A Day in the Life of a Sydney

Things are going well, and Sydney is cheerful, rambunctious and mischievous. Suddenly she removes both her socks and her sweater and throw them away, declaring that she is hot and doesn't want to wear them.

It is about 5 degrees Farenheit outside, and while warmer inside, it is definitely not tank top weather, which aside from her jeans is now all that she has on.

"Syd," I say, in my calmest, most reasonable voice, "You have to wear your sweater."

"I don't want to wear my sweater!" she says, still happily bouncing around.

"Yes, I know, but it's cold out, so you have to."

"Noooooo!" she says, and we're clearly going downhill from here.

"Syd-"

"I'm going to hide!" she says, and darts into the kitchen.

I try the Ultimatum as I follow her into the kitchen with the discarded sweater in my hand. "I'm going to count to three, and when I get to three, I'm going to put it on for you!" Counting is bad enough, but the threat of someone doing something Sydney knows how to do herself is to be avoided at all costs. I'm sure I have her now. But she's not moving, so I start my count.

"One...."

"NO! Don't count!!" she says, and gets up, always a good sign. I come closer and she comes closer, we've almost gotten Project Sweater under control.

"Two..." I say, and she darts past me, runs back the way she came, goes into the bathroom and closes the door.

My husband, who has been trying to cook dinner, now enters the fray.

"Sydney, you have to do what Mommy says."

"I don't want to!" comes the muffled, determined voice, and she leans against the bathroom door to make sure I don't come in.

"Fine," he says. "Stay in the bathroom then."

Well, that works, because she comes out, but still won't stand still long enough to wear the sweater. Now both parents are engaged, and we surround her from both sides. Desperate, cornered, she does the only honorable thing. She grabs the sweater from my hands, rushes to the gate which blocks the dining room, and throws it over the gate into the darkness beyond. Then she glares at us, defiant, and collapses into a protest heap on the floor. "I...don't..want..to...wear! the! Sweat! er!!"

Fortunately, she still only weighs about 25 pounds, so its still relatively easy to pick her up at this point, carry her upstairs, and deposit her into her room to think it over. She cries and cries and then finally falls silent.

"Mommy?" she says, in her calmest, most reasonable voice. "I'm ready to wear my sweater now." I go into the room, we put on the sweater, and we hug to make up.

Later, she protests that she already blew her nose and doesn't need to do it again, and makes her point clear by hiding the tissue under the dog's bed. We let it run. What's a little snot in the scheme of things?