But . . .

Norah has entered what I think might be the most personally annoying and infuriating stage she has been able to find to date. The "But . . ." stage. And it's a good thing that I don't have any hair left, because I would have torn it all out over the course of this week if I did. It isn't a big deal, I'm sure, but for some reason I would rather go back to changing 30 of the most disgusting diapers imaginable a day than have to endure this stage much longer.

Sadly, there is no way that I could capture this on video to share, so I will have to describe it instead, and I'm sure that, in the end, I will just come out looking like an impatient ass because, really, it just boils down to her making excuses.

This is how it works. Norah does something. She does "something" a lot these days, by which I mean actions that will get her into trouble. She is in what I hope is the peak of her pestering stage right now too. She can't just leave anyone alone. And Gabe especially. Everything he does, she has to be up in his business. Not helping. Not playing along with. But actively disrupting. And often she does things that are just mean. If a bigger kid or a grown up did the things she does, they would likely be labeled a sociopath. It's a little troubling, really.

Here's an example.

Yesterday, Gabe was drawing on the floor. Norah saw him drawing and decided that she needed to be drawing too. There was a tub of markers and ample paper, but she wanted Gabe's marker and Gabe's paper. That is pretty typical, though. She doesn't just want to do what Gabe is doing, she wants what Gabe is using to do what Gabe is doing (until he surrenders it, and then she has no interest in doing it anymore, she just wants to make Gabe give up what he has and what he's doing--see, sociopath!). So Gabe starts to whine. "Norah! No! I'm using that!" I hear it probably three dozen times a day. It might be what is said most often in our household right now.

So, for probably the three dozenth time that day, I went to resolve the issue.  "AAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!" I screamed as I pulled out all of my remaining hair and smashed my head against the wall.

Not really. While I have to admit that my level of cool is dwindling rapidly with all the fighting and whining and bickering that's going on in my house--I have a very low tolerance for conflict--it hasn't gotten to that point yet.

"Norah! Leave Gabe alone!" I chastised. I pulled her out a handful of markers and a sheet of paper and set them on the floor far enough away that she couldn't just lie on her stomach on the floor to work and position herself so she could put her feet on Gabe and kick him while she works (see? mean!). She sized up the space, I could see it, to decide if she could work and something and pester Gabe all at the same time. She couldn't. So she sat down. I turned around and left. Five steps later, Gabe again screamed, "Norah! No! I'm using that!" I quickly spun around, retraced my few steps around the corner, and there was Norah, with a foot in the middle of his sheet of paper. She looked up and me and made eye contact. She knew I was there watching. And SHE TWISTED HER FOOT. Like a melodrama villain might do to a petition to save an orphanage or something.

"Norah! That was so mean!" I lamented. And I knew what was following.

"But . . ." Every time she gets busted for anything, it's the first word out of her mouth. And there is always a pause as she constructs the excuse she's going to use to justify what she is doing.  In this case it was "But . . . I was needing to walk over there," she said, pointing vaguely in my direction. Now, this WAS a feasible excuse. Gabe was directly between where she was and the doorway where I was. However, there was also more than enough room to walk around him and his paper.

"You were twisting your foot to ruin his paper," I pointed out. "That's not walking. Timeout," I added and pointed to the nearby chair. And then she started to cry.

Also the crying. The incessant, needless, constant crying. About everything. All the time.

Ugh, girls.

Anyway, the problem I have with this, and possibly where all the frustration is coming from, is that I really shouldn't have a problem with any of this. As some will recall, I actively encouraged Gabe to make up stories to try to get out of trouble. I WANT my kids to be good story tellers, and trying to get out of trouble is when some of the best stories are born. They are moments of true inspiration. But, for some reason--and maybe it's just because I know she knows better and is doing most of these things just to antagonize Gabe and I, whereas when Gabe does something bad it is almost always due to his basically unobservant nature or because he just didn't think things through--it grates on my nerves when Norah starts with the "But . . . ."

Possibly the worst part is that I have actually had to break out the "But me no buts" to interrupt her, which I still am not sure even makes a lick of sense. Seriously. What does that even mean?