“Ren — what are you wearing?”
“I want to!”
“It’s your sister’s nightgown.”
“I like it!”
“Fine. But you must wear underwear.”
“Noooo … I don’t really feel like it.”
“YOUMUSTWEARUNDERWEAR.”
“No, thanks.”
“Tights then.”
“The ones with sparkles.”
“Fine.”
She came home from school with a large rubber band holdng up the excess fabric on the nightgown. I can only hope that today they took tons of pictures for the class website so absolutely everyone can know what a snappy dresser my kid is.
“Momma, Ren threw her doll at me.”
“Karenna did you throw your –”
“Well, Momma, let me tell you …”
“Stop. Right here. Listen to me. If you lie to me you’re going to be very sorry. Did you throw a doll at your sister?”
“I sorry.”
“Sit in time out.”
“Momma, I sorry.” I point to the spot on the kitchen floor.
“I sorry Momma!”
I lean in close.
“You are in very big trouble. If you want to make it worse that’s up to you, but I promise you will be sorry.”
She sits on the floor and starts to wail.
“I sorry, Momma, I so sorry!”
(a minute passes)
“Momma, when you don’t answer me I think you mad at me! MOMMA IF YOU DON’T ANSWER I WILL THINK YOU ARE MAD!!”
“You hit your sister. I am very mad at you.”
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”
(more minutes, more wailing.)
“You don’t love me any more do you?”
(Another minute, more wailing.)
“Momma, if I’m still your baby you’ll let me out of time out!” (No repsonse.) “I guess I not your baby any more! I NOT YOUR BAYBEEEYWAAAAAA!!”
“Come here, Karenna,” I say. She gets up and comes, weeping, head hung.
“You must not ever hit one of your sisters ever. They are Momma’s babies. Nobody hits Momma’s babies. Do you understand me?”
Weep sniffles, nod.
“Are you Momma’s baby?”
“Yes.”
“Yes. That’s right. What do you think I would do if someone hit you?”
“You be mad!”
“That’s right. Okay, go ahead and join Sister in the family room, and take these strawberries with you.”
“YAY!!!” she grins, claps, skips off.
There is a tremor in the Force.
“Momma … can I?” She is brandishing a box of creamy organic marshmallows.
“One,” I say. “And let’s grab one for Sister, too.”
“Good idea, I take it to her.” She scarfs down a marshmallow and reaches for the second one.
(A few minutes later. Mare approaches me with a wad of sticky white goo in her hand.)
“Momma … is this really for me? What the heck is it?”
Ren is standing next to her, head hung. Somewhere between the box and Sister, about half the volume of marshmallow has been lost. Licked, by the looks of it.
“Guess what Mare?” I say. “You get to pick yourself TWO fresh lovely marshmallows to eat!”
“TWO???” Renny wails. Mare shrugs and picks the two largest ones. Ren sobs.
Ren bawls. “Two marshmallows … Sissy got TWO!!”
I am on the phone with that Grand Man.
“Could you please be quieter,” I say to Ren.
“Momma, I not your friend any more.”
“That’s just fine,” I say. “But a little quieter, I can’t hear Granddad.”
“I NOT YOUR BABY ANY MORE BUT I STILL GRANDDAD’S BABY!!!” she shrieks. In my other ear, the sound of Dad’s velvety guffaws. “GRANDDAD I STILL YOUR BABY AND I LOVE YOU!!!”
“Oh my God!!” he gasps. “24 hours a day of that!! That’s great!”
“He says you are his baby,” I tell her. “And he loves you, too.”
“When I go to Colorado to live with him?”
“Just as soon as I can get you a ticket, my love.”
The guffaws die. “Fat chance,” he says. “I’ve already paid my dues.”
“Yeah,” I answer. “I’m not sure Ducky would say you’ve quite paid enough yet.”
“HA! — You forget she knew you.”
It has become our Friday afternoon tradition: We’re in the big bed. Ren is propped up on pillows, watching Noggin and sipping milk. I’ve stopped feeling bad that I’m not doing something great like taking her to the park or teaching her Latin. I lie on my left side and work on the laptop. Little Bill is on. I love that show.
“She kicked!!” Ren gasps. She stares at my belly, which is unquestionably shifting. She puts a hand out.
“She’s holding my hand!”
“After she’s born, she’ll be sitting here with us,” I say. “Should she be next to you? Or should I go in the middle?”
“I am worried that she won’t like me,” Ren says, in startlingly perfect English.
It is as though her true adult self has wriggled free, offering glimpse into her soul without her consent.
“Oh,” I say. “That must feel so scary to be worried about that. It would be very sad if she didn’t like us, wouldn’t it?”
“Maybe she would not like you eiver, Momma.”
“Oh my! That would be a grumpy baby!”
“Or Daddy, or Mare!”
“That would make her the grumpiest baby I had ever seen! How could anyone not like us? We’re great!”
“And then maybe she would leave us.”
“What would we do then?” I ask.
“We would say ‘No! You can’t leave!’”
“Right. We would say, ‘Sorry, sweetheart. We are your family. We’re sorry you’re grumpy, but you’ll feel better soon.”
She nods, and the lines in her face soften a little.
“Sometimes babies are grumpy,” I say. “But she’ll like us. We’re great!”
“Yeah! We great!”
“Besides, that’s not what’s going to happen. She’s so excited to meet you. She already loves you. She tells me every day.”
“She does?”
“Sure. See that?” The lump is moving again. The hard little ball under Ren’s hand shifts closer to her. “She’s holding your hand, Ren. She just wants to be with you. She loves you so much already. She can’t wait.”
Ren rubs the little lump, puts her face against my belly.
“I love you, Sissy,” she says.
And I wonder when Eden will know that Ren’s ferocity disguises one of the great tender hearts of the world.
As I write this, Ren is back in time out. She threw a toy.
She is singing, “I know you are not my friend and I am not your friend, either.” It’s actually quite lyrical.
thanks for that, you made my day! lovely to enjoy vicariously, not sure 24×7 would include my sanity … that last line (and the marshmallow bit) reminds me of the Francis book about her little sister’s birthday … the squashed Chompo bar and many songs sung and muttered about unfair things. Happy weekend!
I’m so pleased it’s not just me who has to fend off the “I won’t be your daughter any more” phrases… Amazing what a kind word and a big cuddle up with mummy can do for you! Now, if you can just come up with a phrase that will keep a 4yo out of a tree smack dab in the middle of the biggest mosquito lair then we’ll be okay – I count 30 bites, but she counts the number of times she has hung from the branches by her feet…
Ohhh.. a big lump in my throat…in my heart…eyes filled with tears and smile on my face ……..
Nice to see what I have to look forward to! My two-year-old is showing startling Ren tendencies. But it looks like you have the discipline down pat. Don’t worry, in fifteen years or so you’ll start seeing results!
Aww… I love that – holding hands.
I have one of those with a rough exterior but an incredibly soft heart. It’s a tough balancing act for me, but the kid is so worth it!
You know, I think Ren might be just the perfect girl for my son. They’re a perfect match. He’s four, so in about 20 years we should get them together. She can keep him in line.
Huh, my daughter Grace isn’t my friend anymore either. Furthermore she doesn’t like me, but can she please have a chocolate chip cookie? No? WHHHHHHYYYYYYYYYYY! But mama I wuv you! Now can I have da cookie?
Is it possible that girls this age are insane or are they merely trying to drive us insane? All I know is, it’s a good thing she is so cute and funny, ’cause MAN sometimes the days are looooooong.
I love knowing I’m not alone in this mothering thing. Thanks.
Really love your blog. Really love the wit. Really love reading about Ren and Mare. Good luck with your delivery!
i’ve lurked here for a while – laughing, nodding, remembering… my own very roodley-precocious girl is now 16, researching colleges and driving on her own. we taught her to use her words, and of course, now she is – i’m both chagrined by and grateful for the articulate negotiator she is.
i come back here again and again for your smart, funny writing, your courage and heart evident in all your stories. this one line prompted me to finally comment: “Oh,” I say. “That must feel so scary to be worried about that. It would be very sad if she didn’t like us, wouldn’t it?”
rather than just telling Ren, “of course Eden will like you,” you honoured her feelings, her fears. that kind of listening will be rewarded in the years to come.
what a good muver you are!
I can’t get over how amazingly articulate Ren is. Jadyn is a month older and while she is very well-spoken herself, she doesn’t come up with the stuff Ren does. She is an only child and I often wonder if that has something to do with it. I have to work, which means daycare, and I wonder if that has something to do with it too.
And by the way, I am consistently amazed at the way you convey your values to your children. I can only aspire to do so well.
Liz, you capture the contradictions inherent in human nature like no one else can. Of course, the girls give you such great material. My kids are strong personalities, but…well…everyone knows about Roo. Exhilarating and exhausting all at once.
@YankeeAmanda, my daughter is about a year older than Ren, and she’s STILL not quite that articulate. Well-spoken, yes. Just not so much so.
My son is the one who I think will remind me of Ren. Liz, he’s cute (beyond my bias, I am told so daily; it’s his personality), want to get them together someday? *grin*