A place for everything and everything in its place…What a lovely thought: clean counters, labeled bins tucked neatly into closets, precisely folded shirts resting in drawers that easily shut. I envision my house like this. Really, I do. But I am not this. I am chaos. I am stacks of paper and dishes. I am shirtsleeves peeking out of an overstuffed drawer. I am outgrown toys crowding a toy bin and stacks of unread books on a nightstand. I am clutter. This clutter extends to every corner of my home, especially my garage.
Because my garage is so cluttered, we can’t park in it, and because we can’t park in it, Olivia and I have a very dark walk to the car on early, winter mornings. She is not a fan of this walk. She often protests, wanting me to leave the porch light on. Sometimes I do, and after strapping her into the booster seat, I return to turn the light off and lock the front door. However, sometimes we are running late.
Yesterday morning was one of these late mornings, and Olivia became significantly more agitated with each cautious step across the dark porch. Holding my hand did nothing to calm her, and by the time we reached the car, she was yelling, “NO! NO! NO!”
Initially, I let her yell, thinking that once we got on the road she would calm down, but I was wrong. She continued, “NO! NO! NO! NO!” I finally responded, letting Olivia know that if she could not speak to her mother that way, and if she did not change her tone, I would be taking away the precious piece of Halloween candy that she was clutching in her hand. Without skipping a beat, her voice softened, and with an air usually reserved for the snarkiest teenager, she continued, “Noooo. Noooo. Noooo. Noooo.”
I learned two lessons yesterday. First, that my three-year-old daughter understands the concept of tone better than many of my teenage students, and second, that I better make my instructions to her pretty explicit, because this is a girl who can spot a loophole.
No comments:
Post a Comment