Double Birds

This week, Diana’s dad sent me a photo from their beach trip, and it took my breath away. My baby girl is not a baby anymore. She is growing into a beautiful young woman, a little more every day. I hate it – or I should say, I am not ready. I still want to think about her as a toddler, so I have reminiscing about some of her most memorable moments.

One of my favorites involved her flipping me off in front of a group of my friends.

When she was about 4, Diana got a kid-friendly tablet with games and videos. She loved it and thought it was a ton of fun to swipe around to find what she was looking for. I noticed that she was using her middle finger to swipe, which wouldn’t be bad, except she would keep the middle finger up and gesture with it to talk to us.

I decided to give her a teachable moment, where I gently explained that she needed to use a different finger, especially if she was going to use it to gesture around other people.

Then, came the inevitable “Why?”

“Well, baby, because that finger means a bad word.”

Her eyes widened, “what bad word does it mean?”

I laughed and shook my head, “I am not going to tell you which one but just know that it’s about the worst word you can think of.”

I could see the wheels turning, but she just said, “okay, Momma.” Then, she went back to playing and carefully used her index finger.

I felt proud of myself for handling that so well and of her for listening so well. Until a few days later.

A bunch of friends went to the National Night Out in our town, where the fire and police departments bring their trucks, cars and motorcycles for kids to see them up close. You ca get fingerprints done of the kids, and there’s all kinds of games and a bouncy house.

Diana loved bouncy houses. She was drawn to them like a moth to a flame, and that night was no different. So, she took off her shoes and climbed inside to play with the other kids, while I stood with my friends talking and observing from not too far away.  She stayed in there for a good 30 minutes and was having a great time, but it became time to go.

I approached the side of the bouncy house and sweetly said, “Hey, sweet girl, it’s time to go. Come on out and put your shoes on, so we can go home.”

My “sweet girl” stopped her bouncing only long enough to say “no!” and then, carried on with her shenanigans. I was frustrated but didn’t want to make a scene so I said she could have 5 more minutes but then, we were really going to go.

After 5 minutes, I approached the side of the bouncy house again, ensuring I was in full view of her so she couldn’t pretend not to hear me, and repeated my request.  Again, she responded with a defiant “no!” and continued to bounce.

I was faced with a decision: do I go in there to get her, or do I raise my voice to show I am serious and hope she responds? I didn’t want to climb in there and get clobbered by bouncing children, so in a very stern voice, I said, “Diana Dawn, it’s time to go. You had an extra five minutes, but now that time is up. Get out here and put on your shoes, or there will be consequences.”

She stopped her bouncing, sizing me up to see if I meant business. I held my serious mom face while I stared her down. Reluctantly, she very slowly made her way to the entrance of the bounce house to slide down and put on her shoes. I met her there, yanked her shoes on, and turned to say goodbye to my friends.

Then, I heard “Mommy!” in a tone that we definitely meant to get my attention and turn around. When I did, I saw my 4-year-old, feet firmly planted under her, with the meanest mug she could make on her face, giving me double birds.

My friends all started to turn away to hide their laughter, and I ran over to scoop her up and carried her over my shoulder to the car. (The firemen should have been proud!) I hurriedly got her buckled in and when I sat down in my seat, I asked what in the world made her do that.

She looked at me very calmly and said, “I wanted to say the worst thing I could think of to you.” No remorse, no twinge of guilt. We rode silently for the rest of the ride home.

I realized at that point that what I thought was a parenting win was actually a pretty big parenting fail. I thought I was helping her to not offend anyone, and what I did instead was give her the exact language she needed to express her frustration in a very public place.

So, while she may be knocking on the door of 13 this month, I still see her as that sassy 4-year-old, staring me down in a Target parking lot, flipping me off with both hands.