In which I am forced to quote the lyrics of a cheesy Chicago song

For quite some time, I have been frustrated by Lana's steadfast refusal to walk upstairs by herself. (I mean, Lana is physically capable of walking up stairs - it's just that she refuses to go to the second floor of our home if no other family members are up there.)

I was not understanding this, since the upstairs is where all of our bedrooms are, and Lana seems to like her bedroom and the toys that are there. But, she will only play in her room if other people are also upstairs.

We have had angry scream-y mornings in which I have asked her to do something, which, in my mind, is TOTALLY REASONABLE while I am trying to get Gabriel out to the bus on time, and Lana and myself into the car immediately thereafter. Namely, I will say, "Lana, please go up and put on some socks" or "Please go up and get your hair brush and a pony tail holder."

And then Lana will say "No," and I will say, "yes" and Lana will say, "NO PEOPLE UP THERE!" and I will say, "SO WHAT?" and the conversation just goes downhill from there and ends with me stomping angrily upstairs or going upstairs WITH HER to get whatever item it is that is needed and feeling frustrated that she is being disobedient.

I was about at the end of my rope with this when, a few nights ago, we got a bit of insight into the situation.

As is our custom, all four of us were sitting at the kitchen table just before bed. Gabe and Lana were eating their snack, I was reading to them from Encyclopedia Brown, and Husband was grading papers.

Lana had finished her snack and I had finished The Case of the Purloined Watermelon or whatever whodunit the good Encyclopedia had been delving into that night, and Gabriel had one more peanut butter cracker to finish. Husband told Lana to go upstairs and start brushing her teeth. (It is easier to get teeth brushed when both children are not in the bathroom together. I don't know what it is about teeth-brushing-time that brings out the worst persnickityness in them.)

"Nobody up there," Lana said.

"Gabe will be up in a minute. You go on upstairs and start brushing your teeth." Husband said.

"But, no people upstairs. Nobody upstairs." Lana continued.

Husband looks frustrated and says, "Just go on up and brush your teeth. Mommy and Gabe will come up in a second."

Lana's face bunches up with near tears. "If I go upstairs, and everybody stay down here, you will leave me. You will go away. You will leave." She blurts.

Stunned silence.

"We will never leave you." Husband says categorically.

"Yes," Lana says, "you will leave."

"We will never leave you by yourself. Not ever." Husband says again.

"You will," she said, in a quiet, sad voice that made it clear she believed it was only a matter of time before we betrayed her in this way.

Suffice it to say that I worry that, as an adult, Lana may have abandonment issues that could rival those of Meredith Grey...

In a way, I am relieved that Lana feels that she can communicate her fears to us. On the other hand, I find it heartbreaking that she worries that we are not really her forever family and are engaged in some kind of elaborate hoax to leave her alone and helpless.

I must confess that, when I went into her bedroom that night to sing her a song before sleeping (normally I sing her "I'm In Love With A Big Blue Frog" and "The Other Day I Saw A Bear"), I found myself crooning the first verse of a song with which I was obsessed as a pre-teen girl enamoured of The Karate Kid movies.

Yes, I had to sing part of [gasp] The Glory of Love, namely:

I will always love you
I will never leave you alone
Sometimes I just forget
Say things I might regret
It breaks my heart to see you crying
I don't want to lose you
I could never make it alone

Sometimes, only the cheesiest love song can say what really needs to be said.

LM