Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
"Will it hurt?"
"Oh gosh, Daisy. No." I pull in a deep breath and give her a small smile. "I was wanting help sorting the beads in that box in the living room. I was thinking by color and then by size, but it's a lot of work. I'd love it if you helped me with it. I think we could have it done by dinner if we work together."
She stands a little straighter, head up, with a smile on her face, as if having all the information presented to her makes the decision so much easier.
"That can be done by a four-year-old," she says, strutting past me. "Let me show you how."
I make a mental note to explain things to her in detail. Instead of wording things the way I might with others, I need to present all the information together.
I imagine I wouldn't have gotten the attitude if I simply said, "I have a bead-sorting project I was going to see if you would help me with, if it was okay with your mom. I don't want her to worry about where you are."
Some kids just need a better explanation, and despite growing up in a do-what-I-say-when-I-say-it household worked for me, it's not going to work with everyone.
I've learned in my history working with kids from many different backgrounds, with various levels of trauma, that each one has individual needs, and once you can figure that puzzle out, then the hard work has already been done.
Traci shuffles by about half an hour later, heading to help Andrea in the kitchen, giving us both a wave as she passes.
Dana stops in an hour into our task, giving me a grateful smile that is still coated in so much pain and shame when I look up at her.
"When I tell you this child is a genius," I say, praising Daisy. "All it took was a box, a couple of strainers from the kitchen, and a couple of shakes, and we were able to knock out the bead-sorting job in less than ten minutes."
"I told you it was simple. Even an idiot could do it."
"Daisy," Dana chides.
"I thought we agreed it was so easy a four-year-old could do it," I say, not focusing on the bad behavior, but offering an option to correct it.
Daisy looks up at me, contemplation in her eyes. "So easy a two-year-old could do it."
I smile at her.
"What are you ladies working on now?" Dana asks, and I see the roll of Daisy's eyes at her mother's question.
There's at least some level of hatred this poor girl has for her mother, and that's going to be a lot to work through. It may be something they can work through and come out the other side of it healthy and happy, and then there's always a chance Daisy will spend her life blaming her mother for what she witnessed during the first nine years of her life. It's too early to tell right now, but I'm not a therapist, and although I might adjust the way I speak to her to help her make a little progress, I'm not going to question or try to get to the bottom of it.
"This is... Hmm," I say, mocking confusion. "We're... ummm..."
"Sorting the decks of cards and putting them in order," Daisy says. Her words aren't hateful, but the tone could use some work.
"And you found how many were missing cards?" I ask.
"Two sets so far," Daisy says, but her smile is directed at me, not her mother.
I give the child a smile, knowing we're working on progress, not perfection.
"I'm going to go add these decks to the shopping list, so we have them later in the week," I say as I stand. "I bet your mom will be better at figuring it out than I will."
Dana steps closer, fear in her eyes that she's about to be rejected by her daughter.
I pause in front of her. "You do know the difference between light green and dark green, right?"
"I do," Dana says with a smile.
"Good!" Daisy says. "Juliet put all the greens in the same pile."
"Green is green," I say, repeating what I told the child earlier.
Daisy sighs as if frustrated, but she's grinning at me when I look back at her.
I leave the room, wondering how often the kids wanted to spend time with Dana when she wasn't physically or emotionally available. Kids learn very early on to stop asking for things when they're always told no, but that does nothing to staunch the need for interaction with people who love them.
The cards are sorted just in time for dinner, and I add the additional decks that were found to be incomplete to the shopping list, taking the opportunity to step out back when everyone is sitting down to dinner.
The sun has started to set, but the heat of the day still clings to everything it has touched. I tilt my head back, eyes closed, and pull in a deep breath.