I Hate You. Feed Me

I understand triggers. I understand anxiety. I'm even starting to understand the whole shame thing. I get that. I can tolerate those behaviors. I get real tired, but they don't really push my buttons.

But sometimes, sometimes, I think Princess is just being a bully.

I feel like my family gets hijacked by a beautiful dark wavy-haired child. Who is very, very loud. I got out the ingredients Sunday to make no-bake cookies for Josh for Father's Day.  Buddy immediately asked if he could help. I said, sure, you can help scoop them out. So Princess asked if she could help, too. I said fine. Buddy's hackles rose. He's tired of being copied. I don't blame him, exactly, but I reminded him privately that she's going to learn stuff better from him than from me. I also told him to suck it up. Although not in those exact words. Anyway. Princess couldn't find the step stool that exactly matched the one Buddy was using. She got the better step stool, the one that would let her see more up higher, but the anxiety had already set in. So Buddy was crabbing about Princess infringing territory, and Princess was crabbing that Buddy could see better (regardless that she was higher and closer); I raised my voice and cried, "I am NOT having a good time here!"

SMACK!

This has been happening more and more often lately. Princess get frustrated and fast-as-lightening whacks someone, anyone, me across the face. I sent her for a time-out, which turned into a Princess-shaped hurricane spouting stupid and shut-ups as it whirled around the house thrashing everything in it's path.

It continued into today. It was one of those days where she very literally did not say anything to me other than,"can I have (insert food item here)?" and "shut up, Stupidhead." She was somewhat regulated after breakfast, so I sat her down to talk. I asked her what she missed out on yesterday, and she glibly listed every. single. thing. Than I asked her what she got from the tantrum.

"Nothing."
"Well, there was something. And it must have been better than making and eating cookies. Cause you chose the tantrum instead."
"Well. I wanted to smash stuff."

So that was something. 

I tried rationalizing with her. I told her she was traveling down a road that would just keep getting her things she doesn't want, finally finding herself as an adult living where she doesn't want to live with people she doesn't want to live with doing things she doesn't want to do. I pointed out that, at 10:00 a.m., every sibling had already mentioned they did not want to play with her.

I don't really think I got anywhere. She spent a lot of time in her room today telling me (loudly) what she wasn't going to do. I spent a lot of time doing things in other parts of the house.

I guess tomorrow I'll break out the shirt and put the therapeutic parent hat back on. And maybe some foam ear plugs.