Meltdowns and mood swings

It has been a busy October, filled with many of the above -- mostly from my children, but a few from me too.

Peanut is stubborn and challenging, but usually we can predict the things she'll be stubborn about or challenge us on. A couple of weeks ago, though, Peanut incited a battle royale against me, the likes of which I've never seen from her. She wouldn't do what I said. Ever. She wouldn't stay in her bed or room at naptime or bedtime (this, from the kid who just hits the "easy" button when she wants to sleep). And she cried about practically everything.

I fought and muddled through all these battles -- sometimes even calling L during the day for moral support while I dealt with this Grumpus. Each time, I explained it away with, "Well, she went to bed a little late last night..." or some other reason.

Finally, one day, as I was hashing it out with her, I was thinking, "This is so far beyond normal for her. She's acting more like she doesn't feel good..." Wait! That had to be it. She didn't feel good. You know when you see your kid cross the line into an abyss of grumpy that rarely happens, and you suddenly have an impulse to feel his or her forehead? It was like that. Only her forehead was cool.

What could this invisible force be? She seems extra tired, her nose is a little runny. Aha, allergies. One Children's Claritin that night before bed, and what a difference a day (and a drug) makes! I am so glad to have my sweetly stubborn little Peanut back.

One-on-one time

Because Jellybean is at school all day long, Peanut and I have every weekday to ourselves now. I really thought Peanut would miss Jellybean terribly during the day and that Jellybean wouldn't want as much to do with Peanut anymore. It has turned out to be just the opposite.

Peanut seems to relish in Jellybean being gone: all the toys to herself, no one (besides Mama) telling her what to do, uncorrupted imagination scenarios. When we get home from taking Jellybean to school, Peanut dives right into the toys and starts talking to herself and pretending. She doesn't even want me to play with her (I've gone from the entertainment hub of both girls to a complete wallflower in less than a month). She likes to draw a picture for Jellybean each day, but other than that, we hardly mention the kindergartener.

Jellybean, on the other hand, throws her arms around Peanut when we pick her up at school. She asks for Peanut to kiss her hand each morning (from the book The Kissing Hand) when we drop her off. Jellybean always says she's too busy to miss Peanut, but she's certainly glad to see her when school is out.

Peanut and I have two school years to hang out before she goes to kindergarten (let us not speak of that again). I had almost two years with Jellybean before Peanut was born. So, this is our time to spend together, and I love being able to learn more about her each day. I am definitely reaping the rewards of their age difference.

Arachnophobia

The only reason I know the term for "fear of spiders" at top of mind is because of the movie that came out like 9 million years ago, "Arachnophobia." And now, to think, that term definitely applies to a member of my household.

I don't love spiders, but I wouldn't consider myself arachnophobic -- killing-bugs-o-phobic captures it a little better for me. If I see a spider, I move along my merry way, reminding myself that she's probably eating and killing the rest of the creepy-crawly things for me, so in that sense, we're friends. If I could just get her outta my way without touching her...

The other day, the girls and I were at my parents' house. They both went into the bathroom to do their business and wash their hands, when suddenly Peanut erupted with what sounded like a blood-gushing shriek and launched immediately into the stop-breathing cry that occurs with the worst of injuries. I sprinted to the bathroom and found Jellybean speechless and looking a bit dumbfounded while Peanut continued to gasp for her breath between sobs. There was no blood or missing teeth, so I implored Peanut to tell me what was the matter. She struggled to get one syllable out between each sob, so that when she pointed and I followed her finger and deciphered "spi....." SOB "...der," I figured it out. There was a spider sitting on the edge of the bathtub. And she wasn't hurt, she was just...arachnophobic. Wow. To be fair, it was a pretty big spider, and it caught her off guard. So I acknowledged her fear and we moved on (when I got my mom to remove the spider, natch).

Until a couple days ago. I sent Peanut up to her room to get a book for us to read. She was singing to herself, climbing the steps in her little 3-year-old world, when suddenly I heard that blood-gushing shriek and crying. I rushed up the stairs, afraid she had fallen on them. Instead, I found her pointing to a spider dangling from the handrail. Definitely arachnophobic. Not just a one-time deal. Never would've seen that one coming from Peanut.