Do you remember how I once had a very pleasant morning? Most mornings are somewhat similar. If not perfect, then at least it's still close to that end of the spectrum.
This morning, though, imagine the complete opposite. Imagine a morning where instead of wearing the dress Mommy picked out, you convince her to let you wear brown pants, only to realize that the dress is really prettier, but it's too late. Now you don't want to wear either. Imagine a world where all you want to do is stay in bed and suck on Bun-Bun but grown-ups force you away. Bun-Bun can not come where you are going. Imagine compromising by agreeing to watch a baby video but grown-ups insist that there is only enough time to watch it twice. Imagine breakfast with green eggs (from adding pesto) instead of yellow eggs. Imagine what it would be like to be given kiwi when you really wanted grapes. Imagine how mad it would make you if someone ate *YOUR* kiwi even if you had no intention of eating it yourself. Imagine going back to your bed for support from Bun-Bun, finally finding some peace and comfort in the morning, only to be forced away again. Imagine having to go to school when you just wanted to stay in bed, only to find some other kid see-sawing with your best friend. Then when your best friend starts to see-saw with you, she picks the wrong end of the horse to sit on. Imagine how you would feel when your screams start to make your best friend cry and make all the other kids around you stare at you in shock. Don't you hate it when they stare? Then, if you possibly can... imagine seeing your mom upset before leaving. Why would she leave you in such a state? Can't the two of you just go home and lay in bed with Bun-Bun?
Can you imagine it? It's not a pretty sight is it?
Now add to that the family curse. I'll let you in on a well-known secret. Everyone in my family was born without the ability to cry and talk at the same time. We've always joked about it. If one of us suddenly grows quiet on the other end of the phone, we know why. But it's no laughing matter when you are a young toddler just trying to sort through the mass amount of emotions you feel.
That's actually the one comment that the teachers made at parent-teacher conferences. They said that it takes a lot to calm Ellie down when she's upset and that she can't seem to "use her words". Even more so than the other kids. I didn't think about the connection until this morning, but I realize that Ellie probably inherited the same family curse.
The poor thing. Maybe next time I'll take the day off and let her stay in bed with Bun-Bun. Doesn't that sound nice and comforting?
5 comments:
I have this too!! We call it the "lump in throat" syndrome. I absolutely, positively cannot speak when I am choked up. I have always envied people who could, as if they had some amazing physical talent I could only observe from afar, like bending in half the wrong way.
Not only do I have this, but it happens often. I'm sentimental and get choked up easily.
It was touching how you viewed things from little Ellie's eyes, with kindness at her struggles through the morning rather than impatience.
I was just telling Dan that one of the really nice things I noticed about your blog vs. some other mommy blogs is that yours embraces and celebrates child rearing and never has an angry or resentful tone. You make parenthood look easy!
I like the sound of "lump in throat" syndrome. It sounds so official.
Your comment was so sweet! I do try to keep positive about parenthood and even when I'm frustrated, I wouldn't change it for the world. I certainly wouldn't say I make parenthood look easy, but I would like to think that I make it look incredibly enjoyable, because that's how I feel. As challenging and exhausting as it can be at times, just looking at Ellie makes it worthwhile.
Strike that. It doesn't make it worthwhile. That's not quite the words I had in mind. Looking at Ellie makes me not notice the struggles nearly as much. That's a little different than "making them worthwhile."
Poor baby! I actually kept my guy home today and feel guilty as heck about missing a day of school, but we know he needed it. (Minor cold + allergies + overexcited about his party this weekend + didn't sleep well last night.) I miss the days when it was just preschool. I know it's *only* kindergarten, but they can read and write and I worry about what he's missing. Sigh.
I can only imagine! I feel bad as it is whenever Ellie misses out on the fun that goes on at daycare.
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