I am blogging to keep sane.
I am blogging to keep sane.
4:05 PM: pick up Sarah Rochel. Ask her about what we're doing this afternoon, she asks to have Pesha and Rena come over.
4:15 PM: See Pesha on the way home, secure parental permission for her to come over. Start on the way home.
4:17 PM: "I don't let Pesha touch my stroller!" Sarah Rochel, if you're not in a sharing mood, maybe you can't have a friend come over. Can you share? "No, I don't let her!" Ah ha.
4:19 PM: Get to our building, Sarah Rochel tells Pesha not to come over, and calls her yuchy. Pesha departs with her mother, and I give a small lecture on not hurting people with words. "But I don't like her!" You don't have to like her, but you can't hurt her, etc, etc.
4:25 PM: We do a quick turnaround, since I realize el-kvetcho ain't gonna be much fun at home. So we go out to deliver a package that's been by me for a while.
5:15 PM: On the way home, she's fine, a bit tired, but mostly listening to me and doing alright. Until - boom, six feet from the house, total despondency because "I want to be FIRST!" By now, mind you, the Llama is crying hysterically because she's tired, and now Sarah Rochel starts up the hysterics too - oy. Pick her up, and we've got full blown kicking and screaming and flailing and thrashing. Oh man. I manhandle both in the building to the cries of, "I don't like you!" To her credit, I don't have to drag her the whole way - once the elevator door opens, she comes. I let her go first into the house, I follow, lots of "I don't like you!" to which I reply things like, "Okay," and "I like you," and "I love you," and "I hear you." I take the baby (poor thing) into the girls' room, and since she's so worked up I give her the 'treat' of being nursed into a nap. Sarah Rochel follows us into the room so she can pelt me with more "I don't like you!" and "I want you to go!"'s. I show her that I cleaned off her tall bed - "I like it messy! I want to make it messy! I don't like you!" Miraculously, the baby falls asleep in all this. I tell Sroch I'm going to put the baby down in my room. "I want you to leave me in the house by myself!" I'll leave you in your room - and I go.
She follows us.
I put the baby down (accidentally jabbing her with a coat hanger on the way down - oops, sorry kiddo, I was cleaning my room today), Sarah Rochel is still telling me over and over how much she dislikes me, I'm answering in the same fashion as above. She takes a swipe or two in my general direction, which I discourage. (I also offer alternatives, like hitting pots, hitting furniture, etc.) Finally, I get her out to the living room, where there's more about how little she likes me and so on, she hits me with her 3-years-old-keter, and I tell her if she does it again I will take it away. She does it. I take it. She wails, tries to reach where I put it, fails, comes and hits me. I don't say anything, just take her and dump her on her bed and close the door.
It is at this point I start blogging.
It's now 6:13 PM, and Sarah Rochel is now sitting on my lap. The transition? After a couple minutes of screaming, she starts calling IMA really loudly (note: interesting that in a time of great stress, she switched to Hebrew). I go into her and hold her and rock her. She keeps crying and mentions that she doesn't like me. I ask (not unreasonably) why she called me in if she didn't like me. "Because I wanted you to be with me!" So we rock a bit longer, and I tell her I'm going to go make dinner. She follows me, asks for a bawkle milk, I give her one... and now she's on my lap, eating crackers and talking about the ABC's (as she watches me type).
I asked her, in the midst of all of that, if she misses her Abba. She said no. Methinks I don't believe her. (I also asked once who she likes, since it wasn't me. "Only Rena," she said.)
Now she's saying "there's more chametz!" as crumbs get on the table while we eat crackers. "Ichy chametz. Chametz goes in the fire."
It's 6:19 PM. Bedtime is, ostensibly, at 7. Pray for us!