You know, sometimes I think that she’s very aptly named. Our “white raven” is certainly intelligent and good at problem solving, her relationships with others are often quarrelsome yet she has a strong loyalty to her family, she has the beautiful flaxen hair of Aphrodite, and she maintains a strong individuality refusing to be drawn in where she doesn’t want to be. She’s a complex little person.
Sunday morning came and I talked to her once again. Our first discussion on this topic had happened last Sunday after the latest screaming-in-Sunday-School incident, and we had had a few more such discussions throughout the week to keep it fresh in her mind. The upshot of our discussions was this:
She would start in a new class on Sunday. This class would be her age group rather than put her in with one of her sisters. She had a chance to start over with new teachers and kids who didn’t know her yet. She could show them how wonderful she truly was rather than screaming and making things difficult. If she was sad, crying was ok, but screaming was not. She was expected to obey her teachers and not cause a disruption. And – the crowing glory of the conversation – if she did well, she could have ice cream after lunch that day.
Whether it was just the ice cream or whether it was the whole talk, something seemed to take. I dropped her off last so I could spend a little time with her before heading to my class. I talked to her teachers with her there saying that she was a wonderful, smart little girl but she sometimes liked to watch things at first to see how they went before joining in. I let them know that it sometimes took her a little time to adjust but that she had told me she would be good for them. And I told them they could remind her about the ice cream if they needed to.
The teachers were great; they were very understanding. I’m sure she can’t be the first one they’ve had in that age group. When I was getting ready to leave, Branwen wrapped her little arms around me and started crying into my skirt – not screaming, mind you, but a steady, real cry. One of the teachers came over and gently asked Branwen if she’d like to be held over at the other side of the room for a little while. Branwen accepted and allowed herself to be picked up and carried over to the side, crying quietly.
I actually felt bad leaving her for once. When she’s screaming and holding onto door frames I feel like running and hiding, shouting, “I don’t know her! She’s not my child!” the whole way. It’s embarrassing. But when she cries quietly like that I know she’s actually nervous and I just want to hold her. Thing is, she does need to learn to be ok in new situations. I don’t want her to always need me, even if being needed can feel nice when it doesn’t involve tantrums.
When I picked her up, the teachers said she had done very well. She had been somewhat clingy the first hour but hadn’t caused any trouble, and the second hour she had actually joined in with the class making a craft and listening to stories. I was so proud of her!! Joel and I both praised her up and down, giving her lots of hugs and words of affirmation. She looked so happy.
And the ice cream? Chocolate peanut butter cup.