Love, Logic, Leverage, and a Special Blanket

Leverage. I had none. Not when Savannah decided it was time to play by lying face-down on the floor after family prayer tonight. My back has been aching since playing basketball on Saturday, and I wasn't about to stoop down and pick her up. And, I think she knew it.

First, I told her that I didn't have the energy to pick her up tonight, but said I'd be happy to wrap her in her blankets when she came over to me. That didn't work. She only looked up, as if to say, "Really? Hmm. What are you going to do about it." Well… I uh… "Uh oh," I sang, repeating our key phrase to cue her into knowing that she's doing something, or about to do something wrong. And that didn't work either.

Then out of pure parenting desperation, I grabbed hold of the only leverage I could think of, hoping that she wouldn't call my bluff—her special blanket. Yep. I knew if she called this bluff, she would not be a happy camper.

"Savannah, would you like to sleep with your special blanket tonight?" I said.

"Mmm hmm," she said, still lying on the floor.

"Okay. Feel free to sleep with your special blanket when you come over here to go to bed."

And nothing, except another wave of prostrated defiance and boundary testing. I even warned her (which I shouldn't have) saying that it looked like she was choosing to not sleep with her blanket tonight. But she still didn't move, other than giving us another knowing look of "hahaha—I got you guys right where I want you."

So, she left me no choice. "Uh oh!" we both sang. "This is so sad." And, at the first 'uh-' she sprang to her feet, but it was too late. We had already crossed the point of no return. Time for empathy and firm limits. And, time for her to throw a fit, claiming that she did want to sleep with her blanket tonight. Unfortunately, her actions said otherwise.

We were really sad for her because she loves, loves, loves that blanket. I told her it would be okay and that she would have to make due with her special pillow tonight. I also reminded her that there would be another chance for her to sleep with her blanket tomorrow. I sang her "Patinhos" and put her to bed. She didn't really start crying until I laid her in her crib and there was no special blanket to be found. So, she did what any kid worth keeping would do: she threw another fit and bawled.

After a short time the crying stopped. But that didn't last long. Soon the desperate cries of "I want my special blanket right now!" mingled with the sobbing of a sorrowful toddler were coming from her dark room. Eventually I went in to see her. I reminded her how sad it was and that I was so sorry, but that she had chosen to not sleep with her blanket. She assured me that she really did want to sleep with it, but I told her she actually chose not to. I offered to get her a replacement blanket, and she accepted. I rummaged through her dolls' clothes drawer until I found a tiny 11"x14" baby blanket. I gave it to her, and she went to sleep.

Isn't parenthood wonderful? I'll be so happy tomorrow when she comes over to be wrapped up for bed, because I'm pretty sure she'll choose to sleep with her blanket the next time she gets a chance.