Every now and then, as a mama, you have those days where you are deluded enough to think you’ve got this whole thing figured out. Yesterday was not one of those days.
I’m not sure what exactly started the day off on the wrong foot, but I have a feeling it was waking up with a 3 year old contorted around my body in such a way as to create a huge crick in my neck. I’m not sure how she ended up in bed with us, but I have a vague recollection of stumbling across the house around 2 a.m. knowing I had lost my will to fight this battle.
We woke up around 7:15 to the sounds of all the construction workers arriving at the house next door. There was much yelling and hammering. It really is a delightful way to start the day. I highly recommend living next door to a construction site, because not only do we get to wake up to all the incessant hammering of the hammers, but around midday each day the head contractor, who I like to call “The Silver Fox”, takes off his shirt and spends the rest of the day supervising while shirtless. The whole scene is like a Diet Coke commercial gone wrong.
Very, very wrong.
So, we’d been up all of 4 minutes before Caroline started in with the whining. And really, who can blame her? She has a rough life with all the constant love and adoration. Not to mention the hot meals, the clean clothes, and using my cheek as a pillow for the better part of the night. But apparently, my resistance to allowing her to eat York peppermint patties for breakfast is causing her much distress. I hope God answers her prayers, because really, does it get any meaner than that?
We spent the morning engaged in various little battles and then it was time for swim lessons. I hosed her down with SPF 50, put on her swimsuit and then went to get myself sunscreened and dressed. As I was standing in the bathroom, she walked in wearing clothes. A long sleeve shirt and jogging pants, which are perfect attire for these 90 degree days. She informed me that she WAS NOT GOING TO SWIM LESSONS because either her stomach hurt or the other kids were too wild. She couldn’t really make up her mind.
Either way, her story had no credibility. An upset stomach is her go-to illness in all instances and there is no human way the other kids are wilder than she is. She is the queen of wild.
When I told her that she absolutely was going to swim lessons, there was much screaming, yelling and gnashing of teeth.
And she wasn’t happy about it either.
I wrestled her into her swimsuit, grabbed the swim bag and we headed to the pool. And before any of y’all suggest that maybe she doesn’t enjoy swimming lessons, let me clarify that she is a champion swimmer. She has spent the entire winter doing the backstroke in the bathtub. She has never had a fear of the water and in fact, the summer before she turned one, I spent much time trying to keep her from drowning herself because all she wanted to do was IMMERSE herself in the H2O goodness and would constantly push against me so that she could completely submerge herself.
The issue was not swim lessons. The issue is that she is 3 1/2 and I actually said out loud the other day, “She seems to be fighting me less on things as she gets closer to turning 4.” If that’s not the equivalent of daring fate to throw me a curveball, then I don’t know what is.
Once we got to the pool, she walked happily to her swim lessons as if the crying had never happened, because after all, it’s not the swim teacher’s fault that Caroline has been cursed with a mother who won’t let her eat York peppermint patties for breakfast.
Maybe if she swims in the Olympics someday, her picture won’t be on a box of Wheaties, but rather a bag of peppermint patties. Breakfast of Champions.