We got off to a rough start this morning. No preschool on Fridays, so I only had to worry about getting Paige ready for school. Things were going smoothly until I told her she couldn't wear jelly princess sandals because it was PE day. Major meltdown.
A few of the hits:
"Dad, you want me to wear those shoes?"
"You're not the boss of me!"
"Fine! I'll do it your way. Is that what you want?!"
"You want me to wear these big shoes that no one will think are cute?!"
This continued on for the length of the ride to school. When I let her out of the car, I said, "I hope you have a good day at school."
"I won't because I have to wear these shoes! Hmmph."
The next few hours were much better.
The boys had a fabulous time. They ran up, and rolled down, the hill so many times that Tate took a three-and-a-half hour nap when he got home. And Curtis, who's not a napper, fell asleep for two.
And then Paige came back home from school.
She was done being mad about the shoes and even apologized for how she'd acted (with was accompanied by "I'm really good at apologizing"). Within 10 minutes of being home, however, she was at it again. What started with her being upset that Curtis and I were not playing basketball "right," morphed into two hours of:
"Dad, you don't appreciate me."
"You're not the boss of me." (again)
"I'm tired of this crap!"
"You never told me I couldn't say that word."
"It's your fault I said that word because you didn't tell me I couldn't."
"I can slam the door if I want."
"I'll watch Sponge Bob...but I'm not going to enjoy it."
She's seven years old.
Things got better as the night wore on. We even went to my-favorite-place-that-is-also-Traci's-least-favorite-place, The Chuck, with my parents. Though it's hard to enjoy it when your five-year-old is refusing to eat and your two-year-old is literally crawling all over place (and knocking over everything in his path).
Every is now officially in bed (and hopefully asleep--Curtis has a tendency to reappear at strange times).
I'm very tired.