Praise Ye Jah. Moving Beyond Mere Coincidence.

I just popped out of bed because I can't let this go. I'm afraid if I just fall asleep and think I'll get to it another time, it will be gone. And it's too important. I've been crying out in my prayers for God to give me a stronger sense of faith. I need faith.  I just prayed last night, "Lord, give me faith.” And while I listened, my mind drifted and I remembered when we were kids we had to memorize Hebrews 11 (yes, the entire thing - it was hell). Hebrews 11 is a chapter on faith. Two verses stuck with me. First, Hebrews 11:2, because it was thankfully short and easy to memorize, and was kind of a running joke between us school mates. Second, Hebrews 11:1, since it was the first verse: "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." I was thinking last night as I was lying there, what does that really mean? I tried to create a metaphor in my everyday life – like wood is the substance of buildings, or shingles is the substance of a roof, or hotdogs are the substance of dinner (yeah, we live on a budget). How is faith the substance of things hoped for? If I have faith, does that mean I’ll get what I hope for? Anyway, this is not directly why I dragged myself out of bed. I digress. I apologize.

When I picked Edith up from school today, some other mom said, "Tomorrow's Friday!" and this guy who works there said, "Hallelujah!" Of course Edith says, "Mom, what does 'hallejujah' mean?" And I explained, off the cuff, that "Hallelujah" means "Praise to God!" We practiced the pronunciation a few times. I sang her the song, "Praise ye the Lord! Hallelujah!" And that was that. We moved on to other things, like Dora episodes, what’s for dinner and how many bites do I have to take before I can get a snack, garage organization, and bike riding without training wheels. I didn’t really give it another thought.

After I'd put Edith to bed, I sat down to do my Bible study homework. Another task in a busy day. I kind of really didn't even have a good attitude about it, I'll be frank. I mentally counted off how many more weeks of this study we have and with relief noted we are past the halfway point. Anyway, we are going over the Psalms of Ascent. In order to keep this blog short, so I can go back to bed, I’m going to refrain from delving into a dissertation of what that means. But today’s Psalm of focus was 130. And in the alternate version of the psalm instead of calling God “Lord” like in most versions, they used the ICC version which uses the names “Yahweh,” “Adonai,” and “Yah.” Are you asleep yet? PS, Adonia is in an Amy Grant song. But that’s another digression. Focus. Focus.

Here’s where it got me. And He got me good. I’m going to quote directly from the Beth Moore study now.

 “The Hebrew reference less familiar to English students is ‘Yah,’ also spelled ‘Jah.’ This shortened form of the covenant name ‘Yahweh’: is employed many times in the Hebrew Old Testament. You say it every time you use the word, Hallelujah, meaning ‘Praise ye Jah.’…JAH is a shortened form of Jehovah….Pronounced ‘yӓ,’this name signifies, He is, and can be made to correspond to I AM, just as Jehovah corresponds to the fuller expression I AM THAT I AM.”
 
Whoa….WHOA! Are you following me? Do you have Goosebumps? At least my off the cuff translation of Hallelujah was pretty accurate (insert pat on back). But God explained it to me not four hours later much MORE accurately. And all at the same time, he answered my prayers, by clearly stating, “I AM.” No way that’s a mere coincidence. No way.

Hallelujah. J

Restoration - A Rhyme

We are going to post a little poetry today, which has very little (all right, nothing) to do with Edith. And has everything to do with a really cool dream I had about 3 months ago. Enjoy!

                   RESTORATION

The builder looked at the old church with care

Skillfully eyeing the structure, the wear

She saw it was rotten as if from within

But she wasn't perplexed, in fact, she was confident in

Her ability to make this wonderful structure like new.

Methodically she inspected each board for true

With patience and love, a desire to not only repair

But to perfect the great building was her humble prayer

She skillfully, tenderly replaced all of the rotten

So if one had not seen it, it was completely forgotten.

Next the builder designed and put systems in place

To ensure that the work would never again be debased

By wear, by weather, by leaks, or by light

It had to be perfect, it had to be right

For this was God's house, God's church for His people

The builder had pure awe, from the pews to the steeple

Here is where the dream beautifully shifted

The builder was somehow supernaturally lifted

Out of the builder role and into that of the structure.

God took her hand in His, gently He loved her,

The Lord the Creator of all space and time

In this moment held her, ignoring her grime,

Yes, He saw she was rotten, He saw her disgrace,

Yet He tenderly touched her, then set her in place.

Then He stepped back to admire His best

I could hear His whisper on the cusps of His breath

He cupped His hands to His mouth and tenderly blew

He said, "Child, I knew you before the first cell of you grew

And I've loved you and held you your entire life through

Yes, you took care when you restored this church

But do you know what to Me has value? Has worth?

How much more, my child, will I restore you

How much more will I work in your heart to renew

For you are my church, my dear, my beloved, my child

Not these timbers and beams, not these walls, not these spires

And I see your beauty that I've wonderfully made.

I see a woman who is triumphant and brave.

What I cherish above all is you.

The you that I made. The you that I always knew."

Oh, how at that moment, I peacefully slept,

And then upon waking, I openly wept.

This builder heard. This child knew.

His words will echo to me my entire life through:

"My child, my child! How much more will I restore you?"

The World May Never Know

I never did wrap up the biting saga. I started this blog as an outlet, because I felt like I was going to lose my ever loving mind over Edith's biting. I didn't know what caused it, I had no control to stop it, I could not find any advice that seemed to work. It was senseless. It set our world up on end. And so I blogged, to vent. And when it stopped, I stopped. But it occurs to me that by some unforeseen miracle, someday there might be a mother (or father) who perchance may stumble upon my blog, and think to themselves, "Yes! Yes! Yes! Exactly! That's my kid! Help me!" And if I do not wrap it up, I may leave this poor soul completely hanging, just like I was. And that would be cruel. So whoever you are, dear, I am going to put a wrap on this for you. The bow may be crooked and unkempt, but all the same, it's still my gift to you. Are your ready? Are you ready for The Magic Answer? Sit down. Take a deep breath. Relax. You may want to call a friend or your mother for emotional support. Here it is:

                                         I have no freaking clue why Edith stopped biting.

I am evilly giggling to myself. Is evilly a word? It is now.

We did switch her daycare. Here's how it went down. We went and looked at that other, more expensive place. It was sterile, kind of like a state hospital or something. Yes, there were only four kids in Edith's would-be-class. But after some investigation we learned that the only reason the class size was smaller was because of a current lack of demand. It was a new school, but based on the prices, I did kind of suppress my urge to teach them the supply and demand curve of Economics 101. But I held back. After that daycare, I went and visited a Christian one downtown. It was nice. Small (on purpose) class sizes. But the lady giving us the tour said that the four year olds were currently learning how to recognize the first letter of their name and they hoped by age five, they would be able to write their name. Edith was already doing that, and I still held firmly to my crazy and prideful notion that Edith needed to be challenged. Also, that daycare lacked before and after school care, and as Edith approaches school years, that's important.

I went right down the road from our house and visited a fairly new daycare. I liked the location, but I already knew I didn't like the place. Someone told me it was a sterile environment - and while I like cleanliness, I don't like sterile. But nonetheless, I gave it a shot. The director gave me a tour. It's a new daycare. Yes, she had room in the four year old classroom. I told her the issues we were having. After all, I didn't want to bring Edith over and have her gnaw on a whole bunch of kids without them knowing I had a carnivore! I kind of thought Summer (that is her real name) would say, "Oh, goodness! We don't need that here!" But she didn't. She didn't even blink. She said what they do there is they will move a biter up to the next age level. They may even move them up two age levels if necessary. There was a novel idea!!!!! She also educated me some - she said that daycares generally had two philosophies. One is that young children learn best in free play. The other is that young children learn best in structure. Edith's current daycare believes in free play. Summer's center was more structured - to prepare the kiddo's for Kindergarten. She openly admitted she felt it somewhat depended on the child which type of environment was better for them. I took the spot.

It was a Monday. February 13th, to be exact. I called Tom on the way to pick up Edith. I told him I was ready to make the switch. He agreed. I walked into Edith's school just as Jasmine was walking out. Dang it! I asked if I could walk her out. She sensed it was important and came back. I told her we had decided to take Edith to another school. I tried to say it nicely. I told her we just felt a change in environment might be the best thing. See, I'm pretty nonconfrontational - I didn't breathe a word that I was suspecting the teachers lacked classroom control. Or that the new school was going to put Edith in the Fours WHERE SHE BELONGED. I was sweet. And Jasmine says in a syrupy sweet sticky oozing voice, "I just don't understand it. In all my years I have never seen a child as angry as Edith. She's just so angry! I wish I could help the poor little dear with all that anger!"

I was shocked. I'm pretty sure I already told you how well I deal with things like this. I said nothing, except a meek, "Okay." I said, "What do we need to do to make this happen?" But in reality, my heart hurt. Edith isn't angry. Edith is about the most happy go lucky kid I've ever seen in my entire life. Later it occurred to me that Jasmine may have said this in self defense or retaliation. Because I was removing Edith, even though I didn't say it, the message to her was that her school and ultimately her leadership in that school had failed us, and thus I put Jasmine on the defense. Which is all true. And maybe because Tom and I had divorced when Edith was two, it was just an easy thing for her to fall back on and blame and say that Edith was an angry child. I don't know. What I do know is, it hurt. And it was not necessary, even if it was true, which it wasn't. And it was not fair. Did I mention, it hurt?

So I went to get Edith. She had received a red face. Again. She'd tried to bite. Again. I didn't even care anymore. I just wanted this two week notice to be over. I got Edith in the car and buckled her in. I got in the front seat, started the car, and turned around. I said, "Edith, your dad and I have made a decision. We are going to take you out of this school and put you in another school." Edith asked, "Will they put me in the fours?" "Yes." I will never forget the look on her face - it was one of shear joy and relief. She clapped! Her feelings had been so hurt that they would not put her in the fours. Part of me wondered again, were we doing the right thing? Was she just getting her way? But what was done was done. And something had to be done. And this was what we were doing. It was too late to turn back. There was not place to turn back to, even had we wanted to.

February 13th was the last time that Edith tried to (or successfully did) bite. That two weeks was hell. I hated going to pick her up each day. I felt we were living in a silent war zone. I dodged Sweet Pea's parents. I scanned the parking lot for their car, then rushed in, and rushed out with my sweet Edith. I felt embarassed. I felt not wanted. Not loved. Rejected. Like a failure. Not understood. But they treated Edith well - there was no retribution aimed at her. It was awkward, but it was tolerable. And eventually, the two weeks passed.

Sometimes when we drive by her old school, Edith is sad. She misses her friends. She really, really misses Sweet Pea. I have told her that for now, Sweet Pea and her cannot be friends. She asked why and I told her. I told her that Sweet Pea's parents are upset with her for biting their baby and they don't want her to be around them. It breaks her heart. She is so sorry. She offered to call them and apologize. She's offered this many times. I legitimately feel for her, and I know she is very, very sorry, and I know she's outgrown it. It makes me sad for her. For us. I've thought of writing Sweat Pea's parents a letter. But I haven't. I try to remove my feelings from it and do what's best for Edith, but somehow I don't think an apology is going to change anything. I even thought of sending them a link to this blog. But I've probably said things here that would make things worse. Edith hasn't made a new close friend like Sweet Pea was at her new school, even though she's been there for six months. But we've made other close friends and really overall, she's very happy. And she doesn't get spanked often. And she's still learning Spanish. And maybe, just maybe, I didn't need those friends after all.

He's Not Mad at You and He's Not Disappointed

To all my phantom fans: Edith no longer bites. She's even remiss that she did once bite. And she'd like to call Sweat Pea's parents and apologize, but I haven't let her. Anyway, if you need details, contact me. I'd be more than happy to fill you in.

Yesterday, Edith got kicked out of ballet class. I don't know if I've mentioned it before or not, but at four (and a HALF) now, Edith rarely shuts up. That's the plainest way to put it, even if "shut up" is a bad word. She talks, and inquires, and exclaims, and whispers, and questions, and announces, and explains, and pontificates, and sings. So last night in ballet, her "coach" (madam, right?) reprimanded her for not listening. I could only see the entire transaction through sound proof glass, but that was my takeaway. And she was not just reprimanded once. At some point, the poor thing's feelings got hurt. And it went from hurt feelings to pouting to a full fledged fit to a wonderful preschool melt down in pretty short order. I mean, I'm talking less than 60 seconds. Then The Boot. She was ejected to Mommy. No bueno, guys.

I took her to a seculded area. She was sobbing. Obviously the first thing to do was to calm her down. I told her she needed to stop crying so we could talk about it. Easy for me to say, right? When the sobs subsided to momentary hiccups of grief, I asked her what had happened. "I - I - I - waaaaas - waaaaaasn't - l - l - l - list - en - en - en - n - n - ing!" she sobbed. That was the first admission I understood. So me, the ever cool parent in crisis, gently explained that Miss Kipper has 9 students in class, and if Edith does not listen, the other 8 cannot learn. And that's not being a good helper to Miss Kipper. "B - b - but she hurted m - my f - f - feelings!" she moaned, a little less distraught. And I stated that I understood that yes, it did hurt her feelings, but she was being disruptive, and it's not just about her in class. I knew she wanted to go back to class (and at $15 a class I did too!). We've never been kicked out of ballet, so I wasn't 100% certain that readmission was an option. I didn't read the fine print on the discipline rules. I was pretty sure it was, but not totally sure. So I suggested maybe Edith could apologize to Miss Kipper for not listening, and then ask if she could come back into class. But I was certain she had to stop crying first. So when she stopped crying, I gently guided her back into the studio.

Before one word was out, before two steps were taken, she was sobbing again. Inconsolably crying. I made an apologetic "OMG" smile to Miss Kipper and gently pulled Edith back out of the room and shut the door. This was not going well. Now we were the main attraction in the parent waiting area. I told Edith that she couldn't be crying when she apologized because Miss Kipper couldn't understand her. And I empathize - totally! I break out in tears in every situation - you name it - Happy, Sad, Angry, Hurt, Empathetic, Not Even Related To You And A Bug Died That Your Fourth Cousin Caught When He Was Nine - I have got tears. And I have to help Edith. So I tell her to try to take a deep breath. She just sobs louder. I'm at my wits end, and then it hits me.

"Edith," I say calmly, "I am not upset with you. I am not correcting you. I am not angry with you. I am trying to help you so that you can go back to class. You want to go back to class. So you have to stop crying. Sometimes, when I am upset and I need to stop crying, it helps me to take a deep breath." I wasn't sure how much of that sunk in, but over the course of a minute or two the sobbing subsided. I again told her she had to go in there and apologize for not listening, and ask Miss Kipper if she listened if she could come back to class. We practiced - I pretended I was Miss Kipper. I coached her that it had to be loud enough for Miss Kipper to hear. We practiced some more. I'm sure we were far more entertaining than the actual ballet class for our captive parental audience. But I was in tunnel mode - I didn't even see them, truth be told. We had $15 on the line here, folks.

Finally, I thought maybe we were ready. I put my hand on the door handle. And I looked at Edith and asked if she was ready. And that darling, she took four deliberate intense breaths. Just like I'd showed her. She had been listening! One breath. Two breaths. Three. And FOUR. "Okay, Mommy." I opened the door. It wasn't really audible. It wasn't completely with emotional control. But the apology was given, without sobbing, and she was welcomed back into class with open arms. And I was really, really, very proud of her.

This was a trivial event to most I'm sure. But what occurs to me is how Our Father corrects us - He corrects our behavior. I was not angry with Edith - I wasn't angry at all. I wasn't disappointed in her. But she thought I was - she thought everyone was. Nobody was. Not even Miss Kipper. She just had a class to teach. What I really was, in all truth, was invested. I wanted to help her. I wanted to help her grow, and show her some tricks I knew, and see her be successful. It was not the issues she identified - not listening and having her feelings hurt; it was the life skills she needs to learn - to admit when she is wrong and to ask for another chance. And to learn that it's really that simple most of the time. I wanted Miss Kipper to let her back into class, because I know Edith loves it. I wanted what Edith wanted. And I thought I knew how to help her get what she wanted, and I don't think she knew how on her own. And I was proud of her when she did it.

I've always kind of pictured God as full of reprimand, condemnation, and judgement. And it opened my eyes - this is so not the case. He is a Father, and He is with us, to guide us. To help us grow. To teach us a few tricks He's learned along the way. He's not mad at us. And He's not disappointed. In fact, He might just be proud....

So I will take a deep breath. One breath. Two breaths. Three. And FOUR.

The Scarlet Letter

Last year (or maybe a bit before that) I started looking for a church for Edith and I to attend. We church hopped for a while - stayed at one for a bit that coincided with earlier mentioned boyfriend's world - and finally we happened upon a church here locally that I thought was about perfect. They are not too big and not too small, there are a bunch of kids, the pastor is very intelligent and engaging, they sing some old hymns and some new Christian rock - perfect. Or as perfect as we're going to get! Anyway, a few months ago they announced they were going to start a Sunday school class on parenting. I thought this was a perfect way for me to get more involved and a good idea for life in general, so I signed up! Last week was the first week of class - I did my prep work and trotted off to church - a little apprehensive because I'm shy by nature, but also determined to make this a go.

31 folks showed up for the first day of class. 31 may sound like an insignificant number to you, but let me put it in perspective for you. Notice, it is an odd number, not an even number. Yes, folks, it was 15 darling cute perfect wonderful married Christian couples and ME. Me, the lone divorced single parent. I felt there was a big flashing arrow coming out of the top of the sanctuary and pointed straight at my sinful head. Next week I might just see if I can find a big "A" to pin to my shirt to save on the church's electric bill!

So, class commences. It was mostly an introductory week. Everyone introduced themselves. How many children they have. A story about their child. And an overview of Chapter 1. After this we broke out in small groups to discuss the questions at the end of the chapter. Oh, with an announcement that all of the dad's needed to see the teacher after a class. Hmmmmm.... So, it was me and two of these perfect couples, the lone group with an odd number, thanks to me! They were very nice people, all joking aside. We talked about the book - a premise of it is that yes we need to address the actions of our children, but the real issue is their heart. If a parent can work to ensure their children have good hearts, behavior will occur naturally and it will be a permanent thing from their heart, not actions to make their parents shut up. We discussed this, and I brought up the frustration I have is that I don't know what motivates Edith's behavior - I don't know WHY she bites. And then, guess what happened? Come on, I'll give you three guesses! Yep, the dam broke open - the tears started flowing and I could not get them to stop! I'm thinking, "Noooooooooooooo! We can't do this, we don't know these people! Stooooooooooooooop!" But they just kept on coming. And coming. And coming. In fact, they were still coming when I layed my head on my pillow that night to get some shut eye.

So now I'm the chic with an "A" on her chest who is a blubber whale to boot. Just great. Just freaking great.

But I followed through on my plan from my previous post! Please, phantom fans, please pat me on the back for this at least! Yea, me.

So Edith bit again yesterday. Ya know, when I first started this blog, I thought I'd have to rename what the focus was after a couple months because certainly it was a short lived phase. Yet here I am, plodding on, on my fifth or sixth entry, and it is still relevant. I find myself again at my wit's end. I guess my wit's end is longer than I thought it was, because I think I've found it quite a few times. What is a wit's end? It should be soft and fuzzy and good for cuddling whatever it is.

Tom picked her up from school yesterday, wherewhen (new word) he learned that Edith had bitten and hit that day. There was no phone call. Maybe the school is numb too? I was out running. It was Friday, the gate to the weekend. I came back to the house where Tom was to be reconnecting my TV (workers had been doing the floor and disconnected it and I am technically unsavvy-no-stupid and could not get it reconnected) and he greets me and says, "Guess what?" My stomach fell. I knew. Edith started to get extremely tired on the couch there - he caught the falling asleep trick and suggested we spank her right away. Good thinking. So he spanked her for the first time. Up to this point it's all been me.  She was screaming she didn't want him to spank her, she wanted me to do it. He did it anyway. Man, he is stern and mean. Way more so than I am. Which digressing is indirectly one of the reasons we aren't together anymore. That "Tom" makes me shudder. It makes me want to tell him to stop,  but I don't. Because obviously my loving, gentle demeanor when I beat her ass isn't having an impact. So I bite my tongue and cry inside my heart and mind.

Folks, I don't know what we are going to do. Tom and I already had an appointment with Jasmine for Monday. I know it isn't really the picture I've painted here, but Edith is a very, very sweet girl. She is so easy - she doesn't get into things, she has a wonderful disposition, she is extremely intelligent. But yet she is coming home with red and yellow faces three out of five days a week. No one else has issues with her - not her Granny, not her dad, not the babysitter up the road, and not her Sunday school teacher. Last week Edith said to me, "Mommy, I'm sorry I'm such a bad girl." It broke my heart. It broke her dad's heart when I told him. I told her, "Baby, you are not a bad girl. You just do things you should not do sometimes. Sometimes I do things I should not do." She was amazed and asked what I did that I was not supposed to do. I told her that sometimes I didn't listen to my boss or I didn't do what he told me to do. I told her we all struggle with good and bad - that that is the human condition - and that is what Jesus is in our hearts for.

We (Tom and I) are frustrated. Of course, Edith could have certainly picked a better day to refresh her biting than the day before the appointment. But, it is what it is, right? I'm kind of thinking that her teachers don't have control of the class room. There is another day care here in town that has a smaller span of control - 5 kids for one teacher versus the 22 for 2 teachers in her room right now. I also think Edith is not being challenged enough and is acting out. Whenever I mention this to Jasmine, I get the feeling....you know how you would pat someone's hand you thought was senile and tell them you agreed with them that the sky is green? That's how it feels - like every parent thinks their child is "all that" and she's not going to try to argue with me and is humoring me by agreeing. Which makes me want to scream. She moved Sweet Pea up to the fours and is leaving Edith in the threes. She claims it's because the fours are full and Edith is younger than Sweet Pea by 5 days and that Edith will be next. I think she's blowing smoke up my ass. I think she's afraid of Sweet Pea's dad and wants to keep them separated.

In fact, the more I think of it, the more I think maybe a new daycare is what is needed. So maybe I'm not completely at my wit's end yet. The other one is $200 a month more than where she is at. Tom said he'd split it with me. I don't want to pay more. I don't want to uproot Edith from where she's been since she was 10 months old. But, what else are we to do?

The Three Year Old....Turns Into a Four Year Old

Well, I took a pretty long break. I apologize to all of my phantom fans. So sorry! Could have been the holidays. Yes, let us blame the holidays!

After the whole tragedy of the spanking we had a brief reprieve. It was nice. During this time I could dream that all of our whoas were now solved because we had finally followed God's advice on parenting. Sigh of relief - and no need to update this blog anymore! Problem solved! Seriously, Tom (that *is* his new blog name) and I both agreed it likely was no where near over. And we were correct. The next time Jasmine called me at work and had Edith in the office. She wanted me to speak to her on the phone, but Edith was beyond distraught and they could not get her near the phone. I could hear her, and she was in complete hysterics that her mom was on that phone. I told Jasmine I'd call Tom, and if she didn't hear back from me, he was on his way. Miraculously, I called him, and he actually jumped in his car right that very minute and drove down to Edith's school. Pigs can fly!!! He sat Edith down - actually stood her up in front of him - made her look him in the eye and say what happened and really chewed her a new one.

This made quite an impression. I know this, because a week or so later we were playing one of Edith's favorite games, where she is the mommy and I am the baby. We were playing school and I got in trouble, and she says to me with her hands on her hips, "You better behave, baby, or I will call your daddy, and he will come down here!" This time I began to ernestly hope it was over, but alas, no. We had maybe another two week break - that seems to be about our time span now. I keep spanking (alone). And in the meantime, Edith turned four. Now we have a four year old who bites, not a three year old!

At Edith's school they get different colored faces to describe their day - one face in the morning and one in the afternoon. So a green face is good, a yellow face is borderline, and a red face is bad. Needless to say, Edith gets a red face for biting. Well, last week, she got a yellow face for biting. Her teacher explained to me that since she didn't break the skin, they did not have to file and incident report, and so it was only a yellow. Then, when they put her in time alone, she tried to bite her teacher, but they stopped her, so it was okay. WOW. I think that's as earning of a red face as one can get, don't you? I'm thinking the teachers are getting in trouble (either by Jasmine or the other parents) so they must be trying to downplay it. If there's no incident report, then they don't have to tell the other parents it happened. That's what I'm thinking. Forgive me for being a cynic.

On this evening when we got home I sent her to her room to wait for me. I called Tom - he couldn't make it (which is to be expected as far as I'm concerned). I'm at my wit's end. Recently I had signed up for a new Sunday school class on parenting, which had not started yet. I'd read chapter one as my prework for class. I glared at Edith waiting on her bed and then went to my room to do a crash study on the book. I devoured it - I read 50% of the book in 10 minutes. Finally, I felt ready. I had advice on how to talk to her, how to spank her, and how to love her. I took a deep breath and went to her room. And the little poop had fallen asleep! Now what? Did she do this on purpose to avoid the situation? Did I make her wait to long and she dropped from emotional exhaustion? Do I wake her up? She looked so sweet and pitiful, still sitting up, fingers in her mouth to comfort herself. UGH!

I let her sleep about 30 minutes and then I woke her. I explained what was going to happen. I asked if she understood why it was going to happen and she said she did. I spanked her, how they said. And then she wanted to cuddle. We cuddled for about 30 minutes, until my stomach sounded like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. I pointed this phenomenon out to her and was awarded with a tiny giggle but also a tighter grip. The end result was I ended up cooking dinner just like in the old days, with her on my hip, only now she weighs about 25 more pounds than she did back then!

PS I just noticed I didn't finish the doctor story. That was a poor transition, I apologize. But he basically gave us the lamest, most unhelpful advice he could have provided. He said it was a phase. He said it would pass. He said some children bite. He said we should talk to her about it. He said we should not bite her back. He said everything you find in the first paragraph of the first web site when you google "three year old biting." He essentially let us know he thought we were bloody idiots for coming to a pediatrician because our child was biting. And that was a wrap. I was so NOT HAPPY. But, she needed the flu shot anyway, so I guess it was not a complete waste of time.

PPS I'd like to announce the next chapter will be about the new parenting Sunday school class experience, but you see how I failed to honor my last set up on the doctor office, so I hate to commit. We shall see!