It's a Gift

You know how you can sort of just be sailing along through life and everything is pretty calm, there aren't a whole lot of waves (stay with me through this ocean metaphor) and then WHOOSH!--a hurricane blows in and stirs everything up? I think that's what the next eight or so years are going to feel like as Randy and I attempt to navigate the choppy waters that accompany the raising of drama queens young women.

I will admit, I have already been thrown for a loop a time or two by the Jekyll & Hyde behavior changing moods of my pre-pre-pre-teen oldest daughter, and while I've been told that what I'm seeing is completely normal, I'm also told it'll get a whole lot worse before it gets better. I have a hard time believing that--I mean, where would she get her moodiness? It's not like she has a mom who used to lock herself in her bedroom in the throes of a tantrum and play "Da Doo Ron Ron" on her Shaun Cassidy album until her parents' ears bled or anything. I mean, I wouldn't know anything about mood swings--no siree, not me!

Anyhoo, our soon-to-be eight-year-old daughter, who has always taken after her big sister, seems to have inherited her moodiness (her sister's, not her mom's--remember? I don't know anything about being temperamental!). This has also thrown me for a loop, since Peyton has always been predisposed to a sunny disposition. Give her lemons, and she'll ask where the sugar is for lemonade. She has definitely been a glass-is-half-full, look-on-the-bright-side sort of gal. Until now (cue the crime show music).

Now, NOW she is given to bouts of hysterical crying when something goes wrong, and I am flummoxed. I know I've mentioned once or twice or ten times that I can't stand to see Peyton cry--I'm not talking about a whiny cry (okay, I can't stand to see her cry that way either), but the cry of a broken heart. She truly has the most pitiful, heart-wrenching, saddest little eyes you've ever seen when she's sobbing disconsolately. And I will do anything, ANYTHING, to just make it stop before I do something rash like offer to buy her a pony or take her to DisneyWorld at the peak of the tourist season (which is pretty much year-round, at this point)!

I suffered through one such bout of hysteria yesterday after picking the kids up from school. At first everything was fine; I was running late because Sawyer and I had spent most of the late morning and into the afternoon with Clark. (I'm sure he can't afford to take three-and-a-half hour lunches too often, but we sure had a great time!) But even though my running late meant that Peyton was the last one in her class to be picked up, it also meant that Tyler and Darcy were the FIRST in their class to be picked up. Last + first = no waiting around for me. Sweet!

Peyton's ritual when she gets in the van (usually 15 minutes before the others) is to open her backpack, get out her red folder and start on her homework (she gets math and language homework every day). So by the time Tyler and Darcy are ready to get in, they have to climb over a lunchbox, a backpack, a folder and various scattered homework papers. That's Peyton. Organized, she's not. And yesterday was no different--except that instead of riding in the front like she often does (and which treats me to a perfect view of her chaos), she chose to ride all the way in the back with Sawyer.

Rather than coming straight home, we made a quick trip to the Neighborhood Wal-mart (really, that's the name) but we weren't there more than two minutes (they didn't have what we needed--this may be a first!). We all traipsed back to the van, strapped in, and headed for home. By the time we pulled in the driveway I sensed some vague, underlying tension going on in the backseat, but I was focused on getting inside and tackling some things that had been neglected in my absence that afternoon. But I quickly discovered when all the keening and the wailing started that my presence was necessary back outside in the van.

It was brought to my attention that Peyton had lost her homework . . . again. But this time, instead of losing just the homework, her WHOLE RED FOLDER was gone! Now I will freely admit that in my mind I was screaming, "Why can't you be more responsible??!!!" But did I actually say those words to my child who was sobbing desperately? No, for heaven's sake, NO! I was frustrated, though, because this is a far-more-common-than-I'd-like-to-admit pattern of Peyton's. The only improvement she has made on this front is that now, when she loses something, instead of saying, "Oh well, on to the next!" in that maddening way she used to have, now she feels agony and heartache and pain and loss . . . and I guess you may be wondering why I consider that an improvement. You're just going to have to take my word for it.

She searched high and low in the van but honestly, how many places can you look? I mean, believe it or not, our van is actually pretty clean (relatively speaking) so it's not like there were piles of debris she had to sift through. I mean, it was either there or it wasn't. And it most definitely wasn't. Now as I mentioned, this is the second time Peyton has lost her homework, and the first time was no less frustrating. She had worked on it upstairs in her bedroom, on the hard surface of her toybox, and then . . . it was gone. It was just gone. I e-mailed her teacher immediately because I wanted her to at least know that Peyton had done the work, and she replied and said that when a student loses his/her homework one time, the teacher shows "grace and mercy." Any lost homework after that, and the student has to miss recess. (Okay, did any of you just now say to yourself, "Big whoop!"? Because that's what I thought when I read her response. I'm thinking one student + missing homework = a big fat zero, and she gives me "Peyton will have to miss recess." It's a deal!)

Nonetheless, Peyton was so distraught over the missing folder that I couldn't just turn a blind eye and say, "Well, you need to be more careful." I had her mentally go through everything we had done when she got in the van and she was POSITIVE that she'd brought it home with her, nay, that she'd actually gotten it out and worked on her homework! There was the rub--for once I didn't see the mess, but in the back of my mind I thought, "Well, if she DID get it out, is it possible it could have fallen out of the van when we went to Wal-mart?" So yes, we got BACK in the van and trudged all the way back to Wal-mart, where we scoured the parking lot, looking for a forlorn red vinyl folder (with no success), and for good measure we went in and inquired at the Customer Service desk, thinking a worker bringing in carts might have spotted and rescued it. No luck.

This revelation brought on fresh tears from Peyton and it was fascinating to watch the clerk's reaction when SHE saw Peyton's face--for a second there I thought we'd be bringing home a pony after all! Anyway, we plodded back to the van and resigned ourselves to Peyton's fate. But I couldn't help myself . . . I mean, we had to pass by the school on the way home, so what harm could it do? I said, "Peyton, how about if we run by and check in your classroom just to be sure?" Her eyes screamed, "I HAD THE FOLDER IN THE VAN!" but she humored me and said okay. And as luck would have it, Peyton's teacher was still in the classroom when we got there. Now I would not dare criticize Peyton's teacher because she has been very gracious about helping to get Peyton acclimated to her surroundings and to the "PCA Way," but she is, in a word, strict. No-nonsense (okay, that's two words). And after all, she HAD given Peyton a warning. But when we walked in that classroom and Peyton's whole sad story came pouring out (along with a few more tears), I'll be hanged if that teacher didn't melt in a puddle on the spot. "You know what, Peyton? You were so nice to help clean up a spill at carpool today. Maybe your folder got lost when you were busy." (Um, no, we're pretty sure that's not the case.) "Here, let me get you a brand-new folder, and you just don't worry a bit about your homework. Here, give me a hug. Now don't you worry at all." And suddenly, all was right with the world!

Wouldn't it be nice if everything were that easy?