We had a day. A really exhausting day. Sarah was crying when I picked her up from daycare because the girl she fights with ripped her paper and then told the teacher it was an accident. I'm over the drama that these two bring to an afternoon so I can only imagine how the teacher feels.
Then Smiley decided she couldn't handle Monday evening. She dig a stale French fry out of the seat in the car and tried to eat it, prompting her siblings to yell in disgust. Then the tears started. Any hint of disapproval and this kid looses her composure.
Then it was time for homework. More tears. Then it was I need help in the bathroom. Tears. Then it was full on tantrum. Yelling, screaming, stomping, pounding limbs on the floor. We walked up and down the stairs several times until we could do it without sounding like an elephant. Then she screamed at me for another 30 minutes.
I threw a dance party in the kitchen while making dinner. I tried to be as silly as possible. Even the dog got in on it. He was jumping up and down too. The other kids thought this was hysterical and so they were all dancing around me making up lyrics to the song.
Stella requested Aerosmith. Her version of Rag Doll was pretty entertaining.
Ultimately, we were able to move on. We did lots of positive reinforcement. And I have no idea where I summoned the patience from, but we managed to get through the bath where she "forgot" how to wash her body.
The night ended with the "Good Dreams" spray on her pillow as bedtime has brought on fits about bad dreams during the last week. "Mom, I can't go to bed I always have bad dreams." "No I didn't have one last night." Gee kid, that's 5 nights in a row. Do we need to talk about what "always" means?
It's only Monday....