We all do it...

Judging, that is.

Jennifer, Ariana, Brian and Robert were sitting at the art table this morning. I have cut up a bunch of scrapbook paper and construction paper into hearts. Large, medium, small, minute. They're using the paper to make different heart animals and valentines. I figure if I cut out all the hearts and all they have to do is assemble them, more of the kids will do it. Some of them need what Sunshine calls 'drive by' crafts... something that only takes a few minutes and doesn't interrupt their entire day. Understandable, I am usually a complete-it-in-one-sitting-or-forget-it person myself. Except for the tangly stuff I draw, that can go on endlessly without bothering me.

So anyway, the kids were doing valentines.
I was sitting at the table next to the art table cutting out still more hearts and tying shoes and generally doing the stuff I do.

We've talked before about how there really is no right or wrong way to do our projects, that if you take home a project you're happy with, then you've done it correctly.

Ariana was across the table from Jennifer. Jennifer watched her work for a few minutes, then said in a scathing tone, "That looks weird. You didn't do that right."

Ariana is a sweet little person. Has a hard time standing up for herself. Brian and Robert both said to Jennifer in unison, "That wasn't very nice, Jennifer."

And Jennifer began an unexpected session of over the top histrionics. Wailing, crying, shouting.

I got up and took the four or five steps necessary to stand next to her.

"What's wrong, Jennifer?"

"They're... they're.... judging me!!!"

::snicker::

I said mildly, "It seemed to me that you were judging Ariana, Jennifer. You said her project was weird."

She stopped in mid-bellow. Widened her eyes and said, "No I didn't!"

Brian and Robert were incredulous. "Yes you did!!" they said, in unison.

"Jennifer, I was sitting right there," I pointed to my chair. "You know I can see you and hear you, right?"

She dramatically put the back of her hand on her forehead and said, "NO one understands me! I am going to have a BAD DAY!!!"

And then she cried some more.

I went and got the box of tissues. Brought them to her. She grabbed one and wiped her eyes. Blew her nose. Got another one and finished mopping up.

Her little storms don't last long anymore, and she was fine in a few minutes. She got up and played with the puppet theater after the hysterics.

When it was time to clean up so the kids could go to class, she helped clean the art table. But she left her tissues.

The kids gathered in a group at the bottom of the ramp that leads to the gym to wait for the bell to ring. I went and told her that she needed to come throw her tissues away.

She tried the eyes-wide surprised tone. "Those aren't my tissues," she said. "I don't know who they belong to, but *I* didn't do it!!"

I just looked at her.
Didn't change my expression.
Didn't say anything else.
She met my gaze, a little defiant and bristly.
I blinked, still looking at her little face.

She deflated, walked over to the art table and picked the tissues up, dropping them into the garbage on her way back to the group. The bell rang and she left with everyone else.

This afternoon she was fine, not crabby and evidently she had a good day.

It's funny. She used to constantly melt down and cry loudly and be all kinds of interesting, but she's really grown a lot since then. Her hysterics and tantrums are far enough apart now to be unusual rather than expected.

I guess that means she's growing?