Savannah

Today, I will focus on Savannah because she demands focus.  You may or may not be privy to the fact that Savannah is not a morning person.  Often she is not an mid morning, afternoon, or evening person either.  I have come to the conclusion that Savannah's bed has four left sides as I have yet to see her climb out on the right side.  She makes it through the morning speaking in a series of grunts, moans, and often shrieks.

It is with trepidation that I approached her slumbering place this morning as she had become accustomed to a routine of rising on her own terms over this Christmas break.  (Her own terms do not typically come around until at least 9am.)  I whispered her name. I spoke in baby gibberish and rubbed her back.  I told her how pretty she is and reminded her of how she could go to school today and tell her best friend, Lily (one L, not two) about how generous Santa had been this year. (By the way, Santa must not be an early riser either or he would have certainly seen fit to put Savannah on the extremely naughty list.) She did not want to hear any of this.  She did not care to indulge in morning vanity nor in the tallying of Christmas squalor with her comrades.  I was not really up for a battle royale this morning so I dressed her in bed.  The clothes were much too big.  (If they had not been big, they would have been the wrong color or itchy or too small or too cold or too hot or...) I opened her book bag which I should have done much earlier because the reindeer food that she and the Quaker Oat company had worked so hard to prepare was still in the bottom of the book bag with other scraps of cotton balls, glitter, and green Grinches with red hats.  When she saw it, she gasped in horror, fell back on her bed, and wailed, "I forgot the reindeers! Oh, the reindeers!" This, of course, was followed by intense weeping. 

Brad, a very much morning person, was playing Betty Crocker in the kitchen as has become our morning routine.  (Now that I think about it, how does he get mess hall duty and I get the front line assignment?)  Brad chimes out in his morning song...."Breakfast is ready!"  Savannah typically loves oatmeal with peanut butter (hey, don't knock it til you try it).  Today, we were out of peanut butter and  the second choice of cinnamon was also nixed because we had none of that either. Brad , thinking quickly spotted the bag of dehydrated apples on the counter compliments of  Daddy who has been on a apple dehydrating kick.  So Brad cut up a few of those into the oatmeal and proudly announced to Savannah his latest creation.  This of course resulted in more wailing and body-throwing-on-the-ground action. Now at this point, many of you may feel that you have the disciplinary key to unlock the inner sweetness and goodness in this child through means of various punishments and rewards.  Let me just let you know right now that you do not and I am very willing to allow you to bunk in at my home and assume the morning routine.  However, I must request that when she falls on your feet and squeals in three decibels higher than any known recording that you do not disturb me as you obviously have the answers.  She would not eat oatmeal today.  She has had a vicious canker sore in her mouth that has through much coddling nearly healed.  She suddenly remembered the canker sore in her mouth that has inhibited her from consuming abrasive, painful foods such as oatmeal with apples.  She stated that she would just eat breakfast at school where she can consume a more mouth comforting meal such as "steak littles."

She despises having her hair brushed but fortunately she had very few tangles today.  She obviously was not made aware of the number of tangles in her hair as more tears ensued followed by more gasps, moans, and unintelligible babblings.  I put her hair into a very attractive pony tail.  She hates pony tails.  Into the bathroom she went to brush her teeth.  I happened to walk past the door of the bathroom just as she came to the realization that "my bangs look horrible."  I must concede that her facial framing coif was somewhat "bed headed," but of course this slight deviation resulted in tears and more inner devastation.  I slapped some water on it and assured her that this would not be the thing that ruined her life.  She slipped into her shiny silver Ariel coat which did not displease her greatly this morning as it often does and put on her book bag and headed toward the door.

I headed back toward the bed, not passing the coffee pot, not collecting Betty Crocker's Oatmeal Delight. 

Later this evening, after homework...(do you really want a play by play of that one act tragedy?), I was listening to the messages on my phone.  The battery had went dead around lunch time today.  Anyway, there was  one message on the machine.  It was the sound of a sweet little woman.  The school nurse.  She had called to tell me that Savannah had a sore in her mouth and had complained to the teacher about it.  She just wanted to let me know so that I would keep an eye on it.   I appreciated the call.  I asked Savannah about it later.
I said, "Savannah, did you see the school nurse today?"
"Yes, mommy,"  she replied.
"Did you show her the sore in your mouth?"
"Yes, mommy.  I told Mrs. Anders about it and she took me down to see the nurse."
"Did you tell her that I already knew about the sore in your mouth?"
"No mommy.  But Mrs. Anders was very worried about it."

I wonder if Mrs. Anders does morning home visits to her students.