Difficulty and Guilt in Parenting

Ahhhh, Annabelle, Annabelle, Annabelle.

I've alluded to her mischievousness and her compulsivity (i.e., the hair-pulling/finger-sucking), but I doubt I've succeeded in conveying the true essence of Annabelle. She is t-r-o-u-b-l-e. She is by far our most challenging child - probably exacerbated by the fact that her cohort, Daisy, also brings some pretty difficult challenges to the table (i.e., phobias and high emotions). The two of them together? Fuggeduhbadit - they're going to be the death of me.

But back to Annabelle. I swear I spend 89% of my waking time saying, "Annabelle, don't do that," and "Annabelle, stop it." She is that child, the one who does everything she's not supposed to do. It all began to crystallize, from what I recall, when she was about 18 months old and started stripping down naked, including taking her diaper off, when she was supposed to be napping, and gleefully smearing poop all over her crib. No lie. I can recount so many incidents in which she was the main character - incidents involving coloring her sister from head to toe in purple marker, incidents involving stealing a half gallon of chocolate ice cream from the freezer and spreading it all over the playroom (that is, what she didn't manage to eat) incidents involving her climbing up on top of the swing set and convincing her two-year-old sister to do the same (we're talking 10 feet off the ground). Those are memorable incidents; on a typical day it's general mischief, misbehavior, and non-cooperation. Mostly harmless stuff, relatively speaking, but annoying as all hell, and exhausting. And frustrating.

This afternoon it was one thing after another when she got home from school. After many threats, I had finally had it with her shenanigans, and I told her she couldn't go to dance. Not only that, but she had to stay in her room while I took her sisters to dance. I left with Daisy and Lilah, dressed in their ballerina finery, with Annabelle having a good ol' tantrum behind her bedroom door.

When we got home a little over an hour later, I went into her room, where she sat forlornly on her bed. I felt really, really crappy. Maybe I was too harsh. I don't know.

Sometimes I really feel like I don't have the first clue how to properly parent Annabelle. She's not a bad kid. She's just . . . spirited. And stubborn. And out for a good time. And exhibits almost zero impulse control. She pushes my buttons and pushes my buttons until she pushes one too many, and BAM, I lose my temper and employ some rash consequence, because I really don't have a plan in place (clearly, I need one). And really, it's no wonder she doesn't take me seriously - I threaten and threaten and threaten, and who knows when or if I'll ever follow through. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. It's a terrible way to go about things. Talk about parenting by the seat of your pants.

I worry about her. And I worry about my relationship with her. It seems like we spend so much time at odds with each other - and she's only five, for goodness sake. And honestly? I keep waiting for some teacher or other "expert" to tell me that she's got ADHD or something. So far, though, she's never had anything but glowing reports from school - both preschool and kindergarten. I've been told how "focused" she is, how "helpful," how "cooperative." Really? My Annabelle?

I love her to bits and pieces, I do. Despite the trouble she causes, she's very sweet. She loves to be loved. She is the best hugger and snuggler in the world. And she has the most delicious giggle - seriously, I've sometimes wished I could bottle it.

Ahh, this parenting gig. It's not easy.