That's So Rad!

A page from my my daughter's book

My daughter has decided that she wants to be a writer some day just like Mommy, so she’s been creating her own little books this week.  Since she is only in kindergarten, I am often amused by some of her little spelling errors.  Today, she made a 4-page story for me and my fiancé, complete with cute illustrations and staples to hold the papers together.

As I read each page, I was so proud of my little girl!  Just this year her handwriting, spelling, and artwork have blossomed.  Her books are so adorable that I want to scoop her up in my arms and give her a giant bear hug every time.  Seeing her share my love of drawing, writing, and reading will forever stay in a special place in my heart.

When I reached the last page of her latest book, though, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud!  There, above a cute illustration herself, my daughter had written, “The hat is rad.”  Although I knew right away that she had meant “red” not “rad”, it made me chuckle until I teared up.  Confused, she asked me, “What’s so funny, Mommy?”

I asked her if she knew what “rad” means and she only shook her head.  In my explosive giggling state, her puzzled look only made me laugh harder.  How do you explain to a 5-year-old that years ago—which seems like an eternity for her—that you and your little friends used to think they were so cool by calling things “radical” or “totally rad”?  Yeah, we thought we were big shots back then.  Now those terms have fallen away replace all new slang words.

It makes me wonder what else my kids will never experience.  Because I still love to play records, they know what a record player is.  However, they have never seen someone make a mixed tape.  They have no idea what a pager is.  They have never gotten the chance to feel the frustration and then the sheer joy of having to blow into their video games to make them work.  They can’t imagine life without computers, cell phones, Leap Pads, and toys with tons of features.  They are shocked when I mention that I didn’t grow up with Sponge Bob, Dora, Diego, Phineas & Ferb, or Max & Ruby.  It’s just another reminder of how things are constantly changing and how fast time flies by!

The Hurtful I-Hate-You's

My Daughter's Self-Portrait

Everyone seems to warn you about the terrible twos, the endless why’s, and the troubled teens.  But nothing I have ever read, discussed, or imagined prepared me for what I have come to call the hurtful I-hate-you’s!

My 5-and-a-half-year-old daughter has always been my sweet little princess.  She stole my heart the moment she looked up at me with those big brown eyes as I was holding her minutes after she entered this world.  She was my cuddle bunny, snuggling up with me every opportunity she could get and wrapping me in the softest hugs I have ever known.

Her smiles and giggles have brought so much life and happiness over the years.  And her silly sense of humor has filled even the worst days with laughter.  That’s why I was totally unprepared for the change that has taken over my lovable little girl.  Just about a month or so ago, in a fit of anger, her tiny little voice rocked my world with her first “I hate you, Mommy!”

Even though some time has passed, I still remember it like it was yesterday, the sting of her words keeping the shocking incident fresh in my mind.  One typical weekday morning, not long after the end of my children’s winter break, I was hard at work preparing for my kids’ cyberschooling.  My children were eating breakfast and watching cartoons in the living room.

When time came to begin the school day I told them to turn off the TV and go change out of their pajamas.  My son, without a fuss, turned off the television and went straight to his room to get dressed.  My daughter, on the other hand, starting pouting and complaining because I was interrupting the episode of Dora the Explorer she was so intently watching.  Despite my reassurances that it was a Dora rerun and readily available on Netflix for them to finish after school, she exploded.  She began yelling at me that it wasn’t fair and that she hated school—that it kept her from doing the things that she wants to do.

Taking the typical mother’s position, I sat her down and explained that school was necessary and that sometimes we all have to do things that we hate.  I suggested that she find some way to tolerate and get through it each day, so she could have more time to do fun things.  Well, that just infuriated her more.  I tried to reason with her again, to no avail.  And finally, she glared at me with her little mouth twisted into a sneer and screamed at me, “I hate you, Mommy!”

In utter shock and hurt, I sent her to her bedroom for a timeout—for both of us.  I went to my own bedroom and cried.  How could my sweet little girl hate me so?  Just a few short days before, we had been best friends.  We had a girls’ night in, taking turns styling each others’ hair and painting our nails together.  How could things change so drastically in less than a week?
Over the next few weeks, her fits grew worse and worse and the I-hate-you’s were used more and more.  I was at my wits end and so emotional that I didn’t know what to do!

In the end, it took a lot of soul searching and thinking before I finally got up the nerve to sit down with her this past weekend and talk to her about it.  After another I-hate-you incident, when all was calm and normal again, I called my little princess to sit next to me and we had a little heart-to-heart conversation.  I asked her how she felt when someone says mean things to her.  I allowed her to gone on and describe what she thinks and feels when such a thing happens.  And then I revealed to her what her heated words do to me.
She immediately frowned and told me that she doesn’t like when other people cry because it makes her sad and then she starts crying.

After that I asked her directly why she tells me she hates me during these situations.  Her tiny face scrunched up for a moment, as she mulled it over in her head.  Finally, she looked at me and said, “Mommy, I hate school.  It isn’t any fun.  And I think it is mean for you to make me do it.  I don’t get to play enough, so I hate when you tell me I can’t play.”

Confused, I asked her, “Does that mean that you don’t really hate me?”

Immediately, she replied, “I love you, Mommy.  I just get mad at you.”

You would not believe the relief I felt.  My daughter didn’t really hate me!  Since our little talk, the I-hate-you’s have stopped…for now.  I know that with the tumultuous moods my princess gets into these days chances are these hurtful words are bound to surface again.  But if they ever do, I’m prepared.  I now realize that this is only a stage she is going through—not the product of some poor parenting on my part.  And I now know in my heart that she still loves me, no matter how much she rants and raves to the contrary.

For those of you with young children who might be going through a similar phase, don’t take your little ones’ words at face value.  Young children often don’t have the ability to properly express and deal with their emotions.  And this is just a product of that immaturity.  Just do what you can to weather the storm and hold the beautiful memories and happy moments close to heart.  It will pass soon enough!

Uno . . . Dos . . . Tres . . . Waffle!

Shows like “Dora the Explorer” and “Go, Diego, Go!” are a wonderful way for preschool children to learn and to be introduced to the Spanish language.  However, there is one key component that is missing: true interaction with the child.

In both of these TV programs, the characters talk directly to the viewer, often times asking questions for the preschooler to answer.  This is a great way to get small children thinking.  However, on numerous occasions, I’ve heard this from the living room: “Mommy, Dora isn’t answering me!” or “I don’t know, Diego; I DON’T know!!!”

Yet, the worst consequence of this lack of true interaction is the fact that my children don’t always absorb the information correctly.  A couple weeks ago, I was practicing counting to 20 with my son and daughter.  They do fine on their own up until 12, and then the number order gets all mixed up and hazy for them.

As we were stringing counting beads, my daughter (almost 5) declared beaming, “I know how to count to 4 in Spanish now, Mommy!”

Thrilled, I told her to show me.  More than a little excited, she began counting the next strand of beads in Spanish: “Uno . . . dos . . . tres . . . waffle!”

I’m no expert on the Spanish language, but even after only 2 years of Spanish in high school, I know that the number 4 in Spanish is cuatro, not waffle.  I gently tried to correct her, but my daughter refused to accept it.

In my household, Dora and Diego are the highest authority on anything Spanish related, at least in my children’s eyes.  Consequently, if Dora says ‘waffle’ is the way you say 4 in Spanish, then that is that!  There is no convincing them otherwise.

Hopefully, some day soon, I will be able to make them see that they simply misheard Dora.  But until then, I must endure “uno . . . dos . . . tres . . . waffle” each and every time there is something to be counted!