The little angel has been Mad lately. Mad with a capital MAD.
I've been wondering if it's a delayed reaction to starting kindergarten. It's real. You really have to go. Every day.
We've been thinking about switching her before-and-after school care, and she's Mad about that. She likes where she is, but it's really expensive for the short amount of time she is there. The other alternative is cheaper, her school friends are there -- you'd think she'd be dying to go. But much like Petunia Cookie Dough Arens, she hates change. It's almost as if we rearranged the living room furniture on her and she's ready to piss on the carpet.
The other night I told her we'd probably be sending her to the new place, and she unleashed on me with all the wrath of a redheaded tsunami. She shook with rage, fixing me with the dreaded Mad eyes. She made her points, one by one, yelling with as much control as she could muster.
I WILL NOT GO.
IF YOU MAKE ME GO, NOBODY WILL PLAY WITH ME.
I WILL SIT IN THE CORNER AND I WILL NOT DO ANYTHING.
I HATE THAT PLACE.
You've never even been there.
I DON'T CARE. I WILL TAKE AWAY ALL THE PIECES OF PAPER I MADE YOU, AND I WILL NEVER MAKE YOU ONE AGAIN.
Be reasonable.
Then I thought, seriously, Rita? Be reasonable? She is five. She is five, and she's grasping the concept of authority, serious authority, for the first time.
We've always been authority figures in her life, but we've tempered our authority with love. At school, she's experiencing raw authority, the kind life deals you. Her kindergarten teacher is kind, but she rules with an iron fist. There are no hugs or soft eyes at the other end of that authority.
I know, I know, my love. That kind of authority is hard to swallow.
My authority, Beloved's authority, she must think -- perhaps this authority is not as unbending. In the game of which authority to test, she chose wisely.
But it sucks.
God, it sucks.
I hate waking up to be tested before I've even had caffeine. I hate struggling with the getting ready for school. I hate being late for work because of the struggle. I hate fighting with her to get healthy food down her gullet, get her into and out of the bathtub, get her into bed at night.
I really hate the Mad eyes.
But I understand why she is Mad.
I, too, struggle with authority. We all do. It's part of the human condition. It sucks to have your control taken away without anyone consulting you about it, even when it's for the greater good.
BUT MOMMY, I WANT TO BE A CAR RIDER EVERY DAY.
Yes, dear. I understand. I'd like that, too. But we have to pay for this house, and our food, and Petunia's food, and the groceries cost twice what they did two years ago and healthcare costs are out of control and we don't even get cost of living raises anymore and people are still losing their jobs right and left despite the fact CNN says the recession is over. We should be happy with what we've got.
I DON'T WANT TO CHANGE ANYTHING.
Her eyes rage with the inequity of it all. And I don't know how to explain without crushing her soul that this, my dear, this is life. Life isn't fair. It isn't fair we aren't on the streets ourselves. It isn't fair we still have jobs when so many people don't. It isn't fair we have health insurance. It isn't fair my uncle is still in the hospital recovering from major surgery and my parents are there taking care of my aunt who has Pick's Disease and can't even communicate how very scared she must be that her husband just had part of his aorta replaced and she can't even drive anymore to visit him in the hospital.
None of it is fair, my love.
And I don't know how to explain that to you in a way that won't make you lose hope.
So I let you rail against me for a little while.
Then I asked you if you needed a hug.
And you said NO. BECAUSE I AM STILL MAD.
Yes. Me, too.
