See how much older she looks than on her first day last year:
Most days getting dressed for school is a non-event. Amanda chooses her clothes and puts them on mostly by herself, then we get on with our morning. Sometimes things don't go quite that smoothly. Today was one of those days. Here's what happened.
We're in Amanda's room. She is getting dressed for school.
Amanda: I want to wear my green socks.
Me: Oh, I'm sorry sweetie, your green socks are dirty. You wore them yesterday, remember?
How about these white socks?
Amanda: But I want to wear my green socks.
Me: Amanda, honey, your green socks are dirty. You have 8 pairs of gleaming white socks that I bought at Stride Rite just a week ago for you to wear to school this year. Why don't you choose one pair of those?
Amanda: I. Want. To. Wear. My. Green. Socks.
Me: Enunciating very clearly now. Amanda, did you not just hear me? Your green socks are dirty. We do not wear dirty socks to school.
Amanda: I want to wear my green socks.
Me: What would the preschool experts do now? I know, how about this one -- Are you mad that your green socks are dirty?
Amanda: Yes.
Me: Do you want a hug?
Amanda: Yes.
Me: Okay, let's have a hug then you'll feel better.
**hug**
Me: Now let's put on these white socks.
Amanda: BUT I WANT TO WEAR MY GREEN SOCKS.
Me: Frustration is welling up inside me. Amanda's 5:45 am wake-up, combined with Elizabeth inexplicably being awake between 12:30 and 1:30 am is beginning to take its toll on me. My sympathy level with Amanda's plight is now at zero. The hug didn't work. Time to move on to some other expert advice. How about choices. Preschoolers supposedly love choices. In the most menacing tone I am capable of mustering I respond. Okay, Amanda here are your choices: (1) Put on these white socks and go to school and have fun with your friends, or (2) Spend the rest of the morning in your room with your door shut whining about your green socks. What do you want to do?
Amanda: Silence. Refusal to take the white socks that I am holding out to her.
Me: Seething now. Okay, I will take that to mean you want to stay in your room. Elizabeth and I have plans this morning so we are going to finish getting dressed. I stand up, walk to her bedroom door, and leave, slamming the door. Hard. Yes, very mature. I know. But I'm friggin' tired of this argument now.
Amanda: Still in her room. Alone now. I WANT TO WEAR MY GREEN SOCKS! I WANT TO WEAR MY GREEN SOCKS!
Me: No way I'm responding anymore. She knows her choices.
Amanda: After about two or three minutes of screaming in her room, she leaves it and finds me brushing my teeth in my bathroom. Quietly, "but I want to wear my green socks."
Me: You know your choices. I'm done talking about your green socks.
Amanda: Head slumped. But... green is my favorite color. White is not my favorite color. I have on a green shirt. I want my green socks to match my shirt.
Me: You know what, Amanda? You see these black pants I put on just now? I don't particularly like them either.
Amanda: You don't?
Me: No, I don't. But they're hanging here in my closet, not sitting in my dirty clothes hamper. So I'm wearing them. I frankly wish I could wear something else today, but sometimes in life we have to wear things we don't want to wear and do things we don't want to do. Now, I'm going to make your snack. I'm depending on you to make the right choice here.
Amanda: She finds me in the kitchen. I have an idea! I'm going to go to my room and pick out some socks.
Me: That's a great idea. Please Lord don't let her reach in the dirty clothes hamper and pick out those dirty green socks from yesterday. Please Lord let her pick the white socks.
Amanda: Returns to the kitchen. I want to wear THESE white socks!
Me: Okay. Let me help you with those. Thank you Jesus.
Moral of the story, as far as I can tell: Next time let her wear the dirty socks.
3 comments:
Hilarious! Love the story. It's nice to know I'm not alone in those exchanges.
Literally laughing out loud in the office over this one. I don't know how many times I had to explain to Drew yesterday at Disneyland that we have to wait in line for rides because everyone gets a turn.
Oh Samantha. That should be in a book or magazine somewhere. Totally publishable, totally fantastic. I laughed out loud and felt like I was right there with you. Well documented. These are the days of our lives...
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