Lid-isms

Thusday was a tough day with Lid.  She was particularly sensitive, and the walk that takes 15 minutes from Nursery to home took just over three hours due to her consistent tantrums and screaming.  By the time we got home, we needed to leave again to collect her brother, which saw another set of screaming ensue. 

Although these incidents are lessening, they're not uncommon, and they weigh heavily on me.  It makes me believe that I am a terrible parent I think I am, that she hates me, that I can't get anything right and neither will I ever be able to.  I feel terrible that the children are saddled with me as a parent, and I wish I could understand what they needed with more ease.

The mood rolled through to the evening, where everything was terrible, and she screamed and screamed despite everything I and her brother (who has a much better understanding than me) tried to do to help.  After a day like that, I was relieved that the next day was a Friday, if only so that we could escape from each other for a few hours in the morning.

Friday rolls round and once The Boy has been dropped off at school, Lid and I make the short walk to her Nursery.  Outside we play and as a result we are often surrounded by small children whose parents are more interested in talking to each other.

As I drop her off and we have our farewell kiss and cuddle, I am taken to one side and asked if I can stay for a bit.  The benefit of working nights because you are, to all intents and purposes, practically unemployable anywhere else means that I can easily accomodate any such short notice request.

I am passed a folder with some drawings and paintings she has done, and her learning journal.  Whilst her group continue with their "Meet and Greet" session (the class is split into four smaller groups, and each is led by a member of teaching staff in an activity), I look at her journal.

Inside are photos of my bonkers Lid, being bonkers.  She is playing and concentrating hard.  She is laughing and pretending.  She is playing group games.  She is dancing with her friends.  She is fearless.  She is learning.

She is doing things that I have taught her at home, things that we have done, things that her brother has shown her.  I am told that she is a good reader, that she knows the phonic sounds and can recognise the names of her peers.  I grin broadly, because I know The Boy taught her that.

There is a picture of her building up bricks and blowing them down to the ground, pretending that she is the Big Bad Wolf.  I laugh, because this is a story that we "did" at home, following themes and acting it out.

She is riding a scooter, which she pretends she can't do in the garden at home, unless she is out there "alone" with The Boy, who has painstakingly shown her how to ride it, by dragging it along by the handles, walking behind her whilst she does it herself, making sure she is balancing, making sure she is ok.

There is a painting.  It is an elephant covered in poo, and when I say that that is what it is to her teacher, I receive an odd look. When I ask Lid, she tells me, quite clearly that yes, it is an elephant and yes that is his poo. "He rolled in it" she says, and off she goes to play with her friends whilst shaking her head that I am so very silly.

I am told that she looks after her peers, is caring and kind, and that she takes time with others.  She "grasses" if she sees someone be mean to her brother over the fence in his "big school". She's been known to try to climb over to help him.  She's definitely thrown the odd item at the head of perpetrators of unkindness. 

She is gentle, sweet, and all the things that she is outside of school.  In short, she is utterly fabulous.

As I make to leave, I am told that, every day, her teacher and an assistant share a "Lid-ism".  I smile, because I know what she means by that, as will any of you have a smaller person that you hang out with.  I think of the elephant painting, the one where he has rolled in his own poo, and grin. 

I trot out to say goodbye to her, and she confidently tells me she will see me later, as she is a bit busy playing at the moment.  I am worried I am embarrassing her in front of her friends, so I think I will wave and leave her to it. 

"Mummy!" she shrieks.   I come back, and she grabs me for a cuddle and a kiss, saying that she will see me later.  She then asks, in a moment that throws me slightly off guard, if I can guess how much she loves me.  This is something I say to both kids at home, and ask them if it is a little or a lot.

I smile at her, expecting a "moment".  She grins, picks her nose, wipes it on me and says "I love you a snot!"  We both pig snort with laughter.

A classic Lid-ism if ever there was one.