It's Hard Being Five

And it's even harder being 45.  Even though I'm not forty-five yet.  I've got at least a solid 20 months left before that happens.  So yeah, I'm not going to make myself older.

But does it count if I feel like I'm 105?

Charlotte exhibited a temper tantrum of an entirely new and exciting way last week during Abby's Volleyball match.

That's the fun part about parenting...all of the unpredictable circumstances you find yourself in.  I especially love it when my kids go ape-shit in public  give me an opportunity to discipline in front of an entire crowd.

I swear to God, I can't even remember what set her off.  But let me tell you what I do recall:  Charlotte's incessant whining over fill-in-the-blank-here, that quickly escalated into annoying and rather loud crying, that I, nor did anyone in the stands need to endure any further.

And herein lies the predicament: this is the part where I knew as her Mom, I must physically remove Charlotte, knowing full well, that I could miss the entire Volleyball match, which was the reason I was there in the first place.

I picked her up horizontally to the floor like a guitar, (a flailing guitar, with red hair, kicking feet, and flying fists), and proceeded towards the exit.

Tom actually told me later that he thought she was going to take me down.  Any parent knows, that when their kid is in that state, it is a matter of pure will. The Notre Dame parents who were perched in the stands, sat with heads cocked somewhat sideways, sending me an understanding look of "Been there.  Done that.  Have the shirt and flask to prove it."

We walked, her dragging her feet, me pulling her along, as her screams echoed throughout the empty school hallways.  Eventually, we ended up next to a maintenance shed, enclosed by a chain link fence, where no other breathing person would be bothered by her screaming.

I said simply, "I can't even remember why I am giving you a time out, but it will start when you're quiet."

She went on.  I waited.  She continued.  I stepped away from her, fearing I may be on the 5 o'clock news for homicide.

Eventually, she quieted.  A minute passed, and I glanced over to observe Charlotte doing Child's pose.  Yoga...good for adults and kids alike!  A few more minutes ticked by, and she was in Corpse pose, little chest heaving for air, calming herself after a long and exhausting crying fit.

And then, just as if nothing had happened, she was ready.  Charlotte apologized to me for being disrespectful, and almost turning me into a raging alcoholic.  She then proceeded to say sorry to both my cousin, Nicole, and Tom for disrupting the game.

I swear, between Halloween (ie: my kids eating candy as a meal replacement),  the time change (we may have gained an hour, but why do I feel like a decade has been added to my life), and minimum school days this week (got to love Parent Teacher conferences), I feel like I'm talking and moving the way the parents did in the Peanuts cartoons:  wah, wah, wah, wah, wah wah.

Speaking of Parent Teacher conferences, guess what I learned about Charlotte at hers, last week?

That my five year old hired a Hit man to "take care of a boy that bothered her".

It's okay, you can re-read that sentence to fully process it if you need to.

Luckily, I attended Cosette's conference first, where I discovered she is doing swimmingly in 4th grade.  I walked out of Ms.Macon's room, feeling content for my girl, who is finding her way.

I then walked over to Ms.Pak's class, where Charlotte is attending Transitional Kindergarten.

For me, there is typically one child out of the bunch, that um, I've sort of neglected a bit.  Like I mean, she is fed and bathed, and read to nightly and everything.  But if we are being completely honest here,  I didn't really have a pulse on how Charlie was adjusting to TK.

And if we're being super duper completely, don't hold back honest?  I was just so stoked she was gone for 6 hours daily.  I mean, come on, raise your hand if  you're happy when your kids walk out the door for the day.  I really hope I'm not the only one raising my hand.

 Ms.Pak begins the conference with how Charlotte is performing academically: she's top of the class.  And I sit across from this teacher, who has more patience than me on even one of  my most Zen of parenting days, head cocked, listening, but not totally believing I will walk out of here unscathed.

 You know how you just KNOW something?  "This is great Ms.Pak.  But I'm sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop", I said.

This is when she leaned in, and said, "Well, there are just a few things."  I nod in agreement, and a weird sense of relief.  Shit's about to get real.

I sigh, lean in, and mentally prepare myself.

"Charlotte cries a lot. If she makes a mistake, she has a difficult time fixing it without getting upset."  I nod in understanding.  She continues, "She was also the last student to present from Craft Center.  I had to practically force her to do it." I nod yet again, at the visual of Charlie digging in her haunches, refusing to do something, as she often does at home.

"And there's just one more thing," Ms.Pak, continues.  "Charlotte was upset with a boy, and she told another boy to punch him in the stomach."

I sat, taking this in, my daughter, the red headed Testa Rosa, had embodied an Italian Mafia Boss Lady.

"She hired a Hit man, is what you're telling me", I stated, connecting the dots, to which Ms.Pak starting cracking up.

 And then, almost as to show me that perhaps this wasn't as bad as it sounded, she finished up, "But she kept her hands clean.  She's very clever."

I know.  That's what scares me.  Sigh.

Yet, at the end of a long day, as Charlie is climbing into her bed, she will ask, "Mama, will you snuggle with me?"  And there we will be... spooning Mama and child, on her twin size mattress, stuffed animals piled in the corner, books in a basket at the foot.  My long and fatigued body and back facing outwards, protecting us in our cocoon.  She nuzzles into me, her hair still damp from the tub, and grabs my hands into her small grip, saying, "Here, Mama.  I will keep you warm."  And soon enough, under the flickering candle glow of her nightlight, the sleep envelopes her.  Her breathing becomes slow and even.

And her restful peace reminds me of why I chose to become a Mom.  An often times, thankless job, that leaves us exhausted, spread then, balanced, and grateful beyond words.