New Acts of Piracy and the Abused Amaryllis

This week marked a change in Claire's adult aspirations.  No longer is she seeking future employment as a "princess-doctor."  Now, she's set her sights on piracy.  The impetus for this change was Dan's introduction of Pippi Longstocking to Claire's visual diet.  If you're not familiar with this character, let me fill you in.  Pippi is the abandoned daughter of a South Seas pirate who lives on her own in a large house that she runs as she pleases.  She has a couple of friends, several animals, and a horse that looks like she painted it.  Basically, Pippi does crazy, destructive--and yet creative things in the house and the surrounding town.  Pippi swings from chandeliers, skates through her house on mops, and generally causes an unapologetic disruption to the townfolks' mundane lives.  But wait... this sounds a lot like the lives of some of my students at the school where I teach!!  So maybe Pippi isn't so unrealistic. 

Pippi pretty much does whatever Pippi wants.  Claire has asked that we no longer call her "Claire."  We now must call her "Pippi Longstocking."  Now, when you ask Claire what she wants to be when she grows up, she'll tell you that she'd like to become a pirate.  My response, "dangerous profession."  Hey, at least we'll save on college expenses. 

The upside of Pippi Longstocking is that there are series of easy chapter books that tell Pippi's stories.  Dan bought these chapter books for Claire.  Amazingly, Claire will sit for long periods of time, listening to Dan read these books without any pictures.  If Claire's behavior is immature, her attention span in listening to these stories is truly advanced.

But, let's get to the abused Amaryllis.  For Christmas we received the lovely and thoughtful gift of an amaryllis bulb with pot and peat pellet.  What a wonderful idea!  Let's teach the children about forcing bulbs!!  Then we'll have a beautiful flower in the rainy month of March.  That was the intent and my idea.  We prepared the pot and planted the bulb.  Within a few days, it started to sprout and grow.  Two future amaryllis blossoms emerged from the bulb.  This was truly exciting.  That's when the crime began... One night at about 7:00 (when Claire does most of her bad things), Claire walked up to the amaryllis, grabbed one of the blossoms, tore it off at the base, looked at me, smiled, and ran off at top speed, squealing all the way.  I gave chase immediately, calling her name.  Claire threw the green evidence (just like the kids at my school), and hid behind the chair in the living room (yes, the destroyed chair).  I dragged her out and interrogated her for the criminal act.  She just looked at me and screamed a defiant battle cry.  Quickly, I took several deep breaths and forcibly carried her to the bathroom.  It was bath time, and I needed a corral to keep her from running. 

Claire cried and angrily screamed.  I thought that she was perhaps sorry for the amaryllis assault.  I was wrong.  I asked, "Claire, why would you ruin the flower like that?"  She responded, "I hate flowers in the house.  They are really dumb."  I said, "it wasn't your flower to ruin.  You can't just wreck things that you don't like."  Claire remained defiant, screaming.  My next move was to try to bathe her.  She was tired, and in a really destructive, angry mood.  Not good.  Somehow I managed to get her into the tub, and washed.  She took a couple of swings at my during the bath, and attempted to throw water at me.  I decided that it was over.  I wrapped her in a pink towel, and used it as a straight-jacket.  I carried her like a pink sausage, up the stairs, with her protesting all the way.  She even tried to spit on me.  This was a new low.  She was forcibly clothed and her teeth brushed.  Kicks and swinging fists were attempted, but unsuccessful.  I chanted my new mantra, "I am not going to spank you... I am not going to spank you... we don't hit... we don't hit..."  My final words to her were: "You're done.  I love you." and the door was shut.  She was asleep in five minutes. 

It's at these moments that I usually begin researching behavioral disorders.  Claire fits the characteristics for oppositional defiant disorder... with one major problem: at the bottom of the disorder description it states, "These behaviors are considered normal if the child is three or four years old."  So, this is "normal?"  Well, that's reassuring. 

At a recent birthday party, given by one of Claire's preschool classmates, I discussed the behavior with another parent.  He said, "My son does that kind of thing all the time.  He has absolutely no empathy for others at this point.  He shredded a house plant for no apparent reason, just the other day."  I felt like saying, "Oh good.  I'm so relieved!  That's great to hear."  Fortunately, I held myself back.

Now, back to the amaryllis.  Since the initial attack the amaryllis had made a nice recovery.  The remaining blossom and leaves had grown taller... stretching toward the artificial light that summoned them.  Then, the unthinkable happened.  I came into the room, and noticed that the amaryllis and all it's leaves had been flattened... completely smashed.  It looked a piece from the Salvador Dali museum: The Persistence of Memory.  It was that flat.  I hoped that perhaps the cat had done this.  Or possibly I'd let the amaryllis get too dry, and it had just flopped over.  Reluctantly, I asked Claire what had happened.  She said, "I did it because I didn't like the flower.  Flowers should be outside, not inside." 

I wasn't even sure how to respond.  I said, "Well, it's my flower, and you cannot destroy things that don't belong to you."  She seemed to accept that.  Somehow I was able to prop up and revive the amaryllis... again.  Within a week or so, it should bloom.  But only if we're really lucky.

My Daughter the Superhero

When I was in elementary school, back in the early '80s, I loved to watch Linda Carter in her role as Wonder Woman.  I'm sure that there's a whole generation of women out there who used to spin around really really hard in the hope that somehow they'd transform into Wonder Woman.  Wonder Woman made being a superhero seem so stylish and powerful... and yet so decidedly feminine.  As a general rule, I embrace superhero play; I much prefer it to this silly princess business.  Superheros get things done, and nobody fools them into eating a poisoned apple.  True, there's kryptonite and Superman, but at least he avoids it. 

Lately, my daughter "Shonkey" as we refer to her, has taken a liking to superheros.  However, she's not really interested in the feminized version of them... she wants the real deal.  No Supergirl for her; she's the man of steel or nothing.  It's not that she particularly wants to be male, she just wants ALL of the power.  On Sunday, we made one of our mother-daughter Target trips and we strolled through the children's sleepwear section.  Claire saw the boys' superhero jammies and was hooked immediately.  When I showed her the Superman and Batman jammies, she said, "Oh Mom, these are beautiful."  She said it with the same enthusiasm and intonation that she used when referring to a pink tulle Easter dress just a few weeks ago.

I'm a sucker, and I bought her a set of each.  Each jammy has a long-sleeved top, pants and cute, little detachable cape.  So far she's alternated each night between Superman and Batman.  After her bath, she suits-up and does some necessary "zooming" around the house.  Tonight, we had a more in-depth conversation about the role of superheros in our society.  I asked Claire what superheros do; she responded that they, "Fight bad guys and destroy monsters."  I also asked about special powers.  Specifically, which power did she posses?  Claire said, "I have super-lifting powers."  I said, "so, you're super-strong?"  "Yes," she replied, "and super fast."  That didn't surprise me a bit.  She then proceeded to sing a superhero song and then did her best to super-avoid bedtime.

If my daughter is going to emulate anything, let it be superheros.  Superheros are altruistic, embrace strength, face danger with courage, are confident in their bodies and themselves, and take chances to save others in situations where the odds are stacked against them.  Can princesses boast all of that?  Sure, they're stylish, sweet, sensitive and delicate.  But how far does that really get you in our dog-eat-dog world?  It's no coincidence that superheros are marketed to boys, but princesses are marketed to girls.  You don't see Disney launching a line of Prince Charmings?  Aladdin characters don't hold a candle to the popularity of Jasmine. 

I'm just glad that I'm raising my daughter in a society where she can be a princess today and superhero tomorrow.  I wonder if those capes come in my size?

Future Professions for Shonkey... Possibilities?

When Claire is being particularly difficult, I often try to remind myself that someday she'll probably be really successful--or in a lot of trouble.  This is probably my first child, Bob, is possibly the most passive, nicest and most personable 11 year-old boys around.  It's also because I spend my work days dealing with the MOST difficult students in the sophomore class at the high school where I work.  Through the lens of this experience, I view Claire; I see great potential, and yet I fear what might happen if she goes off the rails as a fifteen year-old. 

Bedtime Negotiations

Just like most typical three year-olds, we go through an evening dinner, bathtime and bedtime routine.  It culminates in the brushing of teeth and the reading of stories, preferrably, but not always, by about 8 pm.  Dan and I start the reading by saying, "Two stories tonight."  Then we ask Claire, "How many stories tonight?"  Claire responds, "Five stories."  We say, "No, two stories."  Claire responds, "Five stories."  This exchange usually goes back and forth for a minute or two.  Claire knows nothing of negotiation.  Perhaps if she'd come back with "Three stories?"  We might acquiesce and read three stories.  But this kid will not budge.  There is no compromise.  Claire is no Obama.

At these times, I try to consider potential future careers for Claire.  She can be absolutely ruthless.  I'm not sure where she gets it.  Her great grandmother was the CEO of Sunny Jim Peanutbutter.  I've been told that she displays many personality traits of Celeste Firnstal Rogge.  Perhaps that's a sign.  Maybe she'll engineer hostile corporate takeovers.  Where I would be worrying about my employees or the lives that I might affect, Claire could go for the kill.  I often joke with my collegiate rowing friends that Claire gets her personality from Sabina Telenska.  Although Sabina and I aren't blood relatives, we've defintiely spent a lot of time together--long before the birth of Claire.  Sabina is an extremely successful, self-made woman.  She never hesitates to tell you what she really thinks; Claire is just like this too.  Perhaps a litigation attorney?  Claire doesn't hesitate and won't back down. 

Claire the Competitor

My son, Bob, is eight years older than Claire and a completely different personality.  They share the same mother and the same coloring, but beyond that--not much.  From the time Bob could toddle, I have been encouraging him to run, to race and compete.  Bob has gone along with it for the most part.  He became a competitive swimmer, snow skis like a champ, and is always up for a good bike ride.  However, Bob can only take it to a certain point.  He's got good natural ability, but doesn't possess the "fire" of competition.  In essence--he's normal and well-adjusted... not like me.  I often joke with friends that I'm "disordered." In the midst of competition, I have wanted to rip peoples' heads off and shatter their dreams.  Bob is kind, loving and gentle. 

Claire, on the other hand, appears to have the fire... and I'm starting to regret my desire for it.  When I pick Claire up from preschool, it's mandatory that she beat me to the car.  If Bob is present, he cannot walk ahead of her; she has to be in the lead or she pulls out every weapon in her three-year-old arsenal to stop the entire production.  In these frustrating moments, I try to imagine Claire in a head-to-head race of some sort.  I stretch my imagination to visualize her in a situation where we'll value and praise her willfulness and unrelenting drive to win. 

One of the biggest mistakes that parents often make, especially parents of girls, is to try to make them meek, quiet, and submissive.  We ask them not to be outspoken, to shy away from strength and opinion, and to always hold back just a little.  What happens when a baby girl is born that just can't ever be those things?  Most of my closest female friends fit into this category.  They are superwomen.  I often see this in my female students in my at-risk class; I want them to understand that their strength and will is a gift to be developed, not a fire to be extinguished. 

On that note, a cup of hot chocolate has been requested.

I can't believe I'm doing this.

I swore I'd never create a blog.  I used to think it was a self-indulgent pass time of those who think their lives are overly important.  Now, I'm starting to write my own.  I'm not creating it for pure entertainment though.  I have a daughter who regularly says and does things that would make most mothers cringe.  Claire's behavior makes me cringe too.  I have posted some of her notable comments on my Facebook status update, and they usually are greeted with shock and awe.  Claire is three and a half, the size of a five year-old, and full of so much piss and vinegar, I'm not quite sure what to do.  The blog title, "Shonkey's Mom" refers to an imaginary friend that Claire used to have.  For a while, EVERYTHING--including Claire, was called "Shonkey."  It's become our loving name for our sometimes sweet daughter.

Don't get me wrong, Claire can be sweet.  I don't really think she's going to turn out to be a sociopath, but there are days when I definitely wonder whether she's normal.  My hope in creating this blog is to document the shit she says and does. 

When I was told that I was having a daughter, I imagined all of the pink, sweet little things that are associated with little girls.  Right away, I was ready to sign up to be a Brownie Scout leader.  I knew, because I know myself, that this child might be a bit of a handful.  I knew that she could be a real ass-kicker.  But I didn't quite know how bad it might be.  My mom had mentioned that I'd been difficult as a child, but not unreasonably so.  I wasn't particularly destructive, just willful and a bit mouthy.  Claire is destructive, extremely willful, and amazingly mouthy... and she hits too.  Thankfully, she doesn't bite--not yet at least.

Just this morning, I joyfully entered her room to announce that it was "not a preschool day!"  Claire looked at me and said, "That sound is hurting my ears."  I asked, "What sound?"  She said, "The sound coming out of your mouth."  And this is just a typical Claire comment... No "good morning Mommy" or "can we go to the park."  Next she told me to leave her alone because, "I'm still sleeping." 

Fortunately, today we only had one near-tantrum.  It was a good day.  In these moments I'm regularly told, "I don't like you.  I don't love you.  I want a new family/Mom."  This is just the least of it.  Lately, this has been accompanied by hitting and/or kicking.  Claire knows the routine when this occurs: straight to your bedroom. 

Tonight, was another "Classic Claire Moment" at the REI store in downtown Portland.  Claire accompanied me to pick up a new jacket that I'd ordered.  When we entered, I noticed the nice Girl Scouts selling cookies by the climbing pinnacle.  As we were leaving, we stopped to talk to them about their cookie sale.  The girls were so cheery and happily recited their credo.  Claire stared at one of the smiling girls and these words came out of her mouth: "Just what do you think you're looking at?"  The poor Girl Scout was totally taken aback.  She responded, "Oh, she's so sweet."  I was like, "Thanks, but no, not really."  I was mortified by Claire's comment.  I said, "I'll take four boxes of cookies!"