Skip to main content

An Ugly Scene

We’ve been talking about going to visit the family in Texas this summer. Last night Mallory said to me, “When you go visit Grandmom in Texas, is it okay if I stay home?”

I said, “No, it’s not,” and she fell on the floor and started weeping hysterically. And loudly. (Phoebe helpfully pointed out, “My ky-ing!”)

I finally got her to explain that she didn’t want to go to Texas because she’s afraid that her ears will hurt on the airplane. Even though she’s flown, I don’t know, at least ten times in her life already and her ears have never hurt on the airplane before.

I told her that everyone would miss her if she didn’t come along. I told her that she would miss me if she didn’t come along. I told her that she wouldn’t have any fun if she stayed at home. I told her that her other grandparents (where she suggested she would stay) had not invited her to stay at their house for a week. I told her that we could give her chewing gum to help with the ear thing. I told her that we could talk to her doctor about ways to keep her ears from hurting. I told her everything except what she wanted to hear, which was that she had my permission to stay behind.

The crying continued. (“My aw-right?” Phoebe asked.) The phone rang. As I went to answer, Chris told her, “Fine! You can stay home! Now stop crying already.”

Unfortunately, that didn’t help either. Mallory has always needed affirmation from both of us. (Mommy, can I have a drink of water? Yes. Daddy, Mommy says I can have a drink of water. Is that okay? Yes!) “Mommy, Daddy says I can stay home. Is it okay with you?” she asked me tearfully.

I just couldn’t say yes. If she’d been a little bit younger, I might have been able to tell the lie just to shut her up, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it last night. I said no. More crying. Unbelievable amounts of crying. Finally she said, “Are we going to go the very first day of summer?”

“No, it’ll be probably in the middle of the summer,” I said.

And with that, she stopped crying and dropped the subject.

Kids are so weird.

PS Holly, thanks for your comment. You’re right that I need to focus on the long-term rather than the short-term. Congrats on your five pounds!

Comments

Anonymous said…
Poor Mallory! She reminds me of my mother. By this I mean that my mother almost always thinks of the worst case scenario whether that has ever happened to her or not. Just because is happened to someone else, it might happen to her the next time she flies. I don't know what to do with people like that!

Mom
aimee said…
Rhett is like that too. In fact, I know a lot of people like that. You did the right thing. It is good that you didn't give in. Because she will remember if you had said okay, she can stay home.
H Noble said…
I witnessed a lot of 'weirdness' this weekend too- spending the time with my nephews. Kids are great though and really see things as they are sometimes.
We were at the DQ on Sunday and Claudia Hanes asked my 4 year old nephew if she could have a bite of his ice cream. His response: "Why did you not get your own?" (And she did not get a bite!)

You're welcome, and I know the power of encouragement, especially on weight loss. Hang in there!
H

Popular posts from this blog

Merry Christmas to Joey, too!

Scene: After the Christmas pageant. Me: You did great, Mallory, we're proud of you! Mallory: What was your favorite part? Me: Hmm. I liked the "Whatcha Gonna Call That Baby?" song. Chris: I liked that one too. Me: But I also liked "Joy to the World." Mallory: Joey in the world? What's that? Me: No, joy to the world, the song you just sang. Mallory: Oh yeah. Me: That's one of my favorite songs. Phoebe: A favorite song is a song that's your favorite and you like it and you sing. (Pause) Phoebe: And you dance. Mallory, before the show, in front of our haphazardly decorated Christmas tree. Phoebe declined to be photographed. All I was able to photograph of the event itself: Phoebe, objecting to the camera's flash: Now she closes her eyes before I snap every picture. Sigh. But she's cute anyway! And so is Mallory! And their dresses match! We're thinking Arby's: Okay, that's it! Recently read: The Golden Compass and The Subtle Knife . ...

It's what's for dinner

One of the things that I failed to appreciate about my mom until I left home is that she always made dinner (although I think we called it supper then), by which I mean, something hot, usually involving a vegetable. I don't remember my mom ever saying sheepishly to her hungry spouse and offspring, "I don't feel like cooking, how about a bowl of cereal?" I hate making dinner. Haaate it. It's my least favorite chore. It's not necessarily because I can't cook. I can usually manage to create something edible, although I have yet to perfect the science of getting, say, the chicken and the broccoli and the rice and the rolls all ready at the same time. (There are those among you who may be surprised that I make and serve broccoli. It's true! It's best when roasted: Toss with olive oil and salt, spread on a baking sheet, put in 400 degree oven for about 8 minutes. It's delicious! Delicious as broccoli can be, at least.) It's also not necessarily t...

Little sisters

Mallory was invited for a sleepover tonight; this morning, as she was packing her suitcase, Phoebe came in and said, "Me too!" When Chris found her suitcase, and gently told her that she wasn't invited to the sleepover, she cried for an hour. I think I'll always have a special sort of sympathy for Phoebe, my second child, because I was the second child too*. (And it's odd, because although I have younger siblings as well, I always think of myself as a little sister, or as the younger older sister, if that makes sense. I think that's because Jana, my big sister, was so good at being the oldest, responsible and, uh, authoritarian, and I am, well, fundamentally irresponsible. We all bowed to her! In a good way. I could never live up to that.) I often feel sorry for Phoebe, left behind while Mallory goes to school all day, because I well remember the long, lonely boring days I spent waiting for Jana to come home from school (not counting the days I spent playing i...