Hadley finished the first week of her senior year today. Not only did she start at a completely new high school, but she started a new job at the movie theater down the street. To say that she is busy is an understatement.
With Braeden away at college, the extent of my parenting consists of a maximum of thirty minutes a day. During that time, I usually feed Hadley an inedible dinner while apologizing profusely for possibly poisoning her on the way to her job.
My Mom Muscles are quickly atrophying. My only real chance at mothering is yelling at Taffy (my Goldendoodle) to stop pacing until my husband gets home. It's got me reminiscing about the old days a LOT.
Today's journey will be another example of how I dealt with my children when they got whiny. I'm not sure who's behavior was worse in this situation – me or Hadley. But I'm sure writing a parenting book is in my future.
One December, many years ago, my neighborhood friend, Michelle, mother of six, Domestic Goddess, and Kitchen Diva, invited us over for a Gingerbread House Decorating Party. When we arrived, she had the houses built and on individual plates for each kid. In addition, she provided massive amounts of candy to adorn the graham cracker dwellings (or get diabetes if you ate it all).
The kids had a fabulous time bedazzling with frosting/gummies, partaking in lethal doses of sugar, and LOUDLY burning off their excess energy well past bedtime. It was pretty much every kid's definition of a night in heaven.
On the walk back home, a very young and savage Hadley decided she wanted to eat her Gingerbread House from roof to basement AT THAT VERY INSTANT. It wasn't going to happen in this lifetime, and I explained as much to her.
She opened her can of freak on me in the form of the dreaded and constant, "Hmph!"
Two blocks worth.
At that point, my sugar high was plummeting, and I was feeling a little scrappy myself. But, something my darling daughter didn't learn until a much older age was that her bad attitude came from me. And I had thirty-six years to perfect my skills over hers.
On her kajillionth "Hmph!" in front of the house, I'd reached my limit.
Making sure my baby girl was paying attention; I ran my tongue up the side of her Gingerbread House with extreme prejudice.
I'm pretty sure everyone in the neighborhood heard her displeasure.
Who thinks I should write a parenting book?
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