Sweet Doodle, so much work ahead
Ren has been crying for half an hour.
She was in my bed but then she smeared Trader Joe’s grapefruit lotion all over the body pillow and then I told her she lost body pillow privleges. She cried and went back to her room, where she mercilessly pestered Sister: talking to her, squirming, spraying detangler on her head.
I warned her that if I had to come back in there, Mare would go to our bed and Ren would be alone in their room. So of course it happened, and now Mare’s all happily tucked into the grapefruity body pillow, and Doodle is inconsolable.
I let her howl for a while before I go upstairs where I find her weeping, naked in the bathroom.
“Aren’t you cold, sweetheart?” I ask.
“I don’t want to wear jammies,” she sniffles defiantly. “I want to wear my dress.”
Most days, I think what they wear to bed — or anywhere else — is basically their business. But I can’t let her wear that because it’s beautiful, but starting to tear and if she sleeps in it it will shred.
“You can’t wear the dress,” I say, unbuttoning my soft cottony materity cardigan. “But how about Momma’s sweater?” She lights up and nods and I button it over her naked little belly. I wipe tears from her face with my thumbs and then pull her into my lap.
“You’re a good girl,” I say. “You’re never a bad girl.”
She nods and sniffles.
“Are you a bad girl?” I ask.
“No,” she says.
“Are you a good girl?”
“Yes.”
“Yes,” I agree. “Always. Do you sometimes make bad decisions?” She nods and sniffles.
“I don’t like it when you and Daddy or Miss Sunbeam yell at me,” she says.
“I know,” I say. “You have a wonderful way of doing what you want to do, and we like that about you. But sometimes it’s the wrong thing to do. And we have to say so when it is, and if you don’t hear us, we have to say it very loudly so you will.”
I kiss her head. People always tell me how much work I am in for with her. But I often think about how much work she is in for.
“You’re my girl,” I say. “And I am proud of you. Always. And I will help you make good decisions, that’s my job.”
“And you’re my muver,” she says, putting her hands on my cheeks and kissing me.
I think I will never love a word so much as I love “muver.”
November 14th, 2008 at 1:12 am
You have such an amazing way of talking to your girls! I wish I were half as good at it as you. My second daughter is very very much like the Roodle! She’s just turned two and she is a wild thing! I love reading about Roo because I know I’m not the only one who has such a powerful little girl and you are a great resource on how to handle and talk to your kids! Thank you thank you!!
November 14th, 2008 at 1:52 am
Oh, I pray-pray-pray-wish-hope and PRAY that I will have the realtionship with my (not even concieved as of yet and probably not for a whiiiiile,) children that you do with your girls.
November 14th, 2008 at 2:37 am
How I wish I had your patience.
November 14th, 2008 at 2:47 am
I’m with you Liz. Best word in my life.
November 14th, 2008 at 7:49 am
For me it is Mum Mum, as in “I love you Mum Mum and even when you are grumpy I still love you!” Who can resist??
November 14th, 2008 at 8:10 am
My Liesie is very close in age to the Roodle and has a very similar temperament. My struggle is how to help her harness her spirit and desires without breaking it.
November 14th, 2008 at 8:55 am
i love the way you speak with your children; they are indeed very blessed to have such a muver as you.
November 14th, 2008 at 10:20 am
I love all the funny Ren stories, it’s endearing to hear about another side of her. Thank you for sharing.
November 14th, 2008 at 10:33 am
What an eloquent post. I have my own Ren - but her name is Emma and she’s six. You said: “People always tell me how much work I am in for with her. But I often think about how much work she is in for” and I think this is the most absolutely perfect description of how I feel with my little mess. Thanks for writing this.
November 14th, 2008 at 10:47 am
My sister gave me the same “You’re in for a lot of work” speech when I had Maggie.
Raising my daughter to be a strong, self-reliant, kind person is the hardest job I have ever had. And I love every minute of it. Even when I’m making her cry. Every tear is a lesson learned.
Your girls (and the mystery baby) are going to be wonderful people.
November 14th, 2008 at 10:55 am
Thi s child is going to be one hell of a woman. She has more substance at 2 then a lot of grown ups I know. Yeah for Ren. Yeah for you!
November 14th, 2008 at 11:18 am
I too take great inspiration from reading your posts. I have a very strong minded daughter and I love the way that you relate to yours. I hope I’m doing half as good a job……
November 14th, 2008 at 11:46 am
I loathe when people tell me that we’ll have our work cut out for us with our girls when they are teens. We have strong-willed children, yes, but they are kind, loving, creativel and good girls who occasionally make bad decisions. WHO DOESN’T?
I do love when my children take ownership of those they love. My Mama. My Daddy. My Sista. (We are from Texas, not sure about that Boston accent of theirs)
November 14th, 2008 at 11:59 am
You are a ’sage’ (wise) woman as the French say…and I wish there were more parents with your approach to parenting!….also, saw this article today and thought you might enjoy it.
http://www.iht.com/articles/2008/11/13/opinion/edkeillor.php Living abroad I have to say he has hit the nail on the head for us!
November 14th, 2008 at 12:13 pm
what a good muver you are…
November 14th, 2008 at 1:04 pm
Wow, I love the way you talk to your girls. My daughter can also be, um challenging, and I was just writing today about how I need to help, not hinder her. Sometimes it’s hard to remember though.
You’re a great muver.
November 14th, 2008 at 1:46 pm
I was the “difficult” child in our family. But my own MUVER knew that sometimes I needed time to cool off, calm down before any of her words would sink in. Many times she waited until the sobs and outbursts had passed before taking me in her arms and explaining things. Sometimes you have to wait for the squall to pass before the words, caresses and explanations sink in. You did good.
November 14th, 2008 at 1:57 pm
My 2 1/2 year old calls me “Ba.” She always has. I don’t know why she chose it. It was the second word she said. I hope she never stops.
November 14th, 2008 at 9:16 pm
Ok, I’m crying now. Mine is only 10.5 months old and I still can’t believe what a wonderful blessing she is…always.
November 14th, 2008 at 10:26 pm
I love how you explain things to your children. I wish I could remember to do that more often.
November 14th, 2008 at 10:28 pm
You know…. I’ve been reading anything I can get my hands on about how to handle strong-willed children… I’ve been panicking over my three year old’s behavior and how it is out of control, (especially as I know that it is out of control partly because of me…)
I’ve literally been wringing my hands looking for something to advise me on how to handle my kid in a way that affirms that I love her without allowing her negative behaviour.
You’re better than ten stupid parenting books. Thank you.
November 15th, 2008 at 4:10 pm
I don’t even know you - and I have read your blog for just over a few months - but you have become my inspiration in handling my own daughter who is getting to be ’strong willed’ at almost 2years! Where can I buy your book???
November 15th, 2008 at 8:34 pm
My littlest is only 6 months old and I’m seeing flashes of my future with her already. It reminds me of reading things from Ren’s babyhood.
Thanks so much for your post… Ren’s licky to have you as a Mom… her spirit will soar
November 15th, 2008 at 8:34 pm
er… or lucky. (Though she may get licky, like in the grocery store
November 17th, 2008 at 8:12 pm
I stumbled here reading mom blogs, and happily landed on this entry. I love the way you spoke with her about guiding her and her always being a good girl. Something to keep in my mind when speaking to my young children……
November 18th, 2008 at 12:15 am
What an awesome story.
December 3rd, 2008 at 2:27 pm
What a wonderful way to have handled it. Your daughters are lucky to have you for a mom.