Quiet Time

Quiet time is a hard concept for a four-year-old. Claire usually goes to her room while the younger two are napping and has an hour to play quietly in the confines of those four walls. She usually surfaces at least once, and her surefire ticket out of the room without getting into trouble is, "I have to go sit on the toilet!"

However, yesterday she got more creative. She came running out saying she needed a broom. "A broom?" I asked.

"Yes, to sweep up my horse's hair. I want my room to be clean as a whistle!"

I will admit to a strong dose of suspicion that all was not well if the horse's hair was on the floor, so I got up and returned with Claire to her room. Sure enough, there were black tufts on her rug from her rocking horse's mane. I picked up the tufts, noting the hair-filled brush she has been using and also the scissors lying on the floor beside the horse. I strongly recommended a course of no more hair treatments for the horse and left the room.

Today, Claire came out of her room for a drink. Shortly, she appeared again in the hall, cup in hand, and disappeared to the kitchen. I didn't say anything, and she returned to her room. However, when she came out a third time about 5 seconds later, I stopped her in the hall. "I'm REALLY thirsty, because I'm so hot," she explained.

"What happened to the water you got 5 seconds ago?" I asked.

"I drank it," she said, running down to the kitchen before I could say anything else. When she didn't return, I followed her. She lurched guiltily from the sink when I entered, then recovered and walked towards me with two cups of water in her hands. "My horse needs water," she said.

"No, the horse doesn't need water," I answered. "If you want a drink, you can drink right here and then go back to your room." I guess she knew her story was wearing thin, because she obediently turned to the sink and dumped out her cups; then she turned on the faucet to rinse them out.

"I have to get the soap out," she explained. "And, I'm not thirsty anymore."