Sunday, January 9, 2011

Doan Dell Id

Mihiretu, as I've covered here before, likes control. Totally understandable, given his age and history.

It takes a great deal of fortitude for the rest of us to work around his decrees, there's daily emotional massage. When we can, we comply. Sometimes, though, his statutes are in direct opposition to rules of the house and, in order to maintain boundaries, he can't be accommodated. In those cases, if we're feeling patient, we cajole, we distract, we charm him out of his insistence. On occasion, of course, we're just exhausted and can't gild the lily.

Lately when he's been telling me something and Mae or Lana asks what we're talking about, he, in distinct Mihiretu fashion, waggles his hand in front of his face (like a cop stopping traffic and simultaneously waving) and yells "Doan dell id!" I am then, if I'm following the strictures of Mihiretu-land, barred from "telling it".

He's been particularly sensitive lately, our Mihiretu. He's slipped into the negative. Tantrums, violence, defiance, and lots of tears. We finally tested a theory yesterday and put him up against the door-jamb we use for measuring the kids' height. Lo and behold, he's grown three-quarters of an inch in the past month - the exact period of the bad behavior.

We were in the van on Friday. Mihiretu and I had just picked up Lana from school.

"I no go sool day", the king reported from his car-seat throne.

"You didn't go to school today?" Lana asked, turning in her seat, squinting at him skeptically.

"No," he said, triumphant. "Ha, ha."

"Mom," Lana asked, leaning forward, "Did Mihiretu go to school today?"

"No!" he shrieked, waggling his hand at me in the rear-view mirror, "Doan dell id!"

"Did he, Mom?" Lana insisted.

"DOAN DELL ID!" he hollered, both hands waving.

"MOM!" Lana yelled, her own hands clenched. "Did he?"

Imperceptibly, still staring at the road in front of me, I nodded my head once.

Mihiretu, though seated behind me, somehow caught the gesture. He howled in grief and sobbed like I had just shot his dog (and, no, he still doesn't have a dog but I get daily demands). The hysteria lasted the full ten minute drive from school to downtown Fairfax. By the time I finally parked, toweled the tears and snot from his face and pulled him out of the car-seat into a hug, the sobs had abated but his little body was still hiccuping and shuddering.

What do you do in a case like that? Doan dell id, I guess.


  1. wow, that's tough...hard on everyone.

    And funny, too, from an outsider's point of view - sorry, just had to say that I laughed out loud when you described him like a traffic cop.

    I always LOVE reading your posts. They're so from-the-gut real time, in addition to being well written.



  2. A belated thank you, Ruth, for your comments and your readership. It's always so encouraging to get a virtual pat on the back from you.