What a morning!

It was interesting, to put it mildly. One of those mornings where you have to laugh because otherwise you'd cry.

It started off like any other morning. We were making it to school by the skin of our teeth--on time, but barely. Chatterbox (2nd grade) began expressing some anxiety about going to school because yesterday she'd come home with a tummy ache (later we decided it was just butterflies about her awards ceremony and she was returned to school)--while gone she had missed her center work time. She was so worried that she wouldn't be able to finish it. She began to get herself worked up. I don't know if you can identify with an anxious child--99% of the time Chatterbox is the world's easiest person. But if she starts getting nervous and overwhelmed, she loses it and then it's impossible to reason with her. So in the 2 minute drive to school she was about unglued and when we pulled through the circle she would not exit the car.

I pulled through and parked in the parking lot, got out and climbed in the back seat, held her, and tried to talk her through it. Eventually we came to the real cause of the anxiety--she was scared of going to the special pizza lunch, held on the stage, which she had earned as a reward for her reading efforts. I tried to talk her through that too, telling her she didn't have to go ... all to no avail. Finally I told her she had to decide--go home and stay there all day, or face her fears and go to school. I conceded that I would write a note of explanation to her teacher and she chose to go to school. She left the car, shoulders shaking with sobs, arms wiping eyes and I drove a little ways away before she could change her mind. All the while I watched her through the rearview mirror, feeling anxious myself. Poor kid. I glanced at the clock 8:40--15 minutes late. Her first tardy of the school year.

Fast forward about 20 minutes. I was taking a bath (trying to relax a little). Queenie was begging to join me, but that would have defeated the purpose. I told her she could be next. After I got out, I plopped her in (it was my master tub), then went in my room next door to get dressed. Just one minute later, I heard her saying "Bear need a bath. Sheepie blanky need a bath. Giraffe blanky need a bath." I walked in to find her bathing with her bear and 2 blankies (and a friendship bracelet, though I think that was accidental). It was funny and I snapped a picture. But when she was done, she dropped the sopping mess on the rug. I carried it, dripping all the way, and threw the whole mess in the washer, at which point a nudist Queenie began throwing a temper tantrum only possible by a 2-year-old. She was clawing the walls and climbing the washer. All in the buff. I wrestled her back to her room, forced a diaper on her, and closed her in for a time out with the instructions that I would retrieve her when she was quiet.

I exited the room, breathed a sigh of relief, and finished getting dressed. Then I went to check on Smidget. Ah, sweet Smidget. Her bedroom door was closed, which is never a good sign. I opened the door and she stood there, looking extremely guilty but no crime was readily apparent. "What's going on?" I asked. "I don't want to tell you. You'll be super mad," was her reply. I again glanced around the room, wondering what in the world she had done. When I couldn't ascertain the cause of her guilt, I told her she had better tell me.

"I cut my hair" she said. (This is the second time--she did it once a few months ago!) I swatted her behind once, picked up the four-inch lock of beautiful hair, trying not to cry, and told her we would have to go cut her hair. "Good," she said. "I don't like long hair."

I looked at the clock again. 9:30. Drama issues with all 3 girls all before my breakfast. Lovely.