A roaring five

I know it doesn't get easier. It just changes. Or so that's what I've heard.

Five. It's a small number. But it roars loudly. And the roar is overflowing with drama.

I love being a mom. And I love my daughter more than life itself. But there are days when I don't think I can expose my exploding head to any more drama. Let me repeat that...Any More. I am filled with frustration and as they say, I have a "bad mommy day" from time to time.

How many times do I have to say "nope", "in 5 minutes", "I'm working on it", "brush your teeth", "get your shoes on", "get dressed", "I need you to listen", before it hits that amazing brain of hers? Most days I swear I'm no more than a broken record. A broken record that needs a bit of soothing glue to be put back together.

And the screaming?! How can such a sweet girl be reduced to yelling and screaming or stomping in a short second all because she does, or doesn't, want to do something. Oh, the drama.

Five, who knew it could be so loud?

I think because I was one of those little girls that quietly hid behind my mom's pant leg, hoping to hell no one would talk to me, I now have a hard time dealing with all the drama.

But I know I had my moments....

I recall when I was 10ish or so I had a not so pretty moment at my doctor's office. I had newly pierced ears that didn't heal so nicely. One morning I woke up to find my shiny little stud earring had actually popped into my infected lobe. After a morning of painfully trying to get it out of my lobe, and I'm sure after my mom had heard enough screaming, she took me to my long-time pediatrician for professional removal of the nasty sucker.

I really can't remember much from that appointment. My foggy memories consist of only a few things. Me screaming bloody murder. Screaming A LOT. The doctor trying his best to keep me still. And after a moment of his professional care, him saying, "that wasn't too bad was it." I don't even think a second passed before I abruptly stopped the screaming and replied, "when can I get my ear pierced again?" That was met with laughter. My poor doctor...and my sweet mom...Oh, how I feel their pain now.

Drama. I've always been an avid supporter of the arts. And I think I've been a closeted set designer or stage hand. But I never knew drama would consume my days all because of one little, sweet, five.

One day, after I'm sure many full of dramatic moments, we brilliantly came up with a plan to try and contain the drama but not squash it. We enrolled our little five in a real dramatic acting class. I don't think she looks more forward to anything in her week now than Monday afternoon acting class. Which I have to say makes my heart sing.

She doesn't walk to class, she runs. And when I leave her at the door, I know she is going to have two of the best hours of her week. Now that's drama I gleefully am proud of and support.

While those two hours don't contain all of the drama of the week, at least it's now some drama that has rhyme and reason. And I'm hoping it balances out the unpleasant roaring that fills much of the rest of the week.

It must sound like our house is chaotic and loud. It's not. It's just that when there are those moments...it can be overwhelming.

But I have to say, since we've created the opportunity for my little drama queen to transform herself into a thespian, the roaring seems to be becoming a bit more tame. At least that's what my hope-filled mommy-can-do outlook is telling the frustrated, exhausted, and at-the-end-of-her-rope not so happy mommy.

Every time I hear her singing or see her acting out some story she's made up, I know the drama in her exists for a reason.

Maybe six will be easier?