cat named pig

The temperature didn’t get above zero today, so we decided to hang out at home all morning. When I told Siena it was time to get ready for preschool, the kids were playing happily in the living room. They had played pretty nicely together all morning, and everyone seemed to be in a good mood. All roses and sunshine in our house, which I mention only to help you understand how utterly baffled I was by what came next. 

Siena. Went. Completely. NUTS.

In mere minutes, she went from smiling to screaming, first over having to change out of her leotard, then over having to wear A) pants or B) tights (did I mention the high today was a negative number?) and then over every single other aspect of the getting ready process.

This from a child who usually appears to love her school, who typically gets ready while chattering enthusiastically about who is bringing the “Secret Sack” and what they might have in it, or whether Circle Time will be in Spanish or English.  

So to say it caught me off guard would be a bit of understatement. 

At first, I responded to her freaking out with patience compassion exasperation:

“NO, you can’t wear your leotard. Come on. No big deal. Let’s get dressed. NOW.”

“SIENA! We’re going to be late if you don’t get ready now.” 

“SIENA. You just kicked me. STOP IT.” (as I was attempting to put tights on limp-noodle legs while she complained at the top of her voice and then, suddenly, regained muscle control in time to knee me in the chest and squirm away).  

The whole time, she kept repeating that she did not want to go, that school was “dumb” and “never any fun.”  

I’ll admit, it took me way longer than it should have to just talk to her about what was going on. I kept thinking she was just being obnoxious, that the morning indoors had made her all squirrelly but she would snap out of it in a minute and remember how much she loved school. And then we would put on our coats and hop in the car. Or on the back of a unicorn, whatever, for I was clearly living in a fantasy world at that point. 

I finally came back to reality when it struck me: maybe there is something going on at school, some situation that she is upset about, and that’s why she is dreading going back today. Duh. Maybe I should ask her about it, and she’ll tell me everything, and I’ll use this teachable moment to help her feel better about the situation and learn that you can’t just avoid your problems — you have to face them. (Still hadn’t totally left the fantasy world, it would appear.) 

Riiiight.

She told me nothing. Well, she told me a few vague and possibly invented-on-the-spot stories about one child not letting her use the doctor toys, and another child not playing with her, but they didn’t seem big enough to be causing this level of drama. I mean, that stuff happens five times a minute with preschoolers.

I tried a few more times, in the car on the way to school and again when she came home, but got nothing substantial in response. School, apparently, went fine today. She did not seem eager to revisit the whole unpleasant incident, which is understandable, but I hate to just drop it. I really want to know what was going on. Even more important, I want to show her that she can talk to me about anything, that I’m on her side and ready to help her deal with whatever problems come up at preschool and beyond.

I’m a little bummed that it took me so long to recognize an opportunity for talking about what was going on. Instead of power-struggling to get ready, I should have sat down and asked some questions. (This “talking about anything” business is a key feature of my Parenting A Teenager Strategy, a vague game-plan I have started to mentally compile for when that dreaded time comes. In fact, “talking about anything” is perhaps the only feature of my Parenting A Teenager Strategy that I’ve really thought about so far. Surely we’ll get through those years with lots of open, calm, heartfelt conversations about everything in her life. Why would there be any drama? Who needs drama when you have a pet unicorn? We’ll be fine. Oh, right, the fantasy-vs-reality thing again.) I digress, but only a little, because if there’s one thing Siena knows how to do already, it’s be dramatic. So I need to hone my listening/talking/calmly-supporting parenting skills now, while she’s still too young to drive. 

So I’m asking you for advice, because if you’re reading this blog you are probably at least as qualified as I am to be a parent (knowing how to read and owning a computer being the two main things I have going for me in that department right now; actual brainpower and/or parenting skills seemingly in short supply). 

Do I drop the whole thing? Do I keep pressing her to talk? Do I risk driving her crazy by hounding her about it until she talks, or do I just wait and see if it comes up again? What do you think?

And what are you doing around 1:00 p.m. tomorrow? Because Siena needs a ride to preschool.