Friday, May 28, 2010
Thar She Blows
Lucy is proving to be an education in what toddlers are really like.
Granted she has reason to be upset in the above photo as LK has styled her hair a la David Beckham. There is a lot of use of hair gel by male Englishmen. A lot. I draw the line at the 70 year old I saw at Manchester airport with a fauxhawk - please, you're trying too hard. I realize, given his age, that he probably saw the heyday of Britain in the 60s and he's still far cooler than I will ever be, but David Beckham you are not sir.
Back to Lucy. I had never witnessed a 'fit of pique' or even a 'conniption fit' until Lucy arrived. Apparently it's nature, because no-one I know in her limited social sphere flings themselves down on the floor in a rage when thwarted. Anna's preschool teacher described Lucy as a very 'willful' child, which I believe means 'devil spawn who will not be attending my school'. Actually she said that a child with a 'strong sense of self' (again with the double speak) is good, because from an early age they are able to communicate their needs. Violently.
When frustrated Lucy will either:
a) fling herself face down in a pool of tears and snot
b) arch her spine violently backwards so it feels like you're wrangling an Atlantic salmon.
c) or, lock her arms behind her head and go completely limp so keeping a grip on her is like holding a sock full of sand.
I don't know where she's getting it from. We are not passionate people. I am phlegmatic on my most energetic days. She is bred from English, Swiss and Danish stock, not a Mediterranean spark amongst us. Bizarre.
So yes, not the easiest child to entertain/pacify on six flights, or when you land either. My worst moment must have been when my parents and I took the girls to the pool (inside! weird!). Two children, 3 adults - I really thought we had enough hands. After 5 minutes in the pool Lucy wanted to get out and run along the edge of the pool. I tried sticking her in the jacuzzi until a staff member accused me of trying to cook my child - tempting, but no. So I gave up, sighed goodbye to the sauna and steam room, and took Lucy back to the showers, where she immediately squeezed herself under the cubicle door in a bid for freedom and proceeded to race around on the slippy wet floor.
Nursing a cup of coffee in the lobby approximately 3 minutes later, I was really cursing my child and her golf-playing father, wondering what I'd done in a previous life to deserve such a hellion. At that precise moment a woman sprinted out of the changing rooms in front of me. Wrapped in only a towel, shampoo dripping from her hair, she was screaming at a small boy who was dashing out of the front door and in to the street.
I think someone was trying to tell me something. I watched Lucy dump her entire bag of rice puffs all over the carpet and thanked God that I wasn't chasing her naked in to the street.
That'll be next year.