Thursday, December 11, 2008

Day 113 on Lexapro

Day 90 on Lamictal

posted much, much later…

There are times, I admit, when I become too tired, or busy, or lazy…to effectively discipline Em. To stick to the schedule. To enforce the rules.

I hate these times.

The events of this day, I believe, were the result of my most recent string of unusual allowances and slip-ups.

And I paid for them dearly.

You see, my Em has a very…strong…personality.

The same qualities that I sometimes celebrate — the ones that give her the guts to wear her ladybug raincoat all day long — are also the ones that can turn on a dime.

And not be used for good.

Like this evening when I went to pick her up from school.

I was in a hurry, you see,  as Jennifer Black was coming to join us for dinner. I needed to get home as I was preparing the meal and wanted it to be ready by the time she arrived.

But as soon as I started the car to go, Em announced that she needed to use the restroom.

She was already buckled into her carseat, of course.

Unfortunately, I knew that I could not ignore this statement. We’ve had enough accidents in our time for me to take this subject very seriously.

But I was annoyed.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had to go before? When we were still inside?” I asked her.

With no clear answer, I had to unbuckle her from her carseat and lead her back into the school.

When we reached the bathroom, she wandered from stall to stall trying to decide which one she wanted to use. When she was finally satisfied with her choice, she finished her business and set about to washing her hands.

And so the ritual began.

The ritual that was not to be disturbed in any form or fashion.

Even though it involved retrieving paper towels from her classroom and running across the length of it to throw them in a certain trash can when she was through.

I tried to be patient.

I really did.

But we needed to go. And she was on a mission in the hotspot of four-year old distractions — a classroom full of other kids.

Kids that like to hug. A lot.

So when she decided she needed to wipe her hands…again…and throw the towel into the same faraway wastebasket…again…I said no.

And I took her by the hand and led her kicking and screaming outside the door of her school.

Outside, she fell to her knees and let her body weight go so that I couldn’t walk with her.

So I picked her up.

When I did this, she straightened her body, making it almost impossible for me to carry her, too.

Inside the car, she proceeded to flail and twist in such a fashion that I was physically unable to buckle her carsat.

So we had to wait.

Ten minutes later, I somehow finally snapped her in.

And the whole time she threw the tantrum, she was screaming wildly that she hadn’t thrown her paper towel in the right trash can.

Oh my gosh.

This night, by the time we got home (and she had sat in timeout for a period long enough to sufficiently bother her), I was worn out.

But then Jennifer got there and we all settled in to a lovely meal together.

And Em became calm again.

And we ate and had fun and put her happily to bed.

And then Jennifer and I sat on the couch in the dark and watched television shows that made us laugh.

Which was exactly what I needed.

To be sure.