I've mentioned my four year old daughter, Pooh Bear many times on this blog. I've lamented and praised her iron clad will and strong opinions...like the ten different colored hair bows she *thinks* make her the cat's meow on her way to ballet class. In reality, she always looks a little undone and scattered- like she certainly doesn't have a mom to brush her hair, match her clothes, or give her socks to wear with her mary jane shoes. I don't like to fix hair- hers, mine, or anyone else's, but I'd do it more often and better, I promise, if it didn't cause such trouble. "Mommy, I don't want to brush my hair today." or "I want this piece of hair to lay this (impossible) way." "Mommy, you always HURT me when you brush my hair." "Mommy, I don't like that bow." "I already fixed my own hair. I want it to look just like this." She's cut her own hair three times in the last three months and it simply looks goofy. About the mismatching of clothes- I often help her match her first outfit of the day, but she changes at least 4 more times into gawd-awful clashing patterns or jumpers without shirts underneath. The sock problem I dread when the first leaf falls from the autumn tree. Pooh Bear says all socks or pairs of tights are "Itchy!" "It squeezes my feet too tight!" or "The seam hurts my toes."
I saw stars last night when my tired Pooh Bear kicked a dear friend's six year old daughter just for daring to talk to her, and told her she only liked her a very little bit.
Why, why, why? When I was a public school teacher, I used to believe children were like this because of their terrble parents. I will fall to my knees and beg forgiveness if I ever come across a former student's parent whom I judged falsely. Kids are who they are from the day they are born.
Here's a story to sum up Pooh Bear's outlook on the universe.
An awesome twelve year old girl, Christy was over helping Pooh pick up her room. You can imagine with all the wardrobe changes the girl executes in one day, that her drawers are in complete disarray. Christy cleverly states, "You know, Pooh, a princess ALWAYS keep her clothes folded and tidy in her dresser. Are you a princess?" To which my dear daughter smartly replies, "Of course, I am a princess. And a REAL princess has servants to clean up after her."
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