Broken Feelings

As EJ told her teacher at camp this morning, "I had a rough morning already, Miss Laura." I didn't disagree. Sometimes, it is just tough being four, which means it is also tough being a four year old's mom.

Despite my status as hero last night when I let her go to bed in her new Tinkerbell dress-up outfit (snuggled with her Build-a-Bear bunny rabbit dressed in a matching Tinkerbell outfit, of course), I quickly fell from grace this morning when I insisted that she wear an adorable blue swimsuit to school instead of her adorable pink swimsuit. Maybe I'm just unreasonable, but when a suit has been worn two days in a row to camp, and has come home so dirty with sand and mud that it is no longer technically pink, I think it is time to pick a new suit for the day.

Did I not realize that she LOVES PINK and now HATES BLUE? Yes, she HATES it. She's been playing with the word "hate" a lot, and I have been spending a good amount of time trying to extinguish it. It is exhausting, and if I could say "I HATE trying to teach you not to say HATE!" without modeling that word, I would.

Then, to add to her dissatisfaction with my mothering---have I mentioned that when she gets upset she calls me MOTHER, as in "Yes, MOTHER, I will put on my pajamas."---I made her pick up all of her brand new Barbie clothes and accessories before she was allowed to leave for camp. She went from zero Barbies to three this birthday, and we now spend hours every day dressing and redressing these dolls. So, as she picked up tiny, tiny boots and tiny, tiny swimsuits and tiny, tiny purses, she muttered to herself how frustrated she was at her MOTHER.

Sigh.

I had to discipline her for talking back. I had to discipline her for not doing what she was told. I had to discipline her for acting out. It was a rotten start for both of us.

By the end, she was just sobbing. She threw herself into my arms and said, "Mom, you have broken my feelings! They are just breaking, I am so sad and mad at you." As frustrated as I was with all of her behavior, I was so glad that she could tell me how she was feeling, and come to me for comfort. I hugged her and held her, we did some big, deep breaths together, and as she calmed down, she declared what I always remind her: "Even when I'm mad, I still love you." I told her I always love her, too, and we packed up for camp, 30 minutes late, but no longer teetering on the edge of an emotional cliff.

When I took her out of the car, she said, "Mom, I am still a little upset, but I love you a lot." Good enough.

I can't say I'm not stealing myself for our afternoon together---I leave in a few minutes to pick her up from camp---but a plan to make zucchini muffins together will hopefully be enough to sail us through peacefully, at least until her daddy gets home from work. "Four years old" is going to be an interesting year.