It's interesting. With No.'s 2, 3, and now 4(1), we've had to really work one-on-one with them becoming socially capable, competent, and confident. No.3 is where No.2 was two years ago, and No.4 is where No.3 was at two years ago; it's nice to know that (if pattern holds) her bashful nature will, to a certain extent, subside. I remember Ashlee and I being unsure about No.3 beginning kindergarten this past fall (these feelings were about a year ago). However, by the time August rolled around, she had matured so much, there was no doubt that she was ready! Now, looking at her, it's bizarre to think we even discussed waiting on her!
And we see the same thing happening with No.4...gradually. What I find interesting about No.4's particular personality is how embarrassed she gets when she realizes she is wrong. Depending on the mood, she does one of two things:
1) She clarifies what she "meant". This disables anyone from denying her request. For example, she might ask if she "can play Beatles RockBand." If I respond with anything other than "yes", she restates her question with something like, "I mean can we play Beatles RockBand tomorrow." Oh. Well...And since I've already said "maybe not tonight", I can't really say "probably not tomorrow night" either(2). My response, therefore, must be one of one choice: "Yes." No.4 then replies, "Yeah Dad, that's what I meant. I mean I want to play Beatles RockBand tomorrow." So whether it's for today or tomorrow, she walks away with a "Yes."
2) She pulls herself into an imaginary shell, acknowledging nobody. We are dead to her. Or at least, we are invisible to her. Actually, maybe it's more like she is invisible to us. No, you know what? There's nothing imaginary about the whole situation; she just flat-out ignores us. And her brain ignores her body: no matter how badly an arm wants to bend, or a leg wants to stand, her brain is in "Attack" mode: "How do I attack this foreign word No? I must expel it from my being! But how? Only the most logically potent response can dispel No's pithy presence."(3)
And so she will sit there, motionless, for upwards of an hour. I used to think she was simply pouting. No, no, no. Plotting. She is plotting her perfect response: something that makes you wrong, and her right. Something that immediately explains her "frozen screen" mimicry (she saw that screen often on our old PC; thank you, Mac!).
For instance, the other night at dinner was going fine. The children were eating, having a good time. Then No.4 decided she was done. No, you need to finish eating. She didn't even argue--or eat. Just froze. (Yes, I clicked her mouse repeatedly--I even pushed her "Ctrl-Alt-Del" buttons.)
Nothing.
So I just sat there, trying to make eye contact. She avoided me completely.
Our silent non-staredown continued for nearly an hour. My toothpick was pulp. What had started as a "Thinker" pose had slouched to a "(fill in the most boring class you ever took)" pose.
Finally, I said,
"How about I just feed it to you."
"Dad, that's what I was waiting for you to do. I was just waiting and waiting for you to feed me. Hahaha! But you forgot!"
Yes. Yes I did.
1. No.1 has needed no social help. It's a skill I can only dream of having.
2. Yes I could. In fact, I can go further: "Probably not tomorrow dear, or any of the tomorrows after that." But I need to save my No's for important matters--matters that cannot be reversed. Beatles RockBand is not one of those matters.
3. Less-potent counters: I don't want to; Pleeeeease???; My face hurts; I want to play PBS Kids; Andrew Rich did it;(our fish; every fish we get is named after a former BYU football player.); Uh-HUUUUU-uuuuuuh.
