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Fourth Grade: The Toughest Transition
This summer, my husband and I jokingly started calling our 9-year-old daughter “The Sloth.” It might sound harsh, but honestly, it’s pretty accurate. Ever since she was little, she’s never been the athletic type. Even in kindergarten, she preferred her coloring books to games like hopscotch and would rather watch cartoons than play kick-the-can. She’s definitely an indoor kid, avoiding dirt and sweat like the plague, and wilting under the harsh midday sun.
This summer, though, her reluctance to engage in outdoor activities has reached a new level. She wants to spend every minute of her summer playing Minecraft and buried in comic books. If we even suggest doing something outside, she becomes downright argumentative.
“Eew! It’s too hot for the trampoline.”
“I dislike hiking. There are too many bugs.”
“The pool is always so packed. I’m not going!”
In the past, we could coax her into enjoying outdoor fun, and with a little encouragement, she’d eventually go along with it, leading to some great family moments. But this year, we’ve got The Sloth on our hands. My husband’s brilliant idea for tackling the situation? He signed her up for pricey, private tennis lessons—lessons that usually fall to me as the stay-at-home parent to transport her to.
At first, it wasn’t too bad. She’d sigh and reluctantly close her laptop, dragging her feet while getting dressed. But soon, the eye rolls turned into dramatic groans and stomps. By mid-summer, she was audibly complaining and slamming drawers as she searched for tennis shorts. The car rides to the lessons were filled with tension, but surprisingly, once we arrived at the tennis courts, she managed to pull it together.
“She’s a delight,” her tennis instructor told me. “She listens and never gives me a hard time.”
Oh, how naive you are, I thought. You don’t know what it takes to get her here. Agreeable? Not with her parents, that’s for sure! Just last week, I handed her a hairbrush and told her it was time to get ready. She scowled, snatched the brush from my hand, and stomped upstairs. Suddenly, she turned around and flung the hairbrush down the staircase in frustration. The loud bang it made against the hardwood floors sent our dog, cat, and her sister running.
“What on earth was that?” I yelled, my anger boiling over.
There she stood on the staircase, fists clenched but eyes wide and filling with tears—clearly shocked at her own outburst.
“It was an accident,” she pleaded.
“No way! I saw you do that on purpose! You smashed it!” I insisted.
She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “No, I didn’t mean to! I don’t know why I did that…”
“Just get dressed and get in the car,” I said, my tone firm. “We’re running late.”
Silence filled the car, but my thoughts were a cacophony of confusion: This is your gentle child. The one who avoids conflict and loves cat videos on YouTube. So who was this angry kid throwing objects around? While she practiced her backhand, I called my husband in a panic. “What’s happening to her?” I asked, pacing in the parking lot. “She’s never acted like this before. I think she even scared herself.” He promised we’d talk later when he got home.
“She performed wonderfully today,” her tennis teacher said as she handed me my daughter’s racquet.
More silence in the car. My daughter nervously bounced the racquet on her knees, staring out the window. Later, I brought her a warm towel after her shower. As I walked into the bathroom like I usually do, I said, “Here’s a towel. Please don’t just toss it on the floor, okay?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her quickly cross her arms, turn away, and mumble, “Okay, thanks.”
This is my 9-year-old daughter. You’d think I’d have learned by now, especially since I have an older daughter who’s four years ahead of her. I’ve been through all these emotional ups and downs before. You’d think I’d remember how early these transitions start for girls in my family. My older daughter got her period in fifth grade, leaving me stunned and unprepared. Even my sister was caught off guard when she started in fourth grade, thinking she’d pooped her pants instead. My mom never prepared her for such things, believing she had time. But how can you equip a 9-year-old with the tools to navigate such adult experiences when she’s still in the midst of learning how to write a perfect paragraph?
I’m not sure. I texted my husband, “Get ready for puberty. It’s coming.”
Summary
In this humorous reflection, Jenna shares her struggles with her 9-year-old daughter, who has developed a strong aversion to outdoor activities over the summer. While her husband enrolls her in tennis lessons to encourage physical activity, Jenna finds herself navigating her daughter’s emotional turmoil and unexpected behavior. Despite her daughter’s tendency to be agreeable with others, she struggles with expressing her feelings at home. Jenna’s experience highlights the challenges of parenting during early adolescence, particularly as her daughter approaches new developmental milestones.