To an innocent bystander, the conversation probably seemed a bit odd.
"Mom, will you teach me how to knit?" Those are the words she used, but what she meant is, "Mom, will you spend an hour patiently showing me how to tie knots around some pointy stabby sticks while I scream bloody murder at you?"
What she meant is what I reacted to when I said, "I'd rather not." Like I said, an innocent bystander would have found the conversation odd.
But Alexis persisted. She persisted and she begged and she used her manners and DAMMIT, I CAN'T SAY NO TO THE MANNERS. (Don't ever tell her that is my weakness. She hasn't figured it out yet.)
That is how it came to be that I let Alexis pick out some yarn of her very own. Then I sat next to her and attempted to teach her how to knit. She started out super-excited, and practically giddy as she considered all of the sweaters, scarves, and gloves that she's going to make. She's not going to make a knit bike cover, though. She said that would be "too crazy."
Her excitement quickly slipped to doom and gloom, though. "I'M NEVER GOING TO DO IT RIGHT!" she wailed. "KNITTING IS DUMB!" she continued. "YOU'RE A TERRIBLE EXPLAINER!" was the final straw. I turned to Alexis and told her we could try again when she was ready to wear her Patient Pants. I already know that the kid can't do anything half way. If she can't master something on the first try, she gives up and she does it in a masterful cloud of anger and seething. See also: it took two years for her to shut her face and quit being all I CAN'T so that she could learn to ride her bike. TWO YEARS. There was much stomping and throwing things that took place in that time frame.
I expected to wait two years before attempting the knitting thing again.
I was wrong.
When I finally followed the stompy, angry Alexis into the house, she was surrounded by art supplies. She had huddled up into the corner of the living room and was diligently getting her art on.
"Momma, I feel terrible about what I said," she told me.
I tried not to pass out dead from the shock. AN APOLOGY? SO SOON? WITHOUT PROMPTING?
"I made you something," she continued as she handed me a handwritten apology.
So what I'm saying is that there is hope that she'll have figured out this whole "learn with patience" thing before I try to teach her how to drive in 8-ish years. Which, THANK GOODNESS. Maybe I can stop practicing that jumping out of a moving car before it crashes into a wall thing.