5 is the new 2

Big is 5 now. She's been a toughie since...well, some might say since she first entered this world, but I'd say since she turned 18 months and the terrible two's began to settle in. By age two, she was great at independence and tantrums, and by the end of age two, I was grasping at hope for an improvement in behavior and better toddler/mommy compliance. Sadly, three years later I still find myself grasping! And with each passing birthday I'm continuously reassured by fellow parents that the behavior does get better this next year, whatever age Big happens to be turning at the time, and I believe, people. With all my might I believe, but it just. doesn't. happen.

The three's were supposed to be better than the two's because between ages two and three children learn to communicate better and are able to follow directions better and listen more. And I will agree, Big definitely learned to communicate better! At three, she was much more able to tell me WHY she wasn't going to do what I had asked of her, rather than just yelling "Noooooooo!" and writhing on the floor, as she had the previous year. An improvement? Maybe. But not exactly what I was hoping for.

And the four's? OMG, I was told the four's were glorious! Such cute stuff! Really sweet. Behavior is so much better! And not all of four was bad. Big was really cute. Starting school was a big deal and that was a really great part of her life at the time. She made little friends and held their hands walking in to class in the morning. What's cuter than that?! But still? When she wasn't happy, which coincidentally was a lot of the time, she spewed revolutionary, independent phrases like a Midwestern union president! And trust me, if she had known what a strike was, she would have been on one at least 3 times a week. More sophisticated warfare? Definitely. Better? Not-so-much.

And now she's five. Well five is great, I was told! Kids say the funniest things at five! It's just all school days and pure joy! And all I can say at this point is REALLY?! Because while my child is quite hysterical (hysterical I tell you!) and the number of things that she's learned in the last year is awe-inspiring, I'm not really feeling the joy. In fact, in the last week I've pretty much determined that my 5 year-old is actually an (undersized) undercover international spy who has been sent to kill me with her carefully trained weapon of selective listening and pure, unabated hell raising. This small, warm, soft, beautiful being, who I have raised since breath first filled her lungs when she came into this world, might just be the death of me.

Please, God...Buddah...Pocahontas and your colors of the wind, give me strength to get through age five. Because I've heard six is awesome.