Sleeping Like a Baby

I just peeked in on Lucy. Next to Milo, she is a giant, a person, a formed creature! And yet, in her sleep, she is as mushy and vulnerable as her baby brother. Her mouth puckers when I tuck the blanket around her, looking for a thumb that isn't there. When I lay my finger in her soft, open hand, she clenches it and rolls toward me. Fierce girl, surrended. She is not a baby, but she is my baby, at least when she sleeps.

Where the Wild Thing Is

Last week I went to see "Where the Wild Things Are," the movie adaptation of Maurice Sendak's book. I thought the movie was sweet and sad, capturing something about how damn hard it can be to be a kid. While I was watching the movie, I had this desperate urge to go get Lucy out of school just to hold her tight.

We've been having a hard time lately. The Major Life Changes of Milo and kindergarten have made her surly and whiny — sometimes angrily independent, other times desperate for our help and attention. She hurls herself at negative consequences, knowing better, but unable to stop herself.

As a result, I have to admit to not liking her very much. That's hard to say, but true. I'm exhausted, frustrated and mad. When it's time for her to come home in the afternoon, I steel myself: what kind of Wild Thing will we have on our hands?

Yet watching this movie has helped me remember how hard this must all be for her. She's a five-year-old whose life has been turned upside down. She's at the mercy of two tired, distracted adults. We are all adjusting to this new us, but the adults have better coping mechanisms and are in charge of the television. Poor kid.

So as she roars her terrible roars and gnashes her terrible teeth, I will remind myself to keep the place where somebody loves Lu best of all, where her supper is waiting for her...and it is still hot.

Overheard

Milo won't sleep. Not in the screaming-as-we-pace-him-around-the-house way, just the dude-you-really-have-been-awake-too-long way. So after about half a day of various forms of working to get him to sleep (three shifts, including Granny on duty for one), we have given up. He is happily in his bouncy seat, cooing at Jason, who is killing mythical creatures online, when I hear...

FFFFLLLTTSPURRRRRTYSPAAAAATTYSPURRRTFLLLTT. (What is the onomatopoeia for Gigantic Wet Fart?)

Followed by a bunch more cooing. And reportedly lots of smiling. Maybe he will sleep now.

Sisterly Love

Watching Lucy and Milo is one of the best parts of having Milo. Day before yesterday, Lucy spent about 15 minutes cooing at him while he grinned and cooed back — a pretty sweet sight. And she calls him her "bro" as in "Mom, I need to go check on my bro." Again sweet, right?

And yet, among her drawings, we found this, which appears to be the universal symbol for "NO BABIES ALLOWED."

This Will Go on Her Permanent Record

We have had an incomplete picture of kindergarten thus far. The main sources of information on how Lucy is doing are 1) Lucy herself, who can only tell us that the best part of her day was lunch, and 2) a daily behavior "traffic light": green (good), yellow (not good) and red (your ass is going to the principal's). She's managed to have one yellow a week, accompanied by details like:

"Lucy seems to have a hard time knowing who's boss" or "Lucy was playing in the supply closet for which there is no key, and locked it, locking all the supplies we needed inside."

So all we've known for sure is that Lucy is a semi-badly-behaved child whose best subject is lunch. Until yesterday. We had our parent-teacher-student conference. Gulp. Based on the way she's been running yellow lights, and given her past history with a teacher who just didn't like her, we were prepared for a serious talk.

Instead, we had a positive, productive conversation — with Lucy present — about what's going on with her. She's doing very, very well academically. Reading way ahead of her peers, which we weren't surprised by, but also exceptional in math, which was nice to find out since we don't do math, um, recreationally at home. She has strong interest in and understanding of science and social studies — Ms. P. said Lu "really knows how the world works."

And as for the behavior, Ms. P. wasn't too tough. She said lots of Lucy's trouble comes from being bored, or wanting to know where the limit is it all times, and that her job as a teacher is to keep Lu challenged. She also said that she has to remind herself that, for all Lu's advanced vocabulary and negotiation techniques, she is five, so when she has a tantrum or a hard time, she's just acting her age. Ms. P. also commented on Lu's constant soundtrack, and maybe we could work on quieting that down a little. Ms. P. is amazing. Can you imagine having the Noisiest Person in America in your kindergarten class?