As I write this my nearly 6 year old daughter is in her room screaming. And this will likely go on for the next few hours, possibly well into the afternoon. I know. It happens almost every day.  Why? Because I asked her to clean her room.

(I have neighbors who I very rarely talk to who have mentioned more than once how loud my daughter is. Visions of CPS visits dance in my head and force me to make sure all the windows are shut when the girl is in a mood.)

Ivy is smart, funny, incredibly creative, moody, empathetic, bossy, a prima donna, VERY VERY loud, extremely independent, manipulative, a loner, willful, completely obsessed with potty humor and boys and above all stubborn as the proverbial mule. Oh, and? She has the face of an angel and is more than capable of playing the part. Until she is displeased. And then woe to the bearer of such displeasure.

She was ripped from the womb screaming and she hasn’t stopped yet. Sometimes it becomes very hard to understand this child, especially in comparison (I know, not fair, but it happens) with an older brother who had his share of tantrums, but rarely took more than a session or two in the corner to learn his lesson. Logical. Do not repeat behavior, do not suffer consequences. My daughter, on the other hand, must push and test her limits and then try to climb over, under and around them. And when she is caught and punished, she develops tunnel vision. There can be no talking, no discussion of why or what could be done next time, her thought process spirals into a very determined I DON’T WANT TO and that is that. Most of the time she cannot tell us why she is in trouble. She parrots back phrases that she hears: “I need to listen”  and “I’m sorry”, but can’t tell us why she is sorry or why she needs to listen or demonstrate any sort of understanding. She simply behaves like a cornered animal, doing anything she has to to escape.

This behavior? It scares the ever-loving shit out of me. I see myself in there, wild and willful and manipulative. I see my husband, stubborn as the day is long. But I see all of that combined with a mind capable of forcing the world to bend to her will, without remorse or thought for others. On one hand, I’m glad for it. She is strong. She says exactly what she thinks and does exactly what she wants to do and really doesn’t give a toads toe about what anyone thinks. As an adult? Wonderful! But the other side of that? The loneliness and alienation that will come with being so unfailingly black and white? The refusal to take responsibility for her own actions? The deep seated belief that the world owes her something (or what I like to call Pretty Princess Syndrome)? That can lead down a dark, dark path. One I am firmly committed to blocking as much as I can.

But I know how it goes. Kids grow up. They outgrow your reach and sphere of influence and then you just have to hope you did what you could while you could. And I hope we are. I hope I am. Because I love her, I really do. She amazes me every day. She is like a shooting star, a brightly burning comet. But comets crash and stars burn out. And I would be lying if I didn’t acknowledge the warning signs, the strange behaviors that keep my husband and I shaking our heads, trying to reassure one another that we are doing our best. Uttering platitudes about how it will all be ok.

Hopefully.

Training a dog that is smaller than a guinea pig is proving to be a bit challenging. Its a fine line between feeling like you might break him and dealing with the fact that no matter how small he is, he is all dog (and pretty much thinks he is a rottweiler or something.)!

He’s semi-housetrained. Meaning, I take him outside and he pees. Then he comes in and poops. Or he poops inside before I take him out. I’m either not waiting long enough or I’m too late. Hrm.

Crate training has been a sucess… he loves his crate and goes right in as soon as he is sleepy or needs time away. No whining or crying, so that is great.

After three days of refusing. to. budge. on the leash, he finally went on a walk this morning. I think keeping his collar on him for the last few days made all the difference… he was used to it already and not totally overwhelmed by the sensation of something around his neck. Keeping my fingers crossed for walks!

He also performed “Sit” today. I’ve been trying to get him to sit for the last week. Today he did it, got a treat and then repeated it several times on command, without a treat. He still won’t come when called though, unless he’s in the mood. Must correct that.

He also is nipping. He is fixated on Jason and bit me the other night when he was sitting near him and I tried to take him out to toilet. He also nipped at Ivy when he was all wound up playing and she got in his face. We talked about recognizing his signs and being respectful of space, but bottom line is he can’t be allowed to bite. Each time he does it he is told “No” and put in his “room” (the laundry room has been made into his retreat).  I guess time will tell if this is the right way to handle it.

Part of me feels like maybe I’m moving too fast, part of me feels like if  I don’t expect it from him he will never learn. Part of me feels I am just being neurotic and he will turn out fine.  Part of me feels like maybe I am too neurotic to be a good dog owner. I just don’t want him to be one of those yapping, nipping ill tempered brats I often see about. I swear I haven’t felt like this since my oldest was born. The constant second guessing: Am I doing it right? Am I raising a serial killer? The husband tells me to relax. I’m trying.

I have a very deep desire in my life for simplicity. The whole less-is-more, appreciate-what-you-have, make do, reduce-reuse-recycle thing does for me what crack does for others. I get all jittery, visions of peaceful days out in the garden, my children cheerfully picking fresh veggies while singing in harmony dancing in my head. And then I usually sit down and list a thousand things I need to do, along with a hundred things I need to buy and of course some storage for all these wonderful, life changing projects to simplify and organize my life.

Yes, I am fully aware of the irony.

Ahem. Yeah, so, not exactly Miss Simple am I? But I try. And one of the areas I really seem to fall short in is when it comes to the kids. It is always such a balancing act: How much is enough?

I’m by no means super attachment granola mom. (Although I love granola. But that’s beside the point.) I’m not super strict either. I believe in moderation and cleaning your room everyday. I believe in fresh air and exercise and the comfort of curling up on the couch together for an episode of The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack. I believe in chores and the necessity of hard work. I believe in time outs and grounding and writing letters of apology. I believe arts project’s that get my clean floor covered in glitter are very much worth it. I believe Nintendo DS is a godsend on long car trips. I support my husband in expecting a clean plate, no matter how much you hate broccoli. I expect respect. So far, this is all working for me.

But at Christmas time I find myself so tempted to overdo it. To buy the kids a fazillion things they don’t need and I fight guilt when I narrow it down to a reasonable celebration. I don’t know why that is. They are always happy and I would hate to so saturate them with gifts that it becomes less fun and way more overwhelming (and its already pretty overwhelming.)! For many years we had no choice… money was tight. They were really too little to know any different anyway. But times, they are a-changing. Ivy watches commercials and repeats “I want that!” over and over. Ozzie is getting older and is rapidly becoming a technophile.

But I wonder how much is for them and how much is for me? My husband and I have talked several times about how much more fun Christmas becomes as a parent… I think sometimes the anticipation and watching is more fun for us than we will ever admit. And maybe that is ok. As long as we can keep it balanced.