It's been difficult for me to write about Sasha lately because Sasha is... difficult... lately. Where "lately" means "the last six months or so."
I've come to realize that our Sasha is a very high-strung child, who has extraordinary difficulty with transitions that other kids just shrug off. She's still adjusting to being a big sister (a big change for any kid), and she's admitted, tearfully, that being a big sister is really hard, because she loves her sister so much, but she wants her mommy and daddy more.
And she loved preschool so much, and she loved her daycare so much, and she's still trying to recover from the trauma of these wonderful things being over.
And now she's starting kindergarten, and there's pressure to read, and new kids and a new teacher to get used to, and a crazy mixed-up irregular schedule as we work out my questionable employment status, and the start of ballet and karate lessons, and everything is just so unsettled.
So it isn't surprising that she gets frustrated so very easily, and so overwhelmed with rage that she'll just break down at the One Last Straw, whether it's not getting a coveted reward, or not wanting to go to bed, or being told not to try to carry the baby, or or or...
And her little body just shakes with anger, she grits her teeth and her eyes narrow, and she lashes out, screaming or kicking or stomping or slamming doors because everything has to be so hard for her.
As a parent, it's infuriating, and it's heart-breaking, because I have perspective, and I know if it's too late for your story tonight, well, the story will still be there tomorrow. But she doesn't know that, and I've got no way to convey it to her. So she struggles, and I just don't know what to do to help her. Maybe there's nothing I can do.
And the punchline, of course, is that when I talk to other moms, or teachers, about Sasha and how she can be, their eyes grow wide with disbelief and they say, "Oh, no, never. Not THAT Sasha." Because Sasha's never like that, except with us. (And until the last month or two, she'd not been like that in public, either.)
Sasha is a polite, clever, funny, generous, beautiful child. She's a doting big sister, and can reliably make Maya laugh like nobody else in the world. She's goofy and lovable, and she talks like a big girl but she still has her chubby toddler belly.
She can add and subtract and read street signs, and she can make her own toast (but I still butter it). She can ask me if I want an apple, and if I say no, she chides me that an apple a day keeps the doctor away, and then she'll get me an apple anyway, even washing it off first.
She watches way too much TV. She's a Nickelodeon kid now, and she watches shows that are too old for her - Drake & Josh, iCarly, Ned's Declassified - but she gets the jokes and seems to enjoy them, so I'm trying not to let it freak me out too much. Chaste teen romance should be the worst thing she sees on TV, right?
She's a picky eater, and a s-l-o-w one. I can still get her to nibble new things. She hardly ever likes them. She won't even try pie. But the worst part is that it can take her an hour and a half to eat two meatballs, a strand of spaghetti, and five string beans. And then she spends the rest of the evening complaining that she's still hungry, in fact she's starving, mommy, so can she please have something from the candy bag? Or a sundae? How about an Oreo?
She's a fantastic artist. She drew a picture of herself for class recently, including the embroidered flowers on her jeans, curly hair drawn in brown and yellow crayon to get the color right, and just the right little quirk to her lips to capture her smile.
She's very attached to her family. When school began, she sobbed and clung to my leg, she wanted to spend the day with me. And at the end of the day she insisted that she had missed me so very much all day. If daddy goes to get bagels without giving her a kiss of a Sunday morning, she's simply crushed, and inconsolable until he gets back. Everybody has to give hugs and kisses at the end of the day, and when we say goodbye in the morning, and then again just in case the first round wasn't good enough, or because she forgot we did it already.
We go to get our CSA box together, and she walks along the driveway on a line of bricks, so the hot lava or alligators or sharks don't get her. And she likes to race, the last one to get buckled into the car is a rotten egg - except if daddy isn't the last one, it's the SECOND last one - or if daddy is first, the FIRST one in the car is a rotten egg - but it's OK, daddy, because if you're the rotten egg you can have a treat from the candy bag to make up for it, so don't get upset.
She takes her clothes off when she gets home from school, and most days you'll ask how her day was and she'll say she doesn't want to talk about that right now. But once you get her going, she'll tell you about all of the friends she saw and the things she learned about, the projects she's doing, the fun she had, and you get the idea that maybe she's going to be OK.
Life is really, really not easy for Sasha, and she tries so hard to be perfect, except when she just can't try anymore. And I wish I could find some way to convince her that, really, it is all going to be OK.
...It is, right?