Your Daily What's-it: Temporary and Total Insanity
Just when you think you've got your kids somewhat figured, they
throw you a curve ball. Last night it was nonsensical and wild terror over something completely mundane and routine.
How do I begin to write about the insanity that seized Beatrix last night and ended this afternoon with a post-nap gumball run?
I'll try. Just so you know, there was nothing physically amiss with Bea at ANY point during this narrative.
Last night we were at a meeting at Heather's house. All the adults assembled in the living room, drinking coffee and eating lemon squares. All the kids squirreled themselves away in the study with an episode of some entertaining science show about snot. All except Beatrix, who was overtired and looking to sit on mama's lap. I felt a little irritated, especially since she kept crunching Oatmeal Squares with her mouth open, jostling back and forth on her bony behind on my knee. Then, when I turned my attention from the discussion on Galatians to her odd little activities, I realized she kept holding herself.
"Do you have to go to the bathroom?" I whispered.
"Yes," she whined, "But I don't want to."
"Don't be silly," I said, as her whining began to escalate to an inappropriate and distracting level. I whisked her upstairs away from the adult's meeting, thinking longingly of the cup of tea still cooling on the table.
I plopped her onto the toilet. "Go for it," I said.
"No," she said. "I'm afraid it's going to sting."
"What?"
A little bit of pee slipped from her and she wailed: "It stings! It stings!"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I fell down today and now my pee stings."
"You fell down from the playground but it shouldn't affect your pee," I said. After her fall from the monkeybars that afternoon, I'd checked her over uber-carefully, but she'd been fine since then, and besides, making water without comment.
"I'm going to hold it," she announced. "I'm not going to pee again."
"Don't be silly," I said. "Only dead people don't pee."
Her eyes bugged out. "I won't pee!" she said. "I WON'T PEE!" she yelled.
"Just push it on out."
"NO!!!! NO!!!!" She tipped her head back. "I WON'T!"
I tried reasoning with her for about fifteen minutes and finally I poured a bath and stuck her in the warm water.
"Now, go ahead and pee and it won't sting," I said.
"NO! NO!"
Eventually Martin came upstairs.
"She won't pee," I said, as he squeezed into the bathroom. "She insists it will hurt." We had a brief, hushed discussion and came to the conclusion there was nothing physically wrong with her.
"Now, Bea," he said in his most measured, reassuring tones. "Come on, honey, and just pee in the bathtub. You'll feel so much better if you do."
No. She would not go. Martin put her back on the toilet and I left to stand at the door, listening as he promised her an enormous gumball from a machine at the hardware store. No go.
Luke and Heather's kids went to bed and Merry and Elspeth waited downstairs for us to come down and take them home. It was past bedtime and Bea was working herself into a rare fury.
I talked to Luke, who suggested (a) some 'magic' ointment (antibiotic cream) which did not work--and then (b) "Studies have shown that parental reassurance is not as effective as distraction--"
By this time she was back on the toilet, squirming away, and she had reached total hysteria. I brought in gummies and she refused to eat them.
"I don't want to DIE!" she shrieked. "I don't want to DIE!!!!!"
"You're not going to die if you pee," I said, suddenly realizing what my innocent, throw-off comment at the beginning of the ordeal had unwittingly communicated. "You'll just feel better. Now, what kind of cookie should we make?" I asked, thrusting the I-pad in front of her with the Virtual Cookie-Baker up and ready to go.
She wouldn't even look. Her eyes rolled in sheer panic. "I don't like this house!" she screamed. "I DON'T LIKE THESE PARENTS!"
"What shape cookie should we make?" I asked. "How about a moose?"
By this time it was nine o'clock.
"I want to pee in my bed!" she yelled.
"I don't think that's a great idea," I said.
"I WON'T PEE!" she screamed.
We finally put her in a Pull-up. As soon as we pulled it up around her waist, her hysteria turned immediately to calm--just like that, as if we'd flicked a switch. "I won't tell the girls about the gumball," she said as she sashayed out to the car. "And I'll pee in my bed tonight and wake up with no pee."
"Sounds great," we enthused.
At home, she was asleep in about five minutes. Martin and I met on the couch to watch TV and laugh over the wild evening.
11:30. Pat, pat, pat on the stairs. Bea's down, dancing like crazy and holding herself. "I have to pee but I WON'T PEE!" she said, as she climbed onto my lap. Distraction! We turned on Shaun the Sheep for about twenty minutes. Then she finally slid to the floor and disappeared upstairs to her bed.
Finally.
Pat-pat-pat-pat-pat, running across the floor and down the stairs. "I HAVE TO PEE BUT I WON'T!" she said, twisting her body like a Twizzler and climbing onto my lap again. More Shaun the Sheep and some warm chamomile tea and then she once again went up to bed.
Finally.
Five minutes later and she is wailing. I go upstairs and lay down next to her on my bed. More quiet reasoning.
"Look, God made your body so you pee," I said. "You've been peeing since you were a baby. Charley pees and we pee. Everybody pees! You'll feel so much better if you do." Now I'm rubbing her back and gently pressing against her bladder.
"NO!" she yells. "YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE ME PEE!"
"Good," I said. "Then you'll be able to go to sleep and you'll feel so good."
"You want me to DIE!" she screamed.
"What a terrible thing to say," I said. "You're going to grow into a very old lady before you die."
Finally I deposit her outside the bathroom. "Well, you won't mind if I pee," I say. "Because I really have to. You can just watch."
Suddenly, as she watches, she springs up and grabs the door frame. Her eyes get as round as saucers. "AHHHHH!!!" she screams. "I'M GOING TO PEE!" Her knuckles whiten and she twists her legs around each other.
"Great," I said. "Go ahead and pee in your Pull-up."
"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!" her eyes are incredibly terrified, like her feet have been lit on fire. She looks as though she will explode, she looks as if she will take off into the sky--and then, sudden silence. Her eyes glaze over and a look of bliss floods her features. "Ahhhh." she says, and suddenly her features clear back to good ole Bea again.
"I peed!" she announces.
"Wonderful!" I say. "Did you die?"
She shrugs nonchalantly. "Nope. It didn't even sting." Then she grins. "I leaked a little onto my pjs."
"No problem," I say.
Five minutes later and she's happily tucked up in bed. "I feel. . .so. . .much. . .better. . ." she says as she falls asleep. "Tomorrow. . .I. . .will. . .go. . .and get a gum. . .ball. . . ."
She's been letting me know every time she's peed today. And we only had to stop at three different stores before we found the promised gumball machine. . .and she pranced across to the car beside Martin, her lips pursed around a giant orange gumball, her eyes dancing.
How do I begin to write about the insanity that seized Beatrix last night and ended this afternoon with a post-nap gumball run?
I'll try. Just so you know, there was nothing physically amiss with Bea at ANY point during this narrative.
Last night we were at a meeting at Heather's house. All the adults assembled in the living room, drinking coffee and eating lemon squares. All the kids squirreled themselves away in the study with an episode of some entertaining science show about snot. All except Beatrix, who was overtired and looking to sit on mama's lap. I felt a little irritated, especially since she kept crunching Oatmeal Squares with her mouth open, jostling back and forth on her bony behind on my knee. Then, when I turned my attention from the discussion on Galatians to her odd little activities, I realized she kept holding herself.
"Do you have to go to the bathroom?" I whispered.
"Yes," she whined, "But I don't want to."
"Don't be silly," I said, as her whining began to escalate to an inappropriate and distracting level. I whisked her upstairs away from the adult's meeting, thinking longingly of the cup of tea still cooling on the table.
I plopped her onto the toilet. "Go for it," I said.
"No," she said. "I'm afraid it's going to sting."
"What?"
A little bit of pee slipped from her and she wailed: "It stings! It stings!"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I fell down today and now my pee stings."
"You fell down from the playground but it shouldn't affect your pee," I said. After her fall from the monkeybars that afternoon, I'd checked her over uber-carefully, but she'd been fine since then, and besides, making water without comment.
"I'm going to hold it," she announced. "I'm not going to pee again."
"Don't be silly," I said. "Only dead people don't pee."
Her eyes bugged out. "I won't pee!" she said. "I WON'T PEE!" she yelled.
"Just push it on out."
"NO!!!! NO!!!!" She tipped her head back. "I WON'T!"
I tried reasoning with her for about fifteen minutes and finally I poured a bath and stuck her in the warm water.
"Now, go ahead and pee and it won't sting," I said.
"NO! NO!"
Eventually Martin came upstairs.
"She won't pee," I said, as he squeezed into the bathroom. "She insists it will hurt." We had a brief, hushed discussion and came to the conclusion there was nothing physically wrong with her.
"Now, Bea," he said in his most measured, reassuring tones. "Come on, honey, and just pee in the bathtub. You'll feel so much better if you do."
No. She would not go. Martin put her back on the toilet and I left to stand at the door, listening as he promised her an enormous gumball from a machine at the hardware store. No go.
Luke and Heather's kids went to bed and Merry and Elspeth waited downstairs for us to come down and take them home. It was past bedtime and Bea was working herself into a rare fury.
I talked to Luke, who suggested (a) some 'magic' ointment (antibiotic cream) which did not work--and then (b) "Studies have shown that parental reassurance is not as effective as distraction--"
By this time she was back on the toilet, squirming away, and she had reached total hysteria. I brought in gummies and she refused to eat them.
"I don't want to DIE!" she shrieked. "I don't want to DIE!!!!!"
"You're not going to die if you pee," I said, suddenly realizing what my innocent, throw-off comment at the beginning of the ordeal had unwittingly communicated. "You'll just feel better. Now, what kind of cookie should we make?" I asked, thrusting the I-pad in front of her with the Virtual Cookie-Baker up and ready to go.
She wouldn't even look. Her eyes rolled in sheer panic. "I don't like this house!" she screamed. "I DON'T LIKE THESE PARENTS!"
"What shape cookie should we make?" I asked. "How about a moose?"
By this time it was nine o'clock.
"I want to pee in my bed!" she yelled.
"I don't think that's a great idea," I said.
"I WON'T PEE!" she screamed.
We finally put her in a Pull-up. As soon as we pulled it up around her waist, her hysteria turned immediately to calm--just like that, as if we'd flicked a switch. "I won't tell the girls about the gumball," she said as she sashayed out to the car. "And I'll pee in my bed tonight and wake up with no pee."
"Sounds great," we enthused.
At home, she was asleep in about five minutes. Martin and I met on the couch to watch TV and laugh over the wild evening.
11:30. Pat, pat, pat on the stairs. Bea's down, dancing like crazy and holding herself. "I have to pee but I WON'T PEE!" she said, as she climbed onto my lap. Distraction! We turned on Shaun the Sheep for about twenty minutes. Then she finally slid to the floor and disappeared upstairs to her bed.
Finally.
Pat-pat-pat-pat-pat, running across the floor and down the stairs. "I HAVE TO PEE BUT I WON'T!" she said, twisting her body like a Twizzler and climbing onto my lap again. More Shaun the Sheep and some warm chamomile tea and then she once again went up to bed.
Finally.
Five minutes later and she is wailing. I go upstairs and lay down next to her on my bed. More quiet reasoning.
"Look, God made your body so you pee," I said. "You've been peeing since you were a baby. Charley pees and we pee. Everybody pees! You'll feel so much better if you do." Now I'm rubbing her back and gently pressing against her bladder.
"NO!" she yells. "YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE ME PEE!"
"Good," I said. "Then you'll be able to go to sleep and you'll feel so good."
"You want me to DIE!" she screamed.
"What a terrible thing to say," I said. "You're going to grow into a very old lady before you die."
Finally I deposit her outside the bathroom. "Well, you won't mind if I pee," I say. "Because I really have to. You can just watch."
Suddenly, as she watches, she springs up and grabs the door frame. Her eyes get as round as saucers. "AHHHHH!!!" she screams. "I'M GOING TO PEE!" Her knuckles whiten and she twists her legs around each other.
"Great," I said. "Go ahead and pee in your Pull-up."
"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!" her eyes are incredibly terrified, like her feet have been lit on fire. She looks as though she will explode, she looks as if she will take off into the sky--and then, sudden silence. Her eyes glaze over and a look of bliss floods her features. "Ahhhh." she says, and suddenly her features clear back to good ole Bea again.
"I peed!" she announces.
"Wonderful!" I say. "Did you die?"
She shrugs nonchalantly. "Nope. It didn't even sting." Then she grins. "I leaked a little onto my pjs."
"No problem," I say.
Five minutes later and she's happily tucked up in bed. "I feel. . .so. . .much. . .better. . ." she says as she falls asleep. "Tomorrow. . .I. . .will. . .go. . .and get a gum. . .ball. . . ."
She's been letting me know every time she's peed today. And we only had to stop at three different stores before we found the promised gumball machine. . .and she pranced across to the car beside Martin, her lips pursed around a giant orange gumball, her eyes dancing.
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