Just now: I sent an email to Amy’s teacher asking for the true story about today’s snack. Amy’d told me that there were crackers and “my teachers wouldn’t let me” have some. Curious.
Ten minutes ago: I was in the music room with two projects. One was to move books around so as to open a shelf unit for Amy’s art supplies. They’ve been stuffed in one of my desk drawers — not very accessible. Now they are organized in boxes (a play-doh box, a collage box, a coloring box, a painting box, and a box of scrap paper) on shelves, easy to get to and easy to put away. Everything else was shuffled — her books on a new bookcase, my scrapbooks and music books and literature on new shelves, and all the history, linguistics, language, philosophy, religion, gardening, parenting, auto mechanics, and science books are now on shelves in the closet.
While I was in there, I saw Amy’s keepsake boxes and got them down to review and organize, too. There’s the sweater, hat, and bootie set my mom knit for her, the hat from the hospital, a pair of shoes I’d made, oodles of birth and birthday cards, and various artworks. Plus a letter I wrote to Amy when I was getting ready to head to the ER and the psych ward, and some cards and papers from that time. I need to find and save the yellow dress I sewed for her — the first outfit I made for her.
Two hours ago: Amy was getting in trouble. So oppositional, this child. If she’s got her mind set, she will keep pushing and pushing it. Sometimes she out and out yells “No,” but more and more often we’re also seeing her say it almost under her breath, as if to have the last word but not get caught. Tonight’s incident was just about three tiny pieces of chicken with hardly any sauce on them (she didn’t like the sauce). We get so tired of repeated argument and contradiction. After enough “no’s” (especially during the short and sweet talk about respect) she had a time-out, which she escalated through several levels until she ended up being sent to bed. At 6:30. Eh.
Four hours ago: Amy was giving me a lesson on the Barbie and horses work, because I can’t choose that work unless / until I have a lesson on it. She showed me how to line up the horses as a carousel, and how a doll could ride each one and fly into the bedroom (except it was some more exotic place; the Louvre, maybe) and then come back and lie down.
Seven hours ago: I instituted the new quiet time policy. Amy had slept a bit in the car, so I said during the next hour and a half we would do quiet things, separately. She could look at books, do art work, puzzles, lacing beads, or any other such quiet activity. She opted to take all of her magazines into her room, close the door, and lie in bed.
Seven and a half hours ago: We were eating lunch and Amy started talking about a girl in her class, and how I could call her if I wanted to, and invite her over.
Eight hours ago: We were leaving preschool, having our Bible study in the car. I found one audio Bible at one library, and Mace Windu is the main narrator. It’s a little odd, but listenable.
Eight hours and five minutes ago: We were walking from her building to the parking lot, and she was telling me about the crackers.
Nine hours ago: I was checking out some books about homeschooling, after getting my card at the Mishawaka library.
Fourteen and a half hours ago: Amy was wide awake and asking if it was time to go to preschool yet.
Late last night: When I woke Amy up to pee, she asked if it was time to go to preschool.