It started with the fruit bowl. I entirely blame the fruit bowl. We had just gotten home from Dr. S. Princess had obtained permission to play outside, but she knew she would be required to go to the bathroom first (!), so she went (!!). However, when she came out, both Peanut and the Cuddle Bear were eating fruit. ZING!!! went the RAD brain. I could almost read the message it was sending her: "hey. Look. Your sisters are eating fruit. Eating fruit must be better than playing outside. They must know something you don't. They must be more special than you. If you eat fruit, too, you'll feel special." So, keep in mind she did not actually want to eat fruit. Also keep in mind I am battling PMS.
Princess asked me if she could have a kiwi. I said that would be fine if she could find a ripe one. Ripe ones are soft when you press them gently. Princess left and returned. None of the kiwis were ripe (later parental inspection would show this to be inaccurate. Still not sure what was going on there. Anyway), could she have a pear? I reminded her that pears are ready when they are yellow and soft, and none of our pears were. She could have a banana. I entered the kitchen a few moments later and found Princess with one green pear in each hand squeezing hard. Beginning to feel exasperated I said, "Princess! None. Of. The. Pears. Are ripe. Put them down. You may have a banana. Two minutes pass. Princess enters. "The pears ARE ripe, Mom." "No, Princess. They are not. You may have a banana." Two minutes pass. "Mom? Can I have a banana." Head met desk. Mouth said, muffled by desk, "Princess. I do not believe you actually want to eat fruit. That is ok. You are special all the time, even when you do not want to eat fruit. Go play outside."
Um, yeah. Didn't go over so well. My memory is clouded, but I remember much stomping and yelling, and being loudly instructed to shut up. Which around here is grounds for a cool-down. Unfortunately, she would not take it, and piled some more shut ups and stupids on top of it, plus some door and wall kicking. And we have the most awful doors in the entire universe. They are hollow. Yes, the are. Also, they have a horrible not-quite-wood-like veneer that easily peels off, convenient for if you happen to feel like destroying something. So the seven-minute time-out turned into twenty. Which I thought generous. After 15 minutes, she finally complied with the time-out. So, if you're keeping track, it is now around 5:00.
A few minutes after she returned downstairs, I reminded Princess that her laundry was waiting to be turned over. Instant explosion. More shutting up. Another cool-down. Only this one was NOTHING compared to the last one. She knew the timer doesn't start until the door is closed, and she would NOT close the door. Not only that, she would not stay in her room. I passed on the info that it was getting dangerously close to dinner time, and she would not be participating until her time-out was completed. No dice.
Now, why on EARTH? What is it that tells her that screaming and being rude for HOURS is better than sucking up the seven-minute cool-down and doing the chore that every single memberofthefamilyincludingthefouryearold is required to do? What? Why is being miserable and alone more desirable than complying to a fairly normal parenting request.
I love you, Princess.
I hate you, RAD.
As I left for Zumba (and of course she was done screaming, being that Josh was home), I congratulated her. Because, after all, she managed to not have to do one single thing asked of her.
And that, folks, is what it's all about.
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So she quit the fit for Daddy? Soooooo not fair!
ReplyDeleteGenea got so obsessive and bizarre about snacks and such that we had to stop all of it. It's only now, about 3 years in, that I can give out the occasional treat without the fires of hell raining on me all day, the next day, the day after that, etc. You get your 3 meals and whatever they throw you at school, the end.