I have a strong-willed child. Like the kind who tries to negotiate her way about everything. Tell most kids not to cross the line and they either shrink back or walk right up to it. Not this one, she’s already two feet in front of it. Tell her to put on pink clothes, and it’s blue outfit day. ‘Oops, too late’ is a response I get ‘too much.’
Think wearing socks or picking up toys are any less of an ordeal than planning a mission to space? Not to her! While driving down the interstate, she asked me to get a piece of paper she had dropped on the floor. I told her it would have to wait until I stopped.
“Fine, I guess I won’t ever have that paper, ever again,” she responded.
I so wish I could blame her will on her dad’s genetics. But let’s just stop there.
(I’m really sorry, Mom and Dad!)
How a hurricane can turn in to still air, I don’t understand. But I’ve witnessed it with my firstborn.
“Mom, I’m sorry I haven’t been a good listener this morning. I love you. Hug and kiss?” she says as she looks at me through her big blue eyes.
If she were a robot, programmed to obey every word out of my mouth, those words wouldn’t mean anything. But, despite my frustration and the words I threw right back at her in response to said frustration (cue my maturity), she’d still choose me over any calmer, more even-tempered mommy in the world.
“I’m sorry too,” I say.
We started the day over.