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.
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