with my reading of the situation, though. I could sense Sarah wasn't at her best, and I didn't push things. I managed to make the right decision for the sake of everyone involved (most importantly, Sarah), and that felt good. I just might be getting the hang of this mothering business....

Something to Crow About

Last winter, in an attempt to satisfy Sarah's passion for computer keyboards (and, thereby, be able to type an email message or two in her presence), I bought her a toy laptop. I thought she'd just push the keys and watch the little animated monkey jump around, but, apparently, she was paying attention to the alphabet activities. I noticed this summer that she was actually pressing the right letters when the monkey told her to.

Apparently, she's absorbed the whole alphabet. Sitting at dinner the other night, she started pointing to the letters on her placemat and saying them. Take a look....

A Visit from Cool Uncle B (and Papa)

We had a short-but-sweet visit from my brother-in-law and his dad this weekend.  They're visiting some friends who live a few hours from here and took a side-trip to see us.  Although Sarah was a little uneasy about her Uncle Brian when we were in M*ssachusetts this summer, she warmed up to him quickly this time.  She kept pointing to him and smiling, as if to say, "Can you believe he's here?"  We took a short tour of the local attractions yesterday afternoon, then had dinner at home.  She loved having him read to her.

The surprising thing was how taken she was with Brian's dad, whom she had never met.  By the end of the evening, she was calling him "Papa" and had to give him a hug goodnight.  When she got up this morning, she spent some time at the counter with Uncle B.  She was fascinated by his ability to find quarters behind her ears and wiggle his own.  She kept asking for Papa, though, until he finally appeared.

They left after breakfast, just as Sarah was getting set to show them how good she is with her color flashcards.  It was obviously too soon for her, and the rest of us, but we're so glad they came.  We can't wait to see Uncle B at Christmas; we may have to pay a visit to Papa, as well!

2,000 Words