The Divisible Dog

Some kids are whiny. And too easily upset. Case in point: a 4-going-on-14 year old girl. I routinely say normal things that cause sudden, unexpected crying fits in my "toddler pre-premenstrual" mini me. Seriously, what normal kid cries uncontrollably when their mom tells them to change clothes? She and I will start off with a normal conversation, then BAM! She sprials into a whiny, teary, crybaby, seemingly out of the blue! She might as well turn into a diaper - leaky and full of shit.

A few weeks ago, she's coloring with her (mess-proof, dry-erase) markers quietly, creating a Crayola masterpiece, when she decided that her butterfly picture needed a dog. She informed me of this, and I gave her the obvious answer: "Well, draw a dog, then."

But that wasn't good enough: "Picture me a dog, Mommy!" she told me.

"No, pumpkin, I'm not a good 'picture-er.' Why don't you ask Daddy?"

"Daddy, can you picture me a dog?"

Daddy had been engrossed in TV, and therefore did not get the license plate of the bus he was thrown under - "What?"

"Daddy, the butterflies need a dog! Can you picture me a dog?"

I can be helpful...sometimes. "She wants you to draw a picture of a dog."

"No, I can't draw a dog." Then there were tears, and quiet whimpers, and sniffles... "What the hell is she crying about now?" Which, ironically, is the same phrase he uses every time I say something that sets her off. Well this time, babe, it's you!

"She wants you to draw her a dog to go with her butterflies." At this point, I'm just relieved it's not me making her cry.

"Fine!" and he waves the marker around over the marker board. "There you go."

She dries her eyes, and asks, "But where is the dog, Daddy?"

"It's an invisible dog. There you go!"

"But I don't want a divisible dog! Mommy!" she wailed, as I'm trying to smother my giggles in my T-shirt. Damn, that's impressive! I'm super jealous, I never would have thought of an invisible dog! "Mommy, it's not funny!"

"Okay, okay, honey, give it here." and I drew a lopsided dog, and she was happy. For about a minute: "Mommy, draw me a kitty cat!"

"How about I draw an invisible cat?" Aaaannnddd ... cue the tears .... there they are!

"No, Mommy! I don't want an invisible kitty!" with more tears. Quiet whimpers. Sniffles. So I drew her a cat. A strangely dog-like cat. But, of course, not as cool as an invisible anything.

And then her dad set her off by saying, "Invisible dog," more to himself than to her, but she heard him. More tears. Quiet whimpers. Sniffles. "Invisible dog" is now the Pavlovian bell for tears.

I tried to head off that crazy train at the pass and sent her to get her sippy cup, and she perked right up, and went to find her sippy cup. Whew! Thank you, short attention span. Until the next crisis, whatever-it-is, occurs to spiral her into "Toddler Pre-Premenstrual" psycho. Again.

Her two year old sister is evidently not immune from the TPPMS, either. The baby came out from her room yesterday morning, and I do what I do every morning - I told her to go get her sippy cup. Ironically, sippy cup must translate into baby language as "scream, cry, and flail about like a fish on dry land." Another Pavlovian bell?

I, of course, had to test my theorum: "Sippy cup." Scream, cry, and flail about. "Sippy cup." Scream, cry, and flail about. Really? "Sippy." Scream, cry, and flail about. "Cup." Scream, cry, and flail about. Hmph. It must be synoymous with both words.

Her dad walked out of kitchen. "What's wrong with her?"

"Watch this - sippy cup." Scream, cry, and flail about.

"Why's she crying, though?"

"Beats me. Sippy cup." Scream, cry, and flail about. "See, every time. Sippy cup." Scream, cry, and flail about.

I went to start breakfast, and I heard, "Sippy cup." Scream, cry, and flail about.

I yelled from the kitchen, "Invisible dog!" Nothing. Hmmm. Then, "Sippy cup!" Scream, cry, and flail about. Well, at least her grasp of the English language seems to be improving. "Hungry?"

She stopped screaming. "Yeah," she told me in her cute little baby voice.

"Go get your sippy cup, then."

"Okay," and she went to go get her sippy cup.

Hmm. Hungry must be an "anti-cry" Pavolvian word. An anitdote for TPPMS. Pamprin in verbal form. It's good to know. Maybe someday there'll be a cure.