Fun With Play-Dough

Every day at 3:15, it is time for me to get in the car and drive to my daughter’s school. She has been in school for almost two full years, and this pick-up business should be routine by now. Alas, it’s not that easy. The reason for that is simple: I have another child. This other child is three-year-old Mendel, and he has a routine of his own. His routine consists of taking off all his clothes, and refusing to put them back on. I let this go during most of the day; it’s easier than fighting it, and if I put his clothes back on he’ll immediately strip again, so what’s the use?

Except, when it’s time to leave, he needs to wear something; people frown on leaving the house with naked children; plus, his car seat chafes.  So we battle; I have to watch the clock and make sure he is dressed in time to make it to school, without leaving him enough time to undress again. I’ve got it down to a science.

I can’t bribe him; he’ll remember tomorrow and punish me. Threats don’t work either; he knows I have to feed him anyway. You see, Mendel doesn’t think there’s any use to getting dressed, unless something really cool is about to happen. Tell him ”Playground” and he’ll run for his pants; say “Zoo” and he’ll practically dress himself. I miss those days when he couldn’t really move by himself (meaning, he couldn’t run away and hide) and would wear whatever I wanted him to.

Of course, things will get worse. Now, he merely protests the act of getting dressed, whereas our six-year-old Isabella has opinions about everything from the color of her tights to the where we purchase her underwear.  

This causes a whole different set of problems. On Saturdays, when we go to Synagogue, we ask that she wear a dress and long sleeves. I don’t care if people call us old-fashioned; we’ve been called worse. It is simply a sign of respect, and respect is something children have to learn one way or another. This is easier said than done, which is the case with most parenting issues. Every Saturday, Isabella comes downstairs in jeans, a mini skirt, or simply in her jammies. She then feigns surprise when we tell her: it’s Shabbes. Get dressed. Some days she complies, on other days, she refuses and a battle ensues. I’ve thought about simply extending the school week, and telling her she needs to wear her school uniform 100% of the time, since even on the coldest of days, she refuses to wear pants to school. Oh well. We’ll probably think back on all this with a heavy dose of nostalgia by the time they’re both teenagers.