Coveted "Rella"
One of the many tickles of parenting is the cartoon-like episodes your kids often unknowingly rehearse before your eyes. Yesterday my mom took us shopping at Target, generous mother that she is, and bought the girls some clothes for the upcoming season. While I had the fun of combing through all the cute girlie clothes, Mom took the girls to the toy aisle for a fun pick-a-toy-and-I-will-buy-it moment. Abby, of course, instantly lunged for the Cinderella figurines, never letting go of the box until we pried it out of her arms to pay for it at the register (if you haven't yet seen Abby "reading" Cinderella, click here). While still in the toy aisle, Abby tried to persuade Grandma to buy one for Esther, too, no doubt knowing Esther would pounce on the coveted figurines as soon as we got home. My mom, however, wanting to spread the toy joy a little broader, suggested a different piece for Esther, a little Little Tikes piano that played five different songs, a no-doubt hit with our musically inclined little Mozart. She had fun plunking the keys of that kidney-shaped monstrosity while being strolled in the back of the cart for the rest of the shopping voyage, and all was well in Childland for the evening.
This morning Esther notices her little piano, still in the box, in Abby’s arms and immediately narrows in on it with full-speed envy. Abby relinquishes the piano hesitantly and then turns to me and asks if we could break out the Cinderella box. I then vigorously attack her package with scissors, apparently the only way to open all the vice-gripped boxes of toys made today.
Esther, noticing I was pulling out Abby’s toy, immediately begins chanting for Cinderella, “Rella…I want Rella. Rella. Rella.” Abby works at negotiating the toy problem, as she usually does, “Look, Esther, here’s your toy…your piano. Here. You have to play with your toy.” Esther shoves the quickly dismissed piano from her sister’s offerings and reaches for the Cinderella pieces. Abby looks at me, discouraged, “Mommy, that’s my toy.”
Of course, I go into the importance of sharing toys and all the normal parenting jargon that goes along with such rivalry. Nothing is convincing Abby, however, that she should have to share the toy that she picked out and that Grandma bought her when Esther has her own Grandma-purchased toy to play with…again, still in the box. In vain, I try to lure Esther in on the piano, but she is shaking her head and sticking out her bottom lip at me, “No. I want Rella.”
The problem is, it’s too cute to resist. How does a mommy solve these daily crises? So I sit Esther at the table next to Abby, belt her in to the little booster seat, and tell Abby she has to surrender two of the little figurines (she had six, for goodness’ sake, and two is a must when it comes to relational play, right?). Quite unhappy about it, Abby stares at her precious figurines for a moment, trying to decide which pieces would make her the least unhappy to part with. Then she slowly hands Esther the “sisty uglies,” an endearing term we’ve adopted for the ugly stepsisters, and the working Cinderella, who is mopping the floor on her knees. Generous.
Esther is pacified for a moment, however, and all the world is at peace, until she notices that Abby is playing with two standing Cinderellas, beautifully adorned in large, flowing gowns, and decides the sad little working Cinderella is not good enough. After a few pouts from this little conniver, I prompt Abby to sacrifice one of the gowned Cinderellas for Esther to play with for a bit. Extremely reluctantly, she releases one from her grasp, Cinderella the bride, and hands it to Esther, quickly pulling the working Cinderella back into her fold. Esther is again happy for a few minutes.
Then, she spots a hands-free moment with the Prince, a moment when Abby was apparently not playing with him, and snatches him up. She has probably four or five seconds with this secret find, and the light in her sweet little eyes and the song in her voice are precious, until Abby savagely rips it from her. Then follows the cartoon moment: Esther sticks her chin out as far as it can sit and proceeds to wail her heart out, as if she’s never been so maimed in the entire span of her little life. Her cries are jagging so hard that I cannot even understand any words she is trying to say. It’s a series of erratically warbled sobs. It seriously reminded me of a cartoon character, like maybe a mix of Baby Skeeter and Baby Beaker from the “Muppet Babies,” having a full-blown tantrum, head tilted far back, tears spitting out of her eyes, gaping mouth wide open, arms and legs kicking wildly, sobbing so fiercely that she is making no sense whatsoever. Altogether funny and heart-wrenching.
And of course, Mommy pulls the Prince out of Abby’s hand for just a minute or two to aid in the sharing process. What would you do? My poor Abby. I remind her that all of them are hers to play with once Esther goes down for her nap, which results in a gleeful cheer.
This morning Esther notices her little piano, still in the box, in Abby’s arms and immediately narrows in on it with full-speed envy. Abby relinquishes the piano hesitantly and then turns to me and asks if we could break out the Cinderella box. I then vigorously attack her package with scissors, apparently the only way to open all the vice-gripped boxes of toys made today.
Esther, noticing I was pulling out Abby’s toy, immediately begins chanting for Cinderella, “Rella…I want Rella. Rella. Rella.” Abby works at negotiating the toy problem, as she usually does, “Look, Esther, here’s your toy…your piano. Here. You have to play with your toy.” Esther shoves the quickly dismissed piano from her sister’s offerings and reaches for the Cinderella pieces. Abby looks at me, discouraged, “Mommy, that’s my toy.”
Of course, I go into the importance of sharing toys and all the normal parenting jargon that goes along with such rivalry. Nothing is convincing Abby, however, that she should have to share the toy that she picked out and that Grandma bought her when Esther has her own Grandma-purchased toy to play with…again, still in the box. In vain, I try to lure Esther in on the piano, but she is shaking her head and sticking out her bottom lip at me, “No. I want Rella.”
The problem is, it’s too cute to resist. How does a mommy solve these daily crises? So I sit Esther at the table next to Abby, belt her in to the little booster seat, and tell Abby she has to surrender two of the little figurines (she had six, for goodness’ sake, and two is a must when it comes to relational play, right?). Quite unhappy about it, Abby stares at her precious figurines for a moment, trying to decide which pieces would make her the least unhappy to part with. Then she slowly hands Esther the “sisty uglies,” an endearing term we’ve adopted for the ugly stepsisters, and the working Cinderella, who is mopping the floor on her knees. Generous.
Esther is pacified for a moment, however, and all the world is at peace, until she notices that Abby is playing with two standing Cinderellas, beautifully adorned in large, flowing gowns, and decides the sad little working Cinderella is not good enough. After a few pouts from this little conniver, I prompt Abby to sacrifice one of the gowned Cinderellas for Esther to play with for a bit. Extremely reluctantly, she releases one from her grasp, Cinderella the bride, and hands it to Esther, quickly pulling the working Cinderella back into her fold. Esther is again happy for a few minutes.
Then, she spots a hands-free moment with the Prince, a moment when Abby was apparently not playing with him, and snatches him up. She has probably four or five seconds with this secret find, and the light in her sweet little eyes and the song in her voice are precious, until Abby savagely rips it from her. Then follows the cartoon moment: Esther sticks her chin out as far as it can sit and proceeds to wail her heart out, as if she’s never been so maimed in the entire span of her little life. Her cries are jagging so hard that I cannot even understand any words she is trying to say. It’s a series of erratically warbled sobs. It seriously reminded me of a cartoon character, like maybe a mix of Baby Skeeter and Baby Beaker from the “Muppet Babies,” having a full-blown tantrum, head tilted far back, tears spitting out of her eyes, gaping mouth wide open, arms and legs kicking wildly, sobbing so fiercely that she is making no sense whatsoever. Altogether funny and heart-wrenching.
And of course, Mommy pulls the Prince out of Abby’s hand for just a minute or two to aid in the sharing process. What would you do? My poor Abby. I remind her that all of them are hers to play with once Esther goes down for her nap, which results in a gleeful cheer.
Oh, and since that little piano is still in the box, we decide an exchange is in order! :)
Comments
I guess I've never liked it, though, when toys get labeled one person's or another's, especially when they have been given as a gift. To me the biggest lesson to learn in life is to make sacrifices by sharing.
But you're right, some self control on Esther's part would do her some good. :)