A mother's first "I don't like you"

Welcome (me) to HELL!!!!

I forgot that 4 years old is even more vicious, more savage, as “they” say (…? Still? Not sure), than 3.

Age Three is constant derangement. Mathematical definition of derangement: no element appears in its original position - i.e., that kid you knew from infancy to 2.9 is GONE GIRL - replete with a diary (this substack lol), blood splatter in a kitchen (kids aren’t good at zesting oranges and yet always insist on zesting the oranges), and a treasure hunt for clues (I draw clues for a treasure hunt throughout the house leading to a small gift every Valentine’s Day).

Age Four is allllllll of that, with some wider spaces in between tantrums, but absolutely more bonkers/worse tantrums, still over really weird shit at really weird times, plus weird psychosocial anguish, the real beginning of friendship battles, increasing food pickiness, plus throwing a bracelet I had made for her for Valentine’s Day at the wall because it wasn’t the exact same thing her brother got (devolved into specifics there, sorry).

I have a Tolstoyan theory that every kid is really special and fun in their own unique way, but all kids are annoying in exactly the same ways. Anna Karenina by Dr. Spock, if you will. Because really, all kids do the same. annoying. ass. shit. They all throw tantrums over minutiae. They all struggle for control (I’ve thought about this TikTok every day since watching, it is TOOOOO RELATABLE) and we’re all, in a way, scared of them, because for 30 something years, most of us have not lived under the same roof with a wildling, a tiny tyrant whose moodswings can send a household into a tailspin at any given moment! Everytime I see a friend post the annoying shit their kid is doing on social media, I am awash with the ambrosial glow of recognition: my kid has done the exact same thing, if not mere minutes ago.

Anyway, this morning, when the random dark cloud passed over Zoe’s eyebrows for no goddamn good reason whatsoever, she started making this atrocious wail she’s fond of randomly leaning on / subjecting us all to, and I told her if she kept doing that she’d have to leave my room because it was hurting my ears. She kept doing it, so I had to carry her out of my room, which led to her slamming her door and yelling

“I! DON’T! LIKE! YOU!”

Reader, when I say I gasped…….

When I say I sucked air through my goddamn TEETH so loud a meteorologist would have a tough time differentiating it from the damn Santa Anas….

When I say my eyes popped out of their damn SOCKETS like a CARTOON character I keep forgetting to show them (Looney Tunes) because I’m too busy showing them incredible Irish sea mythologies……………….

Rowan gasped, too, and looked up at me. “I would NEVER say that to you, Mommy.”

My golden boy, who mere minutes earlier had looked under his pillow and found the Sacagawea coin the tooth fairy had left him and asked Tyler, “Only a dollar…? Francine got SIX for her first tooth.”

Can you believe that same person dictated this note to me mere months ago? This is called EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH, people!!!!!!!!!!!! Even more so because this morning’s tantrum was predicated on her asserting “No more kisses” and I said okay, no more kisses, got it, and then she absolutely freaked out??? And yet the drawing above asserts she wants to kiss me everytime????????? WHICH IS IT, LITTLE GIRL???!!!!!

Me, IRL (fun fact: I auditioned for to play Harriet the Spy, so this really coulda been me IRL)

I’m laughing because I feel like I’m in 8th grade, re-reading the hand-written poem my boyfriend had written for me (titled The Moon) right before I left for a week-long trip during which he made out with my best friend. I returned from the trip to the news that I no longer had that boyfriend, and searched The Moon each night for clues, combing each chaotic stanza for a hidden tip-off of the betrayal that was coming. A real riddle wrapped in an enigma, as they say (I looked up who “they” is and it was Churchill?! Lmao, fully was expecting it to be a Joey quote from Friends).

When the dust settled, after she had thrown every book in her bookcase on her floor, I went into her room when she was ready to talk. She told me she was looking for the “Peaches the Dog Book,” and I finally realized she meant the book my mom got her about a dog named PLUM, which is about a dog that behaves horribly and is worried her parents won’t love her anymore and they assure her at the end that no matter what, they will love her. Even in the midst of her rage, she wanted to be reminded that no matter what, I’d be there, loving her, and it’s true! I will! I explained to her I don’t like that behavior, that it’s not kind, but that no matter what tests she throws my way, the love will always be there. We hugged, cheerfully put all the books away, and read about Plum the Dog, her hugging me from the confines of my lap. Emotional. Whiplash.

As Rowan said to me last week while practicing writing, “I’m putting a period at the end of that sentence to make sure it’s VERY over.”