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March 7, 2008 Frances Friday: I want to be Frances when I grow up 
Work has been kicking my ass lately, but that's ok, because as of 5:20 this afternoon I am on vacation for a week, which will give Frances a chance to kick my ass instead. That girl is merciless. In the meantime, in the "Yet More Proof that my Four-Year-Old Daughter is More Grown-Up than I Am" Department, last Sunday she and I visited a friend in Burlington. I'm still, nearly a week later, dumbstruck with the novelty of being able to sit on the couch and talk with my friend while Frances and her friend played upstairs. Every five minutes I said, "I can't believe how well they're playing together!" Out of eyesight! Upstairs! OK, there was a sippy-cup water-shower incident, but beyond that, for five hours the two girls played and shared and talked while the moms sat on the couch. I never thought the day would come. It was nearly perfect until Frances's friend, all played out and wanting nothing so much as to curl up and watch TV for a while, had a massive meltdown while Frances and I stood in our coats and boots by the front door, cringeing. "You never deal with this, eh?" her mom asked me; "Nope," I said. Frances was invited to go say goodbye to her in the living room since she refused (very convincingly) to come to the front door; and Frances did. "Bye, S. I had fun playing at your house today." In reply, S could only kick and scream and cry. Frances put her hands on her hips, turned around and looked at me, and said, "I am very upset!" My little adult. If only I could be so temperate in my reactions to the failings and weaknesses of others; but if there is one thing I am not, it is temperate. Moderate's right up there too. So this week, while Frances discusses her emotions and reactions in jargon more suited to the middle-aged devotee of Dr. Phil, her mom (that's me, the one supposed to be providing a good example) has this stuck in her head: Sanctuary My land is bare of chattering folk; The clouds are low along the ridges, And sweet's the air with curly smoke From all my burning bridges. Thank the gods for Dorothy Parker. At least if I have to be insane, I can be insane in good company. Posted by Andrea at March 7, 2008 9:44 AM under Frances Friday EMAIL this entry (comments fields are below this section) Comments Your 4-year-old has it waaaaay more together than me. Posted by: Liz at March 7, 2008 11:11 AM
You should have heard her on the way home: "S didn't want to say goodbye to me, and that made me very upset. But then she came outside to say goodbye! That was so nice, it made me happy." I think she has it waaaay more together than almost anyone. Posted by: Andrea
mine plays both roles. First, has the meltdown. Later, describes what she was feeling and why. Posted by: marianne at March 7, 2008 4:31 PM
I'm happy enough to skip the first part. Posted by: Andrea
My Patience is the tantrumming child inside. I'm the one driving the crazy wagon, also spouting Dorothy Parker. Your Frances...one special chick. Posted by: Julie Pippert at March 8, 2008 11:07 AM
Sounds like she could teach Dr. Phil a thing or two. Posted by: NotSoSage at March 8, 2008 10:24 PM
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Change is God (Octavia Butler, Parable Series) "What is more mortifying than to feel you've missed the Plum for want of courage to shake the Tree?" Logan Pearsall Smith Email Frances! frances AT athenadreaming DOT org You can email her mother too (that's me):
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