“Mom, last week in science, we learned about intercourse,” Claire said.
I keep a straight face and will my breathing to be calm.
“Oh, really? What did you learn about it?” I ask.
“It’s deep inside,” she says, and I feel faint.
“…the earth,” she continues.
“…right below the outer core & mantle.”
I gasp out loud, “The INNER CORE, sweetheart. INNER CORE.”
She smiles and nods and has no idea why I’ve become so animated about geology.
I’m not sure which is better, the fact that Claire asked me to do her hair (I’ve been relegated to only doing her hair on Ballet Days…she can do her own hair herself, thankyouverymuch), or that she wanted her hair to be like Mary & Laura Ingalls‘ hair.
Either way, she looks like such a big girl in this photo. Like a girl…not a shred of baby left. Part of me gets a bit teary when I see her in braids…not because I wish I had my baby back, but because I’m just so excited to see where she goes next.
Yesterday was one of those days. It was one of those days where tiny little things, as innocuous as single, solitary ants suddenly converge in a mass of creatures that can fell a rainforest.
In the midst of this, was Claire. All she really wanted was for me to help her tie tiny ribbon bows on tiny chicks made of bits of feather or fluffy balls. And, while you’re at it, can you please help glue together more chicks? She’s making a baby bird family, and they need a nest. Why couldn’t I just take a break and help her make a nest out of ribbons? Any good momma bird would do that for her baby chick.
I’d take a break every now and then to tie a bow or press two fluffy balls together with glue. I mean, it didn’t look like I was doing anything at all…that is the danger of working and playing on the same computer. Momma just sits there, typing. Who knows what she’s really doing over there.
Plus, Claire couldn’t see all the ants.
Dinner wasn’t even the relaxing time it normally is. Daddy had to work late; the project I was working on was teetering on the brink of disaster, and when it was finally time to get PJs on, I was at my wit’s end.
The proverbial camel’s back was heaving under the pressure. What would it be that broke it in two?
And right on cue, we got in a huge fight about something silly.
Actually, in my defense, it’s not silly. You can’t throw your glasses off in the middle of doing who knows what and not know where they go. They go in your glasses case. Anywhere other than than is a recipe for the crunching sound of delicate glasses, and that’s just not acceptable.
And how can you forget where you put them? How can you forget??
There were angry faces and short, curt tones.
There were tears.
There was the marching downstairs to tell Daddy what she’d done.
She was devastated, and I’ll be honest, part of me was glad. How terrible.
She was sobbing now, so ashamed that she’d done something terrible with her glasses.
And, all of a sudden, I came to my senses.
She’s four.
Yep, she’s four years old, even if she acts 14 going on 40 for most of the day. So far, four has been awesome, but it’s still four. She’s four, and they’re glasses.
She hasn’t had these glasses long at all, and although she remembers everything to the n-th degree, she’s four. She’s going to make mistakes. She’s going to forget things.
Even I had forgotten. I’d accidentally left my own Glasses of 110% Perfection on when I left my desk and tried to look at her with them…and that’s just not fair.
Yes, we spent 15 minutes looking for her glasses.
Yes, they could have been broken.
But, we found them, and they weren’t.
I apologized for getting upset with her. I explained why I was frustrated and apologized for taking it out on her. She apologized and promised to do better about remembering.
And, I promised to do better about remembering, too.
She’s four.
Saturday after Ballet Class, Claire told me that she jumped so high her head got stuck in the ceiling! She said it was “a disaster!” and that Miss Michelle couldn’t even get her down!
Apparently, I’m getting better at doing the Ballet Bun, because not a single hair on her head had moved after such an adventure.
I just came up with a fun little snack idea, and I just thought I’d share!
All you need is butcher string and a bag of pretzels.
What you do:
And, that’s it!
This is a great way to have an afternoon snack…
…and Claire seems to like it, too. 
For real.
I have never used AquaNet on my child.
Okay, except that one time…back in July…but it was for a wedding! She was the star of the show Diva Flower Princess flower girl! And, it wasn’t even my AquaNet!
Anyway…
I learned a long time ago that battles over hair are not ones I’m going to put much tactical effort or resources into fighting.
I told Claire she could have her hair however she wanted it. She decided she wanted to grow it long, so that’s what we’re doing. She flips back and forth about what she wants to do with her bangs, but I have a rule: Clip it or cut it. If you can’t keep your bangs out of your eyes with a clip of some sort, we get them cut. Period. Hair falling into her eyes drives me absolutely crazy and makes me twitch.
This, of course, is information she’ll use against me one day.
Her Ballet School has rules about hair. All the girls are required to have their hair up in a Ballet Bun. She’s allowed to have bangs in her Preschool Ballet class (and a pony-tail if it’s a particularly challenging day on the Hair Front), but the older levels have different rules: Ballet Bun and no bangs. When she reaches that point, we’ll discuss her options, and it will be up to her.
Lately, Claire has been begging to have her hair curled. One day, I did that before school. With a curling iron. I gave us plenty of time to get ready, but I knew something wasn’t quite right when I’d officially spent more time on her hair than mine.
Her hair doesn’t hold curl very well, so imagine my joy at seeing her relatively curl-less hair when I picked her up from Preschool. She doesn’t know her hair doesn’t hold curl very well, so she had no idea that it wasn’t as curly as before.
We did discover that when we take her hair down from her Ballet Bun, it’s the perfect curliness. When it’s curled like that, it tends to stay a little bit longer. So, we’ve been doing that at night. I position the bun so that it won’t hurt her little head why she’s sleeping, and in the morning, once we’ve had breakfast, donned our attire, and the bun is unfurled, we’re greeted with perfect curls.
She thinks she looks like Sleeping Beauty.
…and I look like a Stage Mom.
…even without the AquaNet.
I was picking Claire up from an impromptu playdate when her tears started. I’d needed an extra set of child-watching hands, and my friend had provided them. I’d done the same for her little boy on occasion, so it all worked out.
“I don’t want to leave!” Claire cried. “I want to stay forEVER.”
The tears were enough to break your heart, but I’d learned a long time ago not to take these things personally. I am so fortunate to be surrounded by people she enjoys.
“Oh, sweetie. If we don’t leave, we can’t come back!” I resorted to my old stand-by. It won’t be long before this doesn’t work anymore.
But, it seemed to do the trick. The tears were stopping.
“I know!” she said, wiping her face with her hand. “I can live HERE! Then, I won’t HAVE to go home, because I’ll already be here!”
“Oh, sweetie. We would miss you so much, and the kitties would be so sad. Poor Merlin and Jasper,” I said, trying not to laugh. “Plus, what would Grandma and Papa say if they came to visit, and you weren’t there?”
“Duh, Momma,” she said matter-of-factly. “We can make them a map!”
As I was looking over some things I’ve written in the past, I stumbled upon this gem that I wrote on December 13, 2007:
An imaginary conversation I had in my head today while waiting in line to ship a package:
“How much will it cost to ship this?” I said, struggling not to drop my packages, my purse, Kitty, Puppy, a pair of small sunglasses and a hand-knitted winter hat. “This small box and this big package…not all this other stuff. And, you can box up the larger package for me, right?”
“The small box is no problem, but I’m sorry, Ma’am,” the clerk in the purple and black shirt said. “If the bigger package won’t sit still long enough to be measured, we can’t ship it from here.”
“But, I’ll pay extra,” I said, tapping my credit card on the counter.
“…and there will be an extra surcharge for all the noise. Is there anyway you can tape the on/off switch to off?”
“You can still hear that? All that screaming isn’t just in my head?” I asked. “Believe me, I’ve tried. I can’t seem to find the switch. I even took out the batteries,” I explained.
“…and there’s some rule about not being able to ship humans…” the clerk continued.
“Prove to me she’s human right now, and I won’t ship her anywhere.”
This post still makes me laugh, and it got me thinking. I remember that day as though it were yesterday. Claire’s 2nd Year wasn’t as terrible as some warned, but it wasn’t without its challenges. That day was one of the tougher ones. Honestly, three was a bigger challenge for me, but I still wouldn’t change anything. (I can say that because we both escaped Year Three relatively unscathed.)
She’s four now, and it is rare that I threaten to ship her anywhere in a box.
So far?
So far, I love four.
“I’m doing that to try to make you crazy,” she said to me.
I had to laugh at the pure sincerity of it all.
I love the honesty of 4-year olds.
I am the oldest of four kids, and even I was shocked to discover a name-calling loop hole that Claire found.
Yesterday, I was telling her to do something, and she yelled, “You’re a monster!”
Just as she said the word, I said, “WHAT!?”
And she drug out the ending of the word and added, “Hunter!”
I laughed out loud.
“You’re a monster HUNTER!” she said again, hoping she wouldn’t end up in the time-out corner for name-calling. “You know…you hunt for monsters,” she said, still back-pedaling as fast as an almost-4-yr old can pedal.
Her points for creativity saved her.
This time.
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