|
|
|
January 4, 2008 Frances Friday: Not Fair! 
Nothing is fair at our house right now, or so I've been told. It's Not Fair that she has to go to bed, and it's Not Fair that she can't watch one more TV show before night time, and it's Not Fair that I also want a turn on the computer or that I limit her total screen time, it's Not Fair that she didn't get to finish making her lego house for the baby girl, it's Not Fair that she's not done her dinosaur yet and it's time for dinner, and it's Not Fair that C didn't call on her today. It's especially Not Fair that she needs to eat a suitable quantity of healthy food before she can eat chocolate chip cookies (aha, yes, I caught on to that one. Sneaky kid. Sure, they say that kids will always eat a good amount of healthy foods when they are hungry--until they turn four, and then they will learn that if they pretend to be full after a few spoonfulls, they may trick you into an early desert). It's one big Not Fair world, and I am the Chief Officer of Not Fairness. But it offers me so many opportunities to sound like a Cranky Old Lady, that I don't mind. For instance: "Well, I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is." Or: "That's what happens. When you choose to play with lego after supper, you run out of time for TV. But lego is better anyway. No, it's time for bed." Or: "You have to have a bath because your hair is getting dirty. Yes, it is. No, we're going upstairs now." Or: "Frances, this is my computer. I don't have to share it with you at all." But my favourite so far: "I'm the Mom, and it's my job to make the rules, and this is what I am saying, and what I say goes. Now move." This, also, is Not Fair. Just ask Frances. ~~~~~ This week has brought us several night-time adventures. #1: Late and getting ready for bed when I hear a soft thump and a sleepy cry from her bedroom; in I go, to find Frances performing a handstand from her bed, hair all tumbled on the floor, pyjama top riding up her back. I grab her under (over?) her arms, and sit her in her bed. "Oh no, did you fall off the bed?" Sleepy nod. Very big, very round, very blue eyes. Perplexed looking frown, with pinched little lips. "Did you catch yourself on your hands? Oh no. Do you want me to kiss it better? Do I need to move the gate up a bit? How did you manage that, anyway? Let's tuck you in again. Here is your duckie; see, she fell out of bed, too." Lay her down with her head on her pillow, put the duck in her arms, pull the sheet to her chin and she is asleep before I've left the room. #2: Andrea: (jolts awake, stares at clock which reads 6 am) Oh. Hi, Frances. Good morning. Frances: I just want to snuggle! I didn't wake up early! (clambers up on bed) Andrea: I see. You just want to snuggle? Ok. Frances: I slept later today! I just want to snuggle! (still affronted) Is it morning time? Andrea: Sort of. Yes. Frances: Yay! (happy fists in the air) #3: Andrea: (jolts awake, stares at clock which reads 4:30) You had a bad dream? About Daddy? Frances: Yeah! (clambers on to bed, fingers find baby mole--yes, she is still all about the baby mole when she is sad) He yelled at me! He said, Get off of there! And then I cried! He wasn't nice to me! Andrea: Sweetie, it was just a dream. Come here, let me put the blanket on you. There, are you comfy? Just a dream. It wasn't the real Daddy. It was like TV, a pretend Daddy. Frances: He yelled at me! I cried! She stopped crying and put her cheek on the baby mole, an arm around my neck, closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Eventually I took her back to her own bed, but who wants to rush a sleep-time snuggle? But #4 is the big one: We are done with diapers at night time. None since last weekend. No accidents. She is very proud of herself. ~~~~~ Frances does not like it when other people call her small, which they have been doing at daycare lately, and she lets me know. "A called me small!" she'll say. "I didn't like it! It made me sad." "Oh." I'll look for words. "Did you tell A that it made you sad?" "Yeah. And she did! She called me small!" "I see. Well, you can always ask a teacher for help. But, sweetie," and this is so hard to say, with her big blue eyes, her narrow shoulders, her small hands folded in her lap, all in front of me, "you are small. Some people are big, some people are small. You are small. But it's lovely. You are just the right size for you." I'm never sure how far to take this. I hope that she'll show me what she needs when we reach a new milestone, because I'm walking blind here. She is small. I don't want her to grow up believing otherwise, or thinking that smallness is something to be ashamed of, or that mention of it is an insult. How do I share this with her when she is only four? The other day, she did something, I can't even tell you what because this happens all the time, that was so adorable, that made her so irresistable, that I gave her a hug and a kiss and said, "My cute little girl." "I am not little," she said. "I am four. I am big." "So, you are my cute big girl?" "No," she said, severely. "Cute is little. You can't be cute when you are big." My lips twitched and I stared at the floor a moment to hide the laugh. I don't think I am ever fast enough, though. "You know, sweetie, you can be both. Cute and big." She turned away, squared her narrow shoulders, set her lips. "I am smaller than other people. Other people are bigger than me." I don't know where she got those precise words; they are nothing I have ever said. Either she put that together herself or she has been talking about this at daycare too. Her tone was somewhere between wistfulness and resignation. It made me sad. Posted by Andrea at January 4, 2008 8:48 AM under Being Small , Frances Friday EMAIL this entry (comments fields are below this section) Comments Oh, she is so cute I cannot stand it! I'm sure you will help her find the beauty in small, because she makes small look very wonderful, to me. Posted by: yankee,transferred at January 4, 2008 1:32 PM
What Yankee said. Frances is cute, big, little, and everything Beautiful all in one wonderful person. Posted by: Sue at January 4, 2008 3:38 PM
I feel like my heart is all wrinkly, like fingers after too much time in the bathtub, reading about Frances rejection of the descriptor small. You are doing the best you can and I agree with you completely - teaching her that small is nothing to be ashamed of seems like the best course of action to me. And it seems like you and I are both channeling Cranky Old Lady these days. God it irks me to hear those types of things come out of my mouth. Damn this human imperfection! Posted by: NotSoSage at January 4, 2008 11:20 PM
Oh please be a geek-like-me and say, "Darling one, fair is not a state of being; it's a myth, like the unicorn, or a place you go to ride a Ferris wheel and eat cotton candy." Then they are so disgusted by you they walk away with rolling eyes until they are 3mumblemuble years old with kids and catch themselves saying the same thing at which point they enter therapy and send you the bill.;) The small thing is harder. I think you are perfect in your reply, though. But "little" is a word all 3 and 4 year olds reject with passion. They feel Big and oh my comparatively they are oh-so-very-big. But my heart ached because I understand just a little. P2 gets so impassioned when told she is small and P1 got called ugly and I know how it gets them...you...everything... Posted by: Julie Pippert at January 5, 2008 12:20 AM
My son is also small. He has an unclassified form of dwarfism. He is now 6 and in grade one. He has somehow made it to the point of feeling (I paraprase) 'I am smaller than others. Now let's talk about something interesting'. We have spent the past two years talking about his size (not beating him over the head with it, just talking about it when he brings it up or others bring it up). I don't know if it will work for F., but for what it is worth we have talked frankly to him about the fact that his classmates will probably always be bigger than him and then about how there are all kinds of things he can do that have nothing to do with his size. Like everything. F. is likely just getting to the age where that kind of dialogue is possible. It hasn't been easy. I know he has wanted to be big like the other kids and he will likely feel that way again, but we can just reinforce that everybody is different. The world is a better place for it. We talk about how funny it would be if everyone was the same. You know, another thing, we took him to the LPA national conference last year (it was close to us), and it seemed to open his eyes a little to see all these adults who were moms and dads who were small. He met a really nice young woman in university who was a lp and I think it all made him realize that there are other small people out there, not just him. Good luck. It sure sounds like you're doing a great job. Posted by: Isabel at January 5, 2008 11:55 AM
I think this is the very first comment I've ever had from the parent of another child with an undiagnosed form of dwarfism. Thank you so much for stopping by and commenting. It's great to hear that others in our shoes are doing similar things, and that it's working out well. Posted by: Andrea
Oh you have a sweet big girl Posted by: angela at January 5, 2008 10:46 PM
While I'm not as short as Frances will be when she's my age, I'm not going to hide that it's hard sometimes. But it also makes other things easier...I think that I was less vulnerable to eating disorders in high school because I knew that being thin wouldn't magically make me taller. All I can send is hugs and love. You are saying and doing the right things. Posted by: Liz at January 5, 2008 11:17 PM
I second what others have said...you handle her difficult questions so beautifully, and so respectfully. Frances is blessed to have you for a mom. When I was young, I was horribly self-conscious of being SOOOO much taller than everyone else and was slouching all over the place...and my mom just got mad at me & threatened to hook a broomstick in front of my elbows/behind my back. Nice. Posted by: Freakazojd at January 6, 2008 1:07 AM
Thank you. :) I think we could have gotten rid of the night-time diapers a while ago, but I never could find the time to get a waterproof mattress pad and was too scared to try it without one. ANyway, we're done! Posted by: Andrea
I thought about this all weekend and wanted to leave a comment. I believe Frances is becoming aware of her differences. I think the best approach to this (from personal experience) is pointing out how much she is THE SAME as everyone else. She's seeing her small size as a negative and I wouldn't want her to feel inferior her whole life. (My parents raised me felling less than what I was. It took me 30 plus years to realize despite my different appearance I am still a person.) You are doing a mravelous job with Frances and she will have a personality that far surpasses her size. Posted by: LauraJ at January 7, 2008 10:13 AM
I think you're right, Laura. She is much more interested in her size differences now than she was even a few months ago. Thanks for your advice. :) Posted by: Andrea
Go Berserk |
Change is God (Octavia Butler, Parable Series) "Constant kindness can accomplish much. As the sun makes ice melt, kindness causes misunderstanding, mistrust, and hostility to evaporate." Albert Schweitzer Email Frances! frances AT athenadreaming DOT org You can email her mother too (that's me):
The Best of Beanie Baby
Recent Entries
Categories Monthly Archives Annika Info
Earn Your Karmic Brownie Points The WHOYCBE Not So Secret Spoilers These links open in a new browser window. Random Writer's Quote It's really scary just getting to the desk--we're talking now five hours. My mouth gets dry, my heart beats fast. I react psychologically the way other people ract when the plane loses an engine. ~~ Fran Lebowitz
My Burgeoning Media Empire (that's a joke)
Dwarfism Resources: Frances's Big List of Misdiagnoses and False Positives Prenatally:
Postnatally:
Blogs I'm Reading
Other Mom Sites: Green Family Library
The title of this blog was taken from the short story "The Language of Nna Mmoy" by Ursula le Guin in her collection, Changing Planes. I won't tell you why or how, because I want you to read the story and figure it out for yourself.
|
