Sticks and stones

I can't write about poop. I've banned myself from it because it would be too easy. There's always another story, equally disgusting as the last ten that I have written about on my blog. I refuse to tell you about Eliza's fingerpainting today. I won't. Because then I will officially have to change this blog's name. And who wants to read about some other kid's poop every day?

On the other hand, if you want to read about some other kid's tantrum, read on. This gripping tale begins when Sage had a massive breakdown (and subsequent time out) at 8:00am today. As a cranky pregnant woman, I am not well equipped to deal with massive breakdowns at all, much less that early in the morning. Sage was removed to the bathroom for a(n eternally long 3 minute) time out.

Once in the bathroom, Sage spouted off the most creative string of insults I've ever heard (a new habit she adopted this week). I'm pretty sure she was trying to convince all the upstairs tenants to cancel their contracts and move out before the end of the week. Here's what thundered out of the bathroom.

"You're a naughty coco stinky poo poo, Mommy!"

...then...

"I'm not going to let you do this!"

I could not help but chuckle, and that quickly turned into a laugh, which I unsuccessfully tried to muffle. (Apparently "coco" belongs in the same category as "naughty" and "stinky?") My laughter trickled off as I remembered that it was ME that was the target of the bathroom character bashing. The ridiculous elementary school chant "Sticks and stones can break my bones, but names can never hurt me" seemed as dumb as ever. Whoever made up that was an idiot, because there is nothing like having someone you love call you a name (or four names, for that matter).

I know Sage is only 3. And I know that the Diego computer game that I made her turn off was really, really, really enthralling, and she probably will never be happy again now that she has to wait until after naptime to play it again. But could her anger towards me really be as severe as it sounds from the bathroom? And wasn't it just last night that she spontaneously and happily sang to me "I know a name, a glorious name, dearer than any other...It is the name of Mother"?

Suddenly a little memory surfaced. It was me, not Sage, on the other side of the bathroom door. ( It's clear where Sage got her vocal cords from, and her temper.) I was putting Sage to shame in the area of character bashing. The target? My mom, of course. The reason? She was making me practice the piano. The nerve.

And now, 16 years later, I can play the piano. It's not because I've practiced at all in the last five years. It's because I practiced 16 years ago, against my will. It's because my mom had a vision for me--one that I didn't have. And somehow that vision was strong enough to get her through the name calling, even though there were times that she probably would have preferred sticks and stones.

I hope, 16 years ago when my mom stood on the other side of the bathroom door, that she had memories of me singing something like "I know a name, a glorious name, dearer than any other...it is the name of Mother." And I hope she knew that I would be so grateful for not only not giving in on the piano lessons, but also for not believing the heated declarations of an angry child.

And so, it is with relief, that I have decided to let myself off the hook with regards to Sage's accusation of me being "coco," or being a "coco," or whatever she meant. Someday, she'll thank me for it, I'm sure.