Sigh. Not The Mama.
The Family had a positively gorgeous Sunday. Late to rise, but quick to embrace the day (once we got our arses out of bed), we cleaned, played, gardened, yoga-ed, and dined to our hearts’ content. One of those days for the record books, really. Well…
As the clock ticked toward bedtime, I had to give The Kidling a few straightforward instructions. Nothing my naïve mind thought worthy of a meltdown, but simple directions such as, ‘one more minute to play, then shower time.’ For those of you not responsible for a young life, this in the functional equivalent of ‘remember to alternate feet when you walk’ or ‘you have to exhale before you inhale again.’ This clearly fell into the category of basic bossing (because The Kidling interprets any moment not spent playing freely according to her whim as being bossed around).
That’s when The Shit hit The Fan.*
She screamed. I didn’t waiver. She yelled. I remained steadfast.
And that pissed her off.
“I don’t care!” The Kidling screamed with every ounce of anger she could muster.
“Fine then.” I replied coolly, “Then I guess I don’t care, either.”
You can guess how well that went over.
More screaming, more yelling, with a healthy dash of crying and whining. Mix until frothy, then add a dash of hissy fit.
It came to a head with me icily directing my obstinate child between tasks with wordless finger-pointing. Words are for people, I thought to myself, and this creature is no human being. She told me in no uncertain terms how awful I was. It was getting pretty ugly, when suddenly, The Kidling stopped fighting me. She turned to face me, held her hands up, and began to arrange her fingers.
Oh, shit, I thought. Because I knew exactly what she was doing.
The Kidling was declaring a truce.
Once she had those awkward little fingers figured out, she signed as she said to me, “We care about each other’s feelings.”
So I gave that amazing little child of mine a hug and I raised my white flag.
* I think I just introduced two new characters…