His and Mine

My children are so different.  Sure, they have some similar qualities:  they're both free spirits, funny, strong-willed, and full of life, but it's so interesting to watch the ways in which they are different, too.  Sometimes, these differences prove to be a challenge when trying to parent them, particularly when you really don't understand why your child acts the way she does to begin with.

Personality-wise Hallie is so much like me:  sarcastic, prone to occasional pouting, requires quiet time, and enjoys being left alone.  When she's mad, you'd better just back off.  This I understand.  It's so simple.  When she's upset, I can just say, "I know you're upset.  When you stop being upset, let me know."  That doesn't mean she's automatically okay, it just means that after some time alone, she can usually work through it and get over it.  Kevin has no idea how to handle this child.  To his credit, he tries, but most of his interactions with her are huge failures.  I attempt to play his Cyrano de Bergerac, whispering helpful words and hints to aid him in his attempts at communicating with her (incidentally, he doesn't appreciate this nearly as much as I think he should).  I help by saying things like, "Leave her alone" and "You should stop talking to her now" (also sound advice for dealing with me when I'm upset).  But oh, no.  Not Kevin.  He's going to talk to her about it whether she likes it or not.  Endlessly.  Until she's far more upset than she was before.  In the end, he usually just winds up walking away, head shaking, and I have to go tell Hallie to calm down in another room. 

Leah, on the other hand, is her daddy's child through and through.  I can't get either of them to shut up or be still.  This I do not understand.  I clearly remember being 16 years old, sitting beside Kevin in church, begging him to stop moving and please just sit still.  Now, I hold Leah during church, begging her to stop wiggling and please just sit still.  I have never been successful at getting either of them to comply.   

Let me interject here that my mom HATES it when I say this, but to state the obvious, Leah is hyperactive.  Like will-probably-need-Ritalin-at-some-point-in-the-near-future hyperactive.  I would like to think that I've spent enough time around children to be able to identify when one is more active than most of the others.  This has no bearing on her intelligence, which I'm sure is perfectly normal (or if a smart mouth is any indication of a high IQ, Leah is probably even gifted).  Nevertheless, my mom believes in the perfectness of each of her grandchildren, and she refuses to acknowledge Leah's...let's just call it...over-the-top zeal for life (Is that better, mom?).  You're just going to have to take my word for this one, though.  The kid's got it bad. 

And Kevin understands her perfectly.  A day with Leah on full blast exhausts me.  I can hardly keep up with the moving, running, jumping, crying, and talking.  Oh, the endless talking.  I've never known another child who could keep up a complete conversation with just herself for long periods of time.  I've tried to think of anything just to get her to hush like, "Leah, we can't talk now because it upsets the monsters that live under your bed" or "God loves quiet boys and girls more."  Okay, I've never actually told her either of those things, but if I thought it'd work...  Kevin thinks her hyperactivity is the cutest thing he's ever seen, and I'd give her Ritalin through an IV drip if her doctor offered it to me. 

As much as I hate to admit it, I'm just as inept at disciplining Leah as Kevin is at disciplining Hallie.  When he's home, there've been many times when I've plopped her down in his lap and just said, "Do something with your kid."  When he's not home, I'll even admit that I've called him and made him talk to her because I'm out of ideas (I swore I'd never do this).  And she listens to him every time.  She's kind of like a little puppy dog that is so dang cute, you just want to hug it and love on it, but then you're ready to put it in its crate because it won't quit jumping all over you. 

Of course, Leah doesn't have a crate, but I can't promise that I haven't banished her to the playroom on occasion when she's channeling her inner Tasmanian Devil.  During these times, we just hope that Hallie isn't in hiding from her dad up there...