Is it nap time yet?

Since so many bloggers seem to be writing about unruly children this morning, I may as well join in.

It's been one of those days already: whining, arguing, cheerios spilled on the floor, a shattered teacup (I thought Corelle wasn't supposed to break?). All morning it's been two toddlers antagonizing each other while all Mommy really wants to do is go back to bed.

At one point A was pretending to be a dog while M, instead of enjoying the game, was screaming in terror, crying and running wildly. A wouldn't stop chasing her despite both M's and my yells, until I finally caught up to them and went into full lecture mode. Long guilt-inducing lectures are so effective with toddlers (or people of any age). Not.

I am typing right now with a sniffling 4-year-old in my lap. The problem? Trains. My girls are usually very good at playing together, but for some reason trains bring out the worst of the won't-share-I-want-ALL-of-them-itis.

We have an extensive train set, with Brio and Brio-compatible parts, and a large area to set them up in. There are at least a dozen train cars, which would seem to be plenty to go around between two kids. Of course, half of them are usually missing at any given time, but there are still at least 7 or 8 in the playroom this morning.

The girls were playing nicely for a few minutes and then pandemonium broke out. I'm still not exactly sure what happened, but I can make a pretty good guess from the sounds. It sounded like M had a train car that A wanted, and A tried to trade but M didn't want to. So A tried to take it by force, resulting in much screaming and running.

By the time I arrived in the playroom, M was lying on top of a pile of train cars (all but one of them) with both arms stretched out to protect her stash, and A was throwing a tantrum.

So I implemented a logical solution. We piled all the train cars together and I had the girls take turns each picking one. All went well until the third round of choices, when M made her choice and A went ballistic. "I want that one! No, No! I WANT THAT ONE!!!!"

I explained that it was M's turn to pick, and A had already had two turns to pick and could have chosen that one and didn't. I pointed out that there were still three train cars to choose from in the pile, and that A was going to get two of them (because M had chosen first, so the odd-numbered one would go to A). No amount of of reasoning worked. She had several train cars she had chosen, but suddenly she didn't want any of them. All she cared about was the third car M had picked out. When I wouldn't make M give it to her, A threw herself on the floor and screamed.

Now, the problem with A throwing a tantrum is that her tantrums can become so violent that she gives herself what looks like a mini-seizure and passes out. She thrashes on the floor or runs around crazily until her head flops around, her back arches and her limbs flail as her eyes roll back in her head and then she goes limp. After what seems like an eternity, she slowly wakes up and is disoriented for a few minutes. It's very frightening to watch. We've taken her to a neurologist and had an EEG, and the verdict was that she most likely has "fits." I think that's just another name for severe tantrums. Apparently she should grow out of the passing-out episodes by school age; meanwhile we try to prevent them by keeping her from getting too worked up. So a tantrum is no small thing here.

I managed to calm A down enough to get her to stand up and walk to her room (she doesn't get as worked up without an audience), where she spent the next 10 minutes or so crying very loudly. "I want the white train! I don't want M to play with it; I want it!" Finally I went in and told her that was enough of that. I talked to her about the importance of sharing and being kind, and informed her that she was going to stay in her room until she was done throwing her tantrum and was ready to play nicely. Meanwhile, M was happily playing with all the trains.

A few minutes later A came quietly out of her room, still breathing in sobs. She climbed into my lap and glued her sniffling self to me.

I suggested all sorts of things, from going outside to eating lunch, but she just wanted to be held. It's very hard to type with a 4-year-old kneeling in your lap hanging on your arms, neck, and anything else she can grab--especially when you don't have much of a lap in the first place.

I don't know what's in the air this morning that's making kids and parents grumpy, but I think it's time for an early lunch.

Several hours later . . .

Well, it's finally nap time. Oh blessed hour!

I prepared lunch earlier while two whiny children got in and out of their chairs and antagonized each other. A was making writing motions in the air with her finger while M screamed, "Mommy, A is coloring me!" from across the room.

Once the food was on the table, though, things seemed to settle down. They devoured sandwiches and melon, wanted seconds of everything, and chatted quite nicely.

After lunch all three of us sat down and made a gargantuan trainyard using every single piece of track as well as some blocks. We got so absorbed in building bridges and trying to make intersections match up that I lost track of time. All was peaceful and companionable. I didn't realize it was way past nap time until M plopped herself in my lap and informed me that she was tired and wanted to go to bed.

Of course, now that she's actually in bed she's singing at the top of her lungs. But she's in bed.

A is sitting happily in her bed studying a book on home repairs. Last time I peeked in she was sprawled out on her stomach examining the page on plumbing fixtures and clogged pipes. She seemed especially interested in a diagram showing how to take apart the pipes underneath a sink. Let's just hope she doesn't find a wrench and try it herself--I wouldn't put it past her.

Some days the kids just can't seem to do anything without whining, arguing, or getting into some catastrophe. Those usually coincide with days I'm particularly tired and short-tempered. My only real goal is to make sure we all survive until nap time.

These are what Anne of Green Gables called "Jonah days"--the days when nothing seems to go right. They are the days when I most want the girls (and everyone else) to go away and leave me alone. I want to escape to housework, my computer, or anything but interacting with whiny, demanding, annoying kids.

I've discovered, though, that if I succumb to my intense desire to withdraw and disconnect, it only makes things worse. The only thing that really helps on these days (other than naps and meals, which can also work wonders) is if I press in and do the one thing I don't want to do at the moment.

It's amazing to me what a difference my concentrated attention and involvement makes to the kids. If I try to skip that, I only end up resenting them. On days like this I can't get anything else done anyway. But if I take the time to get down on the floor with them we usually all end up enjoying it and each other a lot more. Then later I'm usually able to take some time to do other things without a problem. Their hunger for my presence has to be filled before they can do without it.

I'm very aware of a parallel in my own life right now. I've noticed that I'm feeling out of sorts, discontented and empty the last few days. My tendency is to withdraw or distract myself with unproductive busyness. But I think a large part of what's wrong is a lack of time face-to-face with my Heavenly Father. When I don't get that, nothing is right in my world.

I need to take a nap while the kids are quiet. But first, I think I'll sit down with my Bible and have some time recharging spiritually with God. I need that more than anything else.