"Mom, how does the Tooth Fairy fly through the air?"
"How do YOU think?"
"I think moms do it."
"But how can a Mom be a Tooth Fairy?"
"Good moms are lots of things, Princess."

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Defective Oatmeal

Into the days a every healing RADling, a little regression must fall. And fall, it is. The days following Princess's rash of Christmas fun acceptance have not been pretty. All was well, and I was taking some deeper breaths. The Wednesday morning arrived.

Good morning Princess! What kind of oatmeal do you want?
What's "oatmeal?"


Then Peanut explained to Princess what oatmeal is. Which Princess hates, since being "taught" by a younger sister is not her goal in this game. Then the Cuddle Bear said, "why do you have your angry face on?"

It went downhill from there.

A sampling of joy:
My oatmeal's cold
My oatmeal's too hot.
There's too much water in it.
There's not enough water in it.

Then she threw it away.

I haven't quite figured out this reaction- throwing away food and treats when she's mad. She doesn't hoard, but she does have food issues. Any time she knows a snack or meal is due, she hovers, as if she thinks there's a good chance we'll all sneak off and eat without her. She will carb load at any opportunity until you'd swear she'll explode. Which she will. In the middle of the night. So the best I can figure is she does it to punish herself. Or me.

Anyway, that was the high point of the day. She crabbed and fussed all the way to school about how I don't take care of her because I don't feed her, and I don't love her because I don't treat her the way I treat everyone else. I hummed my "Different Choices Make Different Things Happen" song softly to myself. She stopped two blocks before school and had an uneventful school day. Of course. Then she had a hard time at swim, so she beat her sister up in the car all the way home. For shouting in her ears. Which in Princessese is apparently translated as, "singing Christmas songs."

It carried over into the next day. And the next day. And the next. And now there is a very tired Mommy around these parts. I don't even know what the trigger was, so I can't get at it.

My therapeutic parenting needs a brush up. Or I need to go shopping. Not sure which.

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