So I’ve been saving this for a rainy day, and boy oh boy is it a good one. I’m stuck in our tent trailer, in Oregon, in the pouring rain. Do not even get me started…
Anyway, the great and powerful Kelly DeBie of DeBie Hive sent this, oh, in winter. But you guys know how well organized I am. At least in my brain. But enough about that nightmare without end. I LOVE this story, and I keep hoping someday I’ll be like Kelly when I grow up.
At this exact moment in time, my daughters love me.
That could change at any second though. I’ve learned this the hard way in the last few weeks.
My oldest daughter has always had a flair for the dramatic, and started yelling at her younger sister a while back. She ends a great many arguments with, “You don’t know my life,” before she rolls her eyes all the way in the back of her head, flips her hair and walks away.
A while ago, she began accusing me of ruining her life over things like playdates and birthday parties. The end of days seem to be always upon us, mostly at my hands of course. She seems wholly convinced that I go out of my way to mess up her plans.
In reality, we’re just collectively too busy and too big of a family to bend at the will of any one person very often.
Hell, I can’t even remember the last time I got to demand anything about what we do…but I digress.
Anyhow, the little sister has started to adopt some of the language of the older one. Like she tends to do with everything, she takes a little then runs with it.
The little one is the family over-reactor.
A few weekends ago, she lost the privilege of attending a friend’s birthday party after she was repeatedly caught lying about her room being clean. After a few chances to fix the situation and choose to be honest, she instead decided to leave it a mess and keep trying to cover it up. It didn’t work. It didn’t work even when I threatened her with losing privileges if she lied again.
She spent a few hours being pissed off at the world, angry at me for following through, pouting and crying off and on. Eventually, though,she got her room clean and apologized.
We were good for a few days, until the world ended again this past week.
She came home from school and ordered me to plan a playdate for her. I told her that it was already late, it was cold and windy, the weekend would be nicer, she had homework and that it wasn’t happening right at this exact moment. All the explanations in the world aren’t ever enough for this one, and she thinks that every decision I ever make is a jumping off point for negotiations.
Not the case, sweetheart.
I held my ground, told her no, and reminded her that if she didn’t treat me with respect, she’d be in trouble again. That’s about when her head spun around, horns spouted, her voice changed to the deep throaty one and she hurled the words at me.
I hate you.
It was a first. And it stung. A lot.
I knew it was coming, but it still hurts. I took a deep breath and gulped it down, sent her to her room. Go hate me there, if you must.
She’s not even 8 yet.
Puberty might just kill me with these girls.
I’m pretty sure that I’ll be called the worst mom ever more than a few times in the years to come, just like I’m sure they’ll hate me again many times.
I can live with it.
Besides, there’s a trophy.