how plans to write a love letter saved the day

This morning I woke up and determined it was time to try something new with Frances. We have been in an awfully snippy rhythm with each other. She baits, and I fall for it hook, line and sinker. I wind up hounding her about her manners or finishing her carrots or whatever - whatever offense is in front of me and seems most glaring (but is in fact pretty minor). She, predictably, finds my nit-picking equally awful and sufficient reason to say something mean to me or take her brother's toy. And the cycle continues! How to interrupt this madness?

I determined to blog a love letter to Frances tonight. Instead of feeling bad about myself and worrying about her limitations, I thought it would help to remember why she is so dear to me. No baby stories or vaseline-on-the-lens nostalgia allowed. This letter had to be an accounting in the here and now, a 'let me count the ways' type of deal. This would be a love letter. Hearts and cupids! I thought it was worth subjecting all of you to some real gooey gushy stuff, if it meant getting my relationship with the girl back on track.

So, on the way to school I'm thinking about this, and we're listening to Sufjan Stevens. It's been awhile, and Frances is asking me to turn it up, she can't quite remember hearing it before. Driving down Generals Highway, I glance at the children in the rear view mirror, both of them are staring off somewhere, very quiet. We arrive at school a few minutes early. I put the car in park and turn around. Frances, do you like this music? A grave, serious little face looks back at me and utters the word: yes.
Pause.
Mama, can we come up to the front seat and listen to more music with you? So that's what we do. Frances unbuckles herself and climbs into the driver's seat. I fetch Gabriel and we sit in the passenger seat. We three are very quiet, listening. I watch Frances, watch her face and her big eyes. I watch her body listening to the music, and eventually she looks at me and snuggles her face into my shoulder. Sigh. Time to go in to school.

After dropping her off, it occurs to me that the thing that can make me most annoyed (read: most worried) about Frances - the fact that she sometimes reacts to others' pain or disappointment inappropriately - this thing is maybe a defense against how very deeply she can feel. I can be so impatient when Frances doesn't seem to get that someone else is sad, or hurt, or scared - at least, when she doesn't respond in a caring way. But maybe the fact is that some part of her gets it all too well, and it's scary, and beyond her ability to understand cognitively, and leaves her exposed. And being four is maybe exposure enough.

Just watching her listen to the music this morning, absorbing the mood and language...I knew she was okay, doing her best to manage enormous emotions, and feeling just as lost as I was in our icky, mutually antagonistic mode. I decided to meet her where she was, and stop being disappointed in her after setting up situations that leave her coming up short. Perhaps I could even help her. What a thought!

So, what did that mean? Gabriel and I were at the craft store later, picking up some stickers and little things to send for a cousin's birthday. Some part of my brain began to anticipate Frances catching sight of these treasures and whining about how I NEVER get her ANY STICKERS not even one time not ever why CAN'T she have these stickers why aren't they for HER??? And then I felt my heart closing up, making judgments about how irrational the child is who gets stickers all the time and cannot even allow someone else a sheet of stickers on their birthday... and so I decided to handle the situation differently: I bought a sheet of stickers for her and a sheet for Gabriel. Blue butterflies for Frances and horses for the galloping boy. Stickers for everyone!

Gabriel was clutching his stickers in an iron grip when we arrived at school. Again, I felt the inward eye-rolling groan, bracing myself for the why-does-Gabriel-get-stickers-I-never-get-stickers-I-am-SO-ENVIOUS-Mama! torrent as soon as we met Frances outside school. But no! Wait! Another little self-intervention: I will not do that, I will not be annoyed at her before even setting eyes on her. I carried her stickers in, quite visible in my hand, ready to be offered before any injustice was registered.
It worked.
A happy greeting. A happy drive home. A happy, industrious spell making Courtney's birthday card.



A plan to have a party for one of Frances' invisible acquaintances that she chats with in the bathroom, Dister Lister*. An ascent up to her bedroom without any complaints (woah) for Quiet Time, where 45 minutes was peacefully spent reading books. A happy reunion after quiet time, and some silly party prep which involved selecting music, making snacks, and getting out the dress up clothes. Gabriel wore a gold skirt around his neck and we called him the King. Dister Lister came really late, after the dancing, but joined us for some stories on the couch. Frances sat on his head by accident.

I swear to you it was a beautiful day. I didn't even have to write that love letter. I realized how destructive I was being: waiting for her to whine, to tantrum, to screw up, and feeling the anger start to creep in before anything even happened! And in the past couple of weeks, something always did actually happen, but this had a lot to do with my fight-anticipating and even fight-picking.
I am not proud.

Today really was about meeting Frances where she is. Accepting it. Accommodating it, even. So she feels grumpy when other kids get stuff. So what? Today, I got her some stuff too so she wouldn't have to feel that. I'm not advocating stickers and ice cream whenever things look unpleasant. I remember reading in a Penelope Leach book that your kid is not spoiled if you truly enjoy giving her the things you do - if you don't feel manipulated or desperate about it. I gave a lot to Frances today. Not just the stickers. That set the tone, sure. But we spent a lot of time together, and I invited her to bring her imaginary world into our family world, which delighted her to no end.

I didn't feel pushed around today, not once. I felt my heart open to her. I felt the ice melt. She felt it too.
Oh, gratitude! For small shifts and loosenings, and for a dear precious girl so full of passion, big thoughts and big feelings. I love her. I love her like crazy.




*
M: How did you first meet Dister Lister?
F: Um. I was just like in a parking lot and I saw a mother, but not her boy, but then I heard a boy saying I'm Dister Lister!! and that's how I first met him.
M: What's he like?
F: He's invisible! Remember? You just see a mouth, and no face, and no shirt, and no body. Just a mouth.
M: Does he eat?
F: Yes.
M: What does he like?
F: Pasta. Green beans. That's all he likes.
M: Where does he live?
F: I'll check in this book (checks book she made this morning entitled The Myth of the Super, about a star that goes into a rainbow tunnel). Massachusetts.
Why don't you ask me another question about Dister Lister?
M: How old is he?
F: 6.
M: What's his school like?
F: Very fun. He has a desk.
M: What's his house like?
F: Red walls. A green roof. Ask me another question.
M: What are his favorite things to do?
F: Do homework. Ah...dress up. Those are his favorite things but he likes to do everything.
M: Will he like the party today?
F: uh huh, I think so.
M: Does he have any friends?
F: Yes. Like pretend friends. I don't remember their names.
M: Does he have any pets?
F: A dog. Placzki. Wanna ask me another question?
M: Nah. I want you to ask me a question instead.
F: Like what?
M: Like, anything you want to know.
F: No thanks.