“Santa is watching,” I tell my daughter who appears to be dangerously close to putting a large pot over her baby brother’s head.
“Oh no,” she cries, collapsing in a heap on the hardwood floors. She cries inconsolably, gasping for breath. “I am so naughty,” she wails. I sit down on the floor and wrap my arms around her body and give her a tight squeeze.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “It’s not yet Christmas, you have time to be better,” I rub her back with my hand. My words are the opposite of soothing.
She bolts upright. “I CAN’T,” she screams. “I want to stop being naughty, but I can’t.” She is distraught and realizes that behaving is not a possible. “SANTA WILL NEVER BRING ME ANY PRESENTS,” real tears stream down her cheeks.
This is the seasonal variation of her wailing, “I want to be good, but I just CAN’T,” or “I want to stop crying, but my tears just won’t stop.”
I walk into my daughter’s preschool classroom. I love picking my three-year-old up from school. Typically, she runs at me with open arms, yells “Mama” and grabs hold of my legs. I never get greetings like that. Today I walk into her classroom. My daughter is huddled in the corner behind a table. She looks up, sees me, and screams, “GO AWAY,” at the top of her lungs. These public greetings can be embarrassing. I approach her and her shrieks grow louder. She opens her mouth wide and ROARS.
“What are you doing? We’ve got to go.” I snap, kneeling down beside her. She holds a Ziploc baggy that contains a chocolate in her hands and like a wild animal she tears at it with her teeth.
“What are you doing?” I repeat, slightly horrified by her animalistic behavior.
“I want my treat,” she growls. The teacher told her she could not have a treat until she finished her healthy food. My daughter’s lunchbox sits full on the table.
“Maybe you shouldn’t put treats in her lunchbox,” her teacher suggests as we exit the classroom.
“MOM,” my baby howls. I glance at the clock, 2:30am, jump out of bed, and run to her room. “There are spiders,” she murmurs still half asleep. “Mommy snuggle,” she implores. I lie down in her bed, placing my head on a stuffed animal. I try to fall back to sleep. Moments later, she barks, “MOM SIT IN THE CHAIR!” She doesn’t want me to share her bed, the bratty child wants me to sit in the chair by her bed.
Seriously? I think. Are you kidding me? Last time I climb in her bed.
The baby screams and instantaneously, she screams, “I didn’t do it.”
“What do you mean you didn’t do it?” I say. The three-year-old and the crying baby sit beside each other next to the steps.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Oh, I just bumped his chin against the stairs.” She answers innocently. “Is that bad?” Her grin is devilish.
This kid thinks she can get away with anything, and she probably can. In the future, I just hope she uses her charm for good and not evil.
A professional family photo shoot at Wash Park, my wild child pops a squat in the middle of the very public field. There is no shame in her game.
We are at the playground, waiting for her big sister to get out of school. I push my wild child on the swing.
“Try pumping,” I say, she knows how to pump her legs, but she has no desire to do it on her own.
“DO OR DO NOT, THERE IS NO TRY,” she croaks in her best Yoda voice.