Jane Sends Herself to Her Room

We brought home ice cream tonight. Steve was pretty excited about it, as was Jane. When we arrived home, she played for a bit, then ran into the kitchen announcing that she wanted some rock candy.

"Daddy! Daddy! Jane - candy rock!" she cried excitedly, as if she'd already been sugared up.

"Wait, Jane. Daddy has ice cream. Do you want ice cream or candy rock?" Steve asked Jane.

"Candy rock! Candy rock!" Jane squealed.

"Um... Mommy?" Steve called to me from the kitchen. "Does Jane really want candy rock or ice cream?" He knew there would be a meltdown if he gave her one and then she cried for the other later on.

I came into the kitchen. "Jane, are you sure you want candy rock? Daddy has ice cream. You usually love ice cream. You only get one. Ice cream? Or candy rock?" I asked her careful to drawl out the words "ice cream."

"Ummm... ice cream! Ice cream!" she jumped up and down.

"I thought you'd want ice cream," I told her as Steve scooped her treat into the little bowl.

About fifteen minutes later, her little ice cream treat gone and forgotten about, she heard Steve in the kitchen and remembered the rock candy. "Jane want candy rock! Jane - candy rock!" she said excitedly as she ran into the kitchen to plead her case to Steve.

"Jane, remember, you could only have one. This is why we really thought about it before..." he told her calmly.

"Jane - candy rock!" she insisted.

At this point, Steve did what any sensible father would do in this situation. He called for backup. "Um... Mommy?"

I entered the kitchen where the standoff was taking place.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Well, Jane had ice cream, and she knew she could only have one treat, but now she wants a candy rock. I told her--" Steve was cut short by Jane's interjection.

"Jane -- candy rock NOW!" she demanded, and stomped her foot for emphasis.

I straightened up and blinked slowly, and looked at her in silence, my face showing mild surprise. 

Jane met my gaze, then lowered her eyes and hung her head. She went to leave the kitchen, knowing that the consequence for raising your voice and stomping your foot has consistently been that you go to your room. If you choose to be unsociable, you are removed from society, as it were. But as she moved to go, she took my hand in hers and murmured, "Sorry, Mom."

We took a few steps hand in hand, but instead of taking her to her room, I brought her to the living room, where I sat on the end of the coffee table and put her on my lap. 

We sat in silence for a moment, then I quietly thanked her.This was this first time I remember her spinning up and out of control, recognizing that she was out of line, and then choosing to step back from the edge and apologizing. It was a remarkable moment, made all the more remarkable by the fact that Jane only turns three at the end of October.

We sat quietly, then one of us (I can't remember whether it was her or me) did a silly thing, poking or tickling the other. We were soon giggling together, then Jane suggested we play with her model cars, which we did. Jane was pleasant the rest of the evening, and didn't mention the candy rocks again.

Jane Chooses to Be My Little Girl

Jane pretends to nap with the most patient cat on the planet. 

"Meow! Meow!" Jane called to me as I sat at the table sipping a mid-day coffee. When you have a toddler, you find yourself drinking mid-afternoon coffees more often than you probably should.
"Are you a kitty now?" I asked her.
"Jane - kitty," she informed me, and began scratching at the cat's scratching post. It was mildly annoying, but nothing I couldn't ignore. 
"Jane - scratch."
"Ah, you're scratching at the post like the kitty. Is that it?"
"Mm-hmm. [cue toddler falsetto] Meow!" She came over and indicated she wanted to sit in my lap. I pulled her up to me and sat her in my lap. Then she did the unexpected, and licked my arm.
"Did you just lick my arm?" I asked her with a furrowed brow. 
"Jane - kitty!" she repeated, and licked me again.
I jerked my arm away and said, "Jane! Don't lick me. We don't do that."
She frowned at me, letting me know she was using her angry eyes.
"Jane, you don't need to use your angry eyes. We don't lick people. You know that." 
She looked at me like I simply didn't get it and sighed. She then repeated, "Jane - kitty. Meow! Meow!"
Ah. I got it. She was a cat.
This made me stop for a moment. The meowing was almost endearing, and the scratching at the post was just in between cute and irritating, but licking was square in the middle of annoying. If I were to send her to her room for it, she'd simply find some other time to do it, like when we're at church, when I can't send her to her room. 
"Jane," I told her calmly, "if you really want to be a kitty, then you should be doing only kitty things. So, let's go look at Kitty and she what kinds of things she does."
Jane brightened at this idea, and followed me into my bedroom where the cat lay sleeping at the foot of my bed.
"So, looks like Kitty sleeps a lot..." Just then the cat roused, stretched, and started to jump off the bed. "And she stretches, so you'll need to start stretching more... If you really want to be a kitty, you'll need to choose one of the beds and sleep at the foot of it... or you can sleep in the garage. Kitty sleeps out there too. And you won't be able to watch TV, because Kitty never does that. Oh, and no crafts either. Kitties don't do crafts."

Kitty's bed in the garage. Kitty's real name is Chairman M'ow.

Jane was starting to take all of this in as she followed me from the bedroom back to the kitchen. We stood for a brief moment in silence, while Jane thought about all the things she would have to do as a kitty, and the things she could be doing as a  little girl. 
"Well, I'm going to have some watermelon. I'd ask if you want some too, but since you're a kitty, you don't eat watermelon. I really wish you'd be my little girl, though, so you could have watermelon with me."
"Jane - little girl. Jane watermelon too," she told me.
"You're my little girl again?" I asked with mock surprise.
"Yes! Jane - little girl," she said happily.
"Oh I'm so glad you chose to be my little girl instead of being a kitty. I like having you as my little girl!" I told her, scooping her up into my arms in a big hug as she giggled.


It's been two days and Jane hasn't licked me or scratched at the post since. 


Battle won. No shots fired.