Better Late Than Never

Last Wednesday...

Lucy was up and crabby at 6:00am. The tears and general three year old bad-tempered-ness signaled to my mother's brain that my child needed:

1) a trip to the bathroom, and
2) more sleep

I finally managed to haul the moody little thing into the restroom to take care of need number 1, and after discussing the proper way to communicate (with words. minus screams) she finally calmed down. I thanked her for getting in control and tucked her into bed hoping for the fulfilment of need number 2.

After the time it takes to read a Conference Talk and drink a glass of water, Lucy was out of bed. This time she seemed sincerely awake and happy. We started our morning routines. Everything proceeded smoothly. When Lucy was reluctant to finish a final task I prodded her with the revelation that once we finished we would get ready and go...to the zoo!

Pure delight shivered through her body at the news. Clenched fists, excited squeals. It was going to be a great day.

Getting dressed was no problem. Lucy picked a favorite orange shirt for the special outing.
And then somewhere between making turkey sandwiches for our picnic lunch and hunting for some sunscreen to slather on our ultra-white bodies...everything. fell. apart. It began with a "momma...momma....momma" whine and escalated into a full blown "I DON"T WANT TO GO!!" scream as we tried to load ourselves and our things into the car.

We went back to the house and tried to talk it through.
"Do you feel sick, Lucy?"
"No."
"Do you feel scared about going to the zoo?"
"No."
"Then let's go and have a great time! We're all ready!"
"I don't want to go in the car!!" sob sob sob.
" Well, honey, the zoo is far away! Too far to walk! If we want to go see the animals we need to drive in the car."
"I don't want to go!!!!" cry cry cry.

Mom and Dad exchanged helpless looks over the top of frantic child's head.

"Let's just go - she'll have a blast once we get there!"
"OK."

But it's just not possible to force a flailing three-year-old into a car seat.

We came in one more time. Lucy's fit was abnormal enough to indicate that she sincerely didn't feel good. Was she sick? Or just tired? I didn't know, but was, myself, near the end of my extra short emotional rope. As Lucy whimpered in my arms, I cried too. I really wanted to go to the zoo, sniff sniff sniff.

But there was no persuading her. I took her into her bedroom with unseemly and childish tears sliding down my own cheeks. Lucy eyed me carefully, not knowing quite what to make of my emotion, but settled, relieved, into the familiar folds of her bed.

A few minutes later, after I had composed myself, I heard her call for a stuffed "am-i-nal." I entered the room as requested and handed her the item of choice (a monkey). She took hold of the soft friend, pausing just long enough to thoroughly examine my tear free face and to say to me in her best little-mother tone, "Thanks for ge-ing in control!"

I tried to stifle my unexpected laughter long enough to offer a solemn nod and a "You're welcome" in Lucy's direction. Then I hastily joined Wes's uncontrolled roars in the living room.

It took maybe another half an hour before we heard Lucy in her bedroom telling Monkey how we were going to the zoo to see the real am-i-nals.

Better late than never, right?

This is how excited she was on the drive:


We saw the typical animals and took the typical pictures.

The zoo park was a highlight ("I'm a spider," Lucy told us as she climbed on the above ropes. And then to the other children on the web she bragged repeatedly, "I made this!")

The zoo experience on the whole, however, was not nearly as memorable as our "out-of-control" morning.

(For the record, Lucy was indeed at the beginning of an illness. It blossomed full-blown a couple of days later. Children so often have a valid reason for their behavior, don't they?!?! So easy to forget that!)