Harsh Experiences

So Spilly walked into our room at about 6:05 this morning, said, "I think I have something in my stomach," and then promptly threw up everywhere. Hubby helped clean her up while I threw together lesson plans and called in my absence to the school (although hubby works at home, he was in meetings and also trying to meet a very tight deadline, so this latest Spilly illness couldn't have come at a worse time).

She slept for awhile, then woke up starving for cinnamon toast. There was no further sign of sickness. We coloured and played board games and read books. We sang songs and danced to "Zipper music" (a mysterious ritual she and her Daddy engage in each day, which involves throwing themselves around the living room as vigorously as possible while dancing to the Ramones; on the cover of the DVD is a zipper, hence the name). And she ate a full lunch.

So...we sent her off to kindergarten. And that seemed the end of all trouble. In fact, I had a perfectly lovely stolen afternoon, enjoying the fact that it was snowing heavily outside and I wasn't out in it. Nice all round.

But when we collected her from the bus stop later on, she was in tears. "Helen says she doesn't like me! Why doesn't she like me? Why did she say that?"

And then I was the one who felt sick, and it was like I was catapulted back to my own childhood, to the hurtful nature of the playground, to the subtle meanness that only young girls can adequately dish out. And we sat on the stairs together in the front hallway and talked it all through.

I said, "Maybe Helen was having a bad day. I don't think she could possibly mean it."

"She did mean it. And she doesn't like Fraser either."

"Did she say that?"

"Yes, and I said I did like Fraser."

"And then she said she didn't like you?"

"She said, and I don't like you."

Many more tears, while I tried to fumble my way through this unfamiliar ground. And dreamed passionately, for a minute, of homeschooling my sensitive little soul.

I have a feeling I am going to have an even harder time with these schoolyard negotiations than she will. And it's a family thing, I believe. Because when I dealt with these sorrows as a kid, my mother struggled with it too.

Which is why we called Grandma shortly thereafter, and Spilly told her the whole thing (along with a lot of other things too numerous and eclectic to mention).

And now Grandma and Grandpa are coming for dinner and a sleepover on Saturday. Because Grandma gets where Spilly is coming from, and she gets where Mommy is coming from too.