We Shall Overcome
I don't like it when my kids grow. For two reasons, actually. One, the more they grow the less they need me and the closer they get to being adult-like independent people who don't want to live with me anymore. And two, whenever we're in the midst of a growth spurt they turn into crotchety fire-breathing gargoyles. It's always more intense with my oldest daughter, and the past few days around here have been gargoyle days with her. Remember in The Exorcist when Linda Blair's character gets kind of lost inside the demon that has taken over her body? That's basically what we're seeing. I keep wanting to lift up A~'s shirt to see if she's trying to spell out "help me" on her stomach from wherever she is inside that scary little body. The problem is every time I try to get near her, her head spins around and she projectile vomits green slop all over me.
When the gargoyle days are upon us, A~ seems to lose all grasp of her vocabulary save these two phrases: "No I won't!" and "I'm hungry!" She requires food constantly, barely swallowing the last bite of something before demanding more. I can tell she truly is hungry, because she devours giant raw carrots with the same enthusiasm as she does powdered donuts. Her usual finicky eating habits manifest themselves instead by requiring things to be just so. She must have WHOLE graham crackers, you see, and heaven help you if one has a broken corner. Sandwiches must be cut into TRIANGLES, and if a plate of squares is set before her you shall feel the wrath of the gargoyle. The worst, oh my the absolute worst is string cheese. The cheese must be separated into meticulously perfect long strings, and if this doesn't happen the green vomit and head spinning begins in a fit of violent rage.
Me: "Here's your string cheese, honey!"
A~: "AAAAAAAUUGGGH! Bluaaagh guurrrgle spllltthhh!"
Me: "Oh, oh dear. You know the small strings taste exactly the same as the long strings, and really I don't think spewing green vomit on me is going to solve much of anyth-"
A~: "Bluuuaaaarrrrgg! I'M HUNGRY!"
Me: "Oh my. Oh my goodness. Ok..." (Drip, slosh, backing away slowly) "Let me just string this for you. There does that help? Can you turn your head back around and look?"
A~: "No! I won't! I'm HUUUUUUUNGRYYYY!"
As if the food and crankiness issues aren't enough, the gargoyle growth spurts also bring upon us overly drowsy days and completely sleepless nights. I can't get her to do anything during daylight hours, from putting on her socks to going on an outing. Her eyelids droop pathetically the entire day, and every once in awhile she'll yawn enormously (emitting small puffs of smoke). I count the minutes until bedtime, anticipating hours of quiet slumber after which she will wake up refreshed and back to her sweet little self. Not so. What does bedtime bring instead? Hours upon hours upon hours of loud crashes and bangs coming from her room. Window blinds are rattled, book pages are feverishly flipped, and every once in a while a growly voice calls out, "I'm hungry!" Here we are at 10:35 pm, and she is still up there doing something. I don't even think I want to know.
Eventually, the gargoyle will fizzle out. My darling girl will be returned to me, slightly scratched and scraggly, and an inch or two taller than the last time I saw her. For my own long-term sanity, I will attempt to forget these past few days, locking the memories away down deep inside. I will pretend I never had to scrub green vomit off of my baseboards and I will quietly boycott all forms of cheeses that string. We will all live a peaceful Better Homes and Gardens kind of life, and I will make a fresh apple pie every afternoon. Until then, I will persevere. I will don some protective eye covering and a shower cap, and dive in head first. I'm her mother, after all, and it's my job.
...Right? I can't, like, take a few days off, or... No, right. It's ok, I'm good. I think.
When the gargoyle days are upon us, A~ seems to lose all grasp of her vocabulary save these two phrases: "No I won't!" and "I'm hungry!" She requires food constantly, barely swallowing the last bite of something before demanding more. I can tell she truly is hungry, because she devours giant raw carrots with the same enthusiasm as she does powdered donuts. Her usual finicky eating habits manifest themselves instead by requiring things to be just so. She must have WHOLE graham crackers, you see, and heaven help you if one has a broken corner. Sandwiches must be cut into TRIANGLES, and if a plate of squares is set before her you shall feel the wrath of the gargoyle. The worst, oh my the absolute worst is string cheese. The cheese must be separated into meticulously perfect long strings, and if this doesn't happen the green vomit and head spinning begins in a fit of violent rage.
Me: "Here's your string cheese, honey!"
A~: "AAAAAAAUUGGGH! Bluaaagh guurrrgle spllltthhh!"
Me: "Oh, oh dear. You know the small strings taste exactly the same as the long strings, and really I don't think spewing green vomit on me is going to solve much of anyth-"
A~: "Bluuuaaaarrrrgg! I'M HUNGRY!"
Me: "Oh my. Oh my goodness. Ok..." (Drip, slosh, backing away slowly) "Let me just string this for you. There does that help? Can you turn your head back around and look?"
A~: "No! I won't! I'm HUUUUUUUNGRYYYY!"
As if the food and crankiness issues aren't enough, the gargoyle growth spurts also bring upon us overly drowsy days and completely sleepless nights. I can't get her to do anything during daylight hours, from putting on her socks to going on an outing. Her eyelids droop pathetically the entire day, and every once in awhile she'll yawn enormously (emitting small puffs of smoke). I count the minutes until bedtime, anticipating hours of quiet slumber after which she will wake up refreshed and back to her sweet little self. Not so. What does bedtime bring instead? Hours upon hours upon hours of loud crashes and bangs coming from her room. Window blinds are rattled, book pages are feverishly flipped, and every once in a while a growly voice calls out, "I'm hungry!" Here we are at 10:35 pm, and she is still up there doing something. I don't even think I want to know.
Eventually, the gargoyle will fizzle out. My darling girl will be returned to me, slightly scratched and scraggly, and an inch or two taller than the last time I saw her. For my own long-term sanity, I will attempt to forget these past few days, locking the memories away down deep inside. I will pretend I never had to scrub green vomit off of my baseboards and I will quietly boycott all forms of cheeses that string. We will all live a peaceful Better Homes and Gardens kind of life, and I will make a fresh apple pie every afternoon. Until then, I will persevere. I will don some protective eye covering and a shower cap, and dive in head first. I'm her mother, after all, and it's my job.
...Right? I can't, like, take a few days off, or... No, right. It's ok, I'm good. I think.
November 20, 2005