Mom et al » preschool behavior

Lies My Children Tell Me

Maria — Fri, 15 Apr 2011 21:09:24 +0000

Oh, there are a slew of them. You know they didn’t both forget to flush the toilet again, yet the only one who willingly uses it without my constant supervision vehemently denies blame. They very well could have torn apart the bookshelf and strewn its contents all over the floor in a collective effort, yet they both deny any involvement. She either pushed him or she didn’t; they can’t both be right. She either wrote with marker on the couch or he did; the mystery continues.

These are the lies and half truths you have to sift through. The proverbial tree in the woods they know you didn’t hear and can’t prove beyond a reasonable doubt exists.

For instance, it is highly unlikely that instead of ignoring me so that she could finish her drawing, she ‘forgot’ to put her shoes on after the fourth time I asked her to do so. And even though I explicitly warned her, with great consequence resulting, not to wake her brother in the morning on weekends, I must have misheard what was happening over the monitor when she broke his silent slumber by entering his room and whispering his name over and over. “He was already awake!” she would later insist.

These are the tricks of the pre-school trade and I have come to accept that my older child is quite the pro. It turns out, however, that what I actually have on my hands is a master and an apprentice.

Meals have been a struggle lately with the little guy. If he had it his way, his diet would consist of meatballs, mashed potatoes, chicken nuggets, and pizza. We have a nightly vegetable war which usually ends with me begging him to please just eat one carrot.

A few nights ago while he was eating dinner and I was cleaning his most recent present from school, I heard him call out to me, “Mommy! I ate ALL of my green beans!!!” Well, this was wonderful! There was not a speck of food left on his plate. I praised him and showed him all the excitement I truly felt, for progress! Progress had been made! With a high five and a hug I sent him off to play.

The next morning as I was getting everyone ready for the day I found this under his chair:

Dominic 1, Mommy 0

The force is strong with this one.

Then He Smiled At Me and Pissed His Pants

Maria — Fri, 08 Apr 2011 20:46:21 +0000

It starts every morning when he gets up. We tell him it’s time to go potty and he responds, “I DON’T WANT TO GO POTTY! I went potty the night after yesterday. Why do I have to go potty EVERY DAY???”

We calmly explain to him that he is a big boy now and he needs to go potty just like we do…every day, many times a day. He will eventually give in and pee. We don’t have too much trouble in that department. It’s the poop that’s problem. Oh God, the poop.

He goes to school in underwear and most days he comes home in the same clothing. He is a pretty regular boy in that he moves his bowels daily, sometimes more than once a day, but he’s inconsistent. You never know when he’s going to go. If he goes at school it’s hit or miss. He might poop in the potty. He might decide his underwear is just as good a place as any.

I have seen a lot of gross thing in this life. I have smelled a lot of gross things in this life. I feel quite certain that beyond decomposing flesh, nothing is much worse than a doubled up plastic bag of pee saturated and poop slathered underwear that have been shut up tight and sitting in wait for over six hours.

Unfortunately, there’s only so much pants and underwear you can throw out.

There was a time when I was dealing with this mess daily. I would rush home to try to get him on the potty before he wet himself again, serve dinner, and then while holding my breath as long as possible and touching as little as possible, I would dump the bag into the sink to begin the clean up process.

Some nights we were OK; he grumbled about getting on the potty when we first got home, but he always had to go and eventually we got through it. If he had already pooped that day I would think we were in the clear for an hour or so, only to smell him 10 minutes later.

You’re not supposed to get mad, you’re not supposed to chastise. You’re supposed to smile and say that’s ok, and help him clean up. But how long are you supposed to let that go on?

We’re well past the point where he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He chooses not go to potty and he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about incentives. He tells me flat out he will not poop in the potty at home. He will go at school if and when he feels like it.

Unfortunately, I was getting angry. I had had enough. There are only so much feces and laundry piles a person can handle on a daily basis. I was becoming resentful, and it was starting to show.

So I decided we needed a break and put him back in pull ups when he is at home. He still goes to pre-school in underwear per their request, and while he is at home we continue with the routine of sitting him on the potty. We remain mostly successful in the pee department, when I badger him persistently. He still chooses to poop in his pull up, usually five minutes after he gets off the potty. At least that I can wrap up and throw away while maintaining my sanity. Still, every now and then I have a bag of fun waiting for me when I pick him up at school.

I’m waiting. I think this is what I’m supposed to be doing. He has always been about doing things in his own time and at his own pace, from the bottle to his big boy bed. I’m fine with waiting and we keep trying.

But then every now and then he pulls this:

Last night we got home and while I was taking off coats I delivered the usual statement, “OK Dominic, let’s take off your coat and head to the potty.”

“NO! I DON’T WANT TO GO POTTY! I DON’T HAVE TO GO!”

The argument continued as I handled my own belongings and tried to coax him by the hand to the bathroom. He fought me, and the usual tug of war began as I tried to drag him kicking and screaming to the potty before he peed on my rug. He then stopped, smiled at me and said, “Mama guess what?”

I then watched his face go blank and recognized at once what he was doing but felt compelled to ask him anyway.

His smile returned and he triumphantly called out, “I peed!”

I could feel my rage rising. Here is where I take a deep breath and chant my little mantra:

He won’t do this forever. He won’t do this forever. He won’t do this forever. He won’t do this forever. He won’t do this forever. He won’t do this forever. He won’t do this forever. He won’t do this forever. He won’t do this forever. He won’t do this forever.

But it sure feels like it.

Nightmares

Maria — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 21:45:30 +0000

This past month has been a difficult sea of movement for me, at times a torrent of waking hours followed by minuscule passages of fitful sleep. How I got through it all, it would seem, is simply by the fact that time marches forward. It may not feel simple as it is passing, but pass it does none the less. The countdown to Christmas in addition to the general buzz of the holidays (cleaning, food shopping, baking, present buying, cleaning, wrapping, holiday parties, more cleaning) was coupled by a fairly immense amount of pressure to complete Workplace deadlines that brought me right up to the final ours before Christmas Eve. This was the last big hurtle that the shutdown of our office presented, and although I will still deal with some residual affects in the months to come, what we successfully accomplished in the last month is nothing short of mind boggling.

While yes, all that was much to handle, I’ve been stomaching a much deeper fret. The sleep patterns of my four year old had become a great concern, one that finally came to a head last week with a call to our family doctor. A call I was frankly scared to make. An answer I was too afraid to hear.

Around the time of Halloween, and shortly there after we started dealing with the “people” in Sofia’s bedroom. These people were later clarified as pictures, dreams, or better stated, negative images born from a blossoming imagination. The issue of the nighttime visitors, however, progressed from tears from my little one before bedtime, to a Nightmare on Elm Street style refusal to sleep, to waking with nightmares in the wee hours of the morning. It is no exaggeration when I state that my little girl was padding to my bedside between the hours of 3:00 and 5:00 a.m. on a nightly basis for a month straight with tears in her eyes seeking comfort from her latest bad dream. Yet it seemed that no comfort I could provide her was enough to make it stop. As the two of us lost more and more sleep from day to day, the situation became all the more desperate.

Just a few examples of the dreams: there have been bugs trying to bite her, friends not sharing their toys during outside play, and a really strange one with Elmo at sea in a thunderstorm with a bug swimming nearby. We discussed each dream. She understood that they were not real. She accepted that they were just pictures and images. I suggested to her that she try not to think about them anymore, and to focus on things that make her happy. She claimed that she does try to do so, and with all the rationality of someone beyond her years, continued to explain to that choosing not think about them does not stop the dreams from coming once she falls asleep.

I’ve done the research. These are not night tremors. She is not waking from sleep screaming or unaware of what is happening. She can describe to me in great detail and clarity each nightmare she has immediately following each incident and for many, many days later. While doctors agree that it is not uncommon for children her age to have nightmares during this period of development, the frequency of the incidents became alarming.

There were no major changes in her life these past few months. There was no alteration to her routine. In general her days have been happy. Our daycare has had nothing of concern to report. So of course, as her mother I looked inward. The major changes have been with me. Who is the one who has been under an enormous amount of stress lately? You betcha…me, me, and more me.

I didn’t think I was exposing them to my current state of mind. My boy had been acting fine. She is an intuitive little girl, however, so it’s entirely possible my stress was rubbing off on her. When I spoke to her doctor words such as anxiety disorder, and early stages of OCD were thrown about. Really? In a four year old? MY four year old? It just shouldn’t be so, and in that case I would much prefer the problem to be because of me. The doctor and I tossed around ideas of books Sofia and I could read together to deal with the nighttime fears, discussions we could have together, and even the suggestion of a dream catcher which she may embrace given her vivid imagination.

But what if the dream catcher didn’t work? What if the books just scared her more? What if I said all the wrong things and only made the situation worse?

Just as I was preparing to have the big talk, however, I began to notice a change. The last few nights before Christmas when I found her in my room her level of distress didn’t quite seem so sincere. I began to question if the action of waking from the nightmares was actually forming a pattern or routine. Was she just becoming used to waking during that time, and coming to find me knowing that I would comfort her? I do not doubt that there were times when she was genuinely afraid, but I found myself questioning, to what degree?

The night before Christmas Eve I had a talk with her. I explained to her that everyone has bad dreams some times, even mommies. I explained to her what I do when I have a bad dream: take a few deep breaths and think about people I love and things that make me happy before closing my eyes to go back to sleep. I reminded her that if she is really scared and needs help she can come to me, but that maybe not every dream is so bad that she needs my help. Perhaps she could see how she feels, and try to go back to sleep on her own.

It was with our doctor’s support, and with great trepidation that I suggested this. I did not want to leave her with the impression that she could not come to me, but I also want her to become self actualized and strong, and to learn to believe in her own power. I thought the chat went well, and she said that she would give it a try.

Was it the talk? Was it the fact that my work stress for the most part has passed? Was it the excitement of the holidays? I’m not sure, but she has not come to my bedroom since. I have some concern with the fact that she is stating she is not having bad dreams, as opposed to the acknowledgement that she had one and dealt with it.

It has been just short of a week but we are both finally getting some solid sleep. Are we in the clear? Has this stage of development passed? Did I do the right thing? I’m not counting my chickens yet, or my sheep for that matter. Only time will tell.

Night Vision

Maria — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 19:54:54 +0000

When I was a small child my father remodeled my bedroom walls. It was the late seventies, and paneling was quite the fashion. My parents had chosen a white colored paneling, and I can recall that the etchings of the wood throughout each plank had a hunter green hue. I’m sure it was beautiful, the way the wood grain swirled throughout the length of each panel; however, at my tender age of five I saw something much different.

A couple of months ago my daughter started reporting the presence of people in her bedroom at night. She referred to them mostly as pictures, but was insistent that she sees a ghost, and most importantly a witch. She is afraid. She expels genuine tears, which are prompted by the knowledge that once I leave the room her visitors will appear to her. At a loss I probed her with questions such as “where do you see them”, “have you seen them before on TV or in a book” and “are you talking about dreams while you are sleeping?”

She is insistent that she has never seen them before (still, my immediate response is to curse myself for letting her watch that damn Snow White), and she is certain she is awake. Despite one questionable experience I have had in my home thus far, I am inclined to shy away from suggestion of paranormal activity, and choose instead to dive a little deeper into the mind and eyes of my four year old child.

While there are specific areas of the room where the ghost and witch appear, she has also reported the presence of faces in her headboard. This is where it became all too clear for me. As I ran my fingers over the wood, trying to find the patterns, I had a flash of memory.

Lying in my bedroom in my childhood home, I was crying and pleading with my mother to make the faces go away. “Look at the faces, they are right there!” I called out from my little twin bed. I watched my mother run her fingers along the new paneling, trying in earnest to see what she could not. In the end, my father had to paint the paneling a lovely shade of blue. I’m not sure if I ever told them, but even with the paint I could still see the faces. They were, however, less pronounced and I was able to sleep at night without feeling watched.

I saw no pattern in my daughter’s my headboard, but I do not doubt that for her the faces exist. So here we are in yet another phase of childhood development that I probably should have anticipated, but haven’t bothered to educate myself upon yet beyond memories of my own personal experience. Thus far my encouragement has been to think happy thoughts, to not look at them, reassurance that they are not real, and to trust in that I am never far away.

I can’t help but wonder if the night light is the problem. She is too afraid of the dark to go without one, but for this little imaginative child, I believe the shadows from the light are causing more harm than the darkness. My next steps will involve lying with her before sleep, dissecting the room, giving names to the objects in the shadows, and attempting to bring what is real to the forefront while banishing away the fallacies the mind can create.

I would love to hear if you have experienced this problem with your children, and what were your methods to combat the nighttime fears of preschoolers? As I reflect upon my task ahead, I am reminded of an old Suzanne Vega song:

I could shelter you

Keep you in light

But I can only teach you

Night vision