Meet Oldielocks, my then nine year old, my now two year old. She has been busy in softball playoffs, swimming play dates with her BFF, completing her multiplication facts, and learning the words to cheers.
SO much learning and busy busy busy busy going on that today, officially she lost her damn mind.
Her room was filthy. The closet exploded and so did every toy container. The husband decided that more fun was being had than responsibility and canceled batting practice at a friends house. He then told Oldielocks it was clean up time. She clearly had five bags of cotton stuffed in her ears, since she acted like he had said not a word. She would not listen. AT ALL.
And then it started.
The whining. The falling to the floor on top of clothes. The "idon'tknowwhat youwantmetodobutican'tcleanbecauseiamwhinylittlepunk." It's bad when it sounds like a rat dog whining. And then you realize you don't have a dog. But you do have a nine year old. A nine year old that sounds like a rat dog. That's not something to brag about.
Finally when I was about to stab myself in the eardrums, I sent her to time out. I let her know that if she wanted to act like a 2 year old, she will be treated like one. I made her sit in the little chair, her 4'7" self all hunched a few inches off the floor. She in turn whimpered, whined, scratched on the wall, fell to the floor, picked at a branch, harassed the bird, stomped her feet.
I ignored every minute of it. Middle was staring and piped open her little mouth like she was the Princess of Perfect, until I shot her a look that reminded her that she has gone a few rounds on the crazy carousel before so she wasn't going to be judging anybody.
Then my gigantic
She has been kissing ass ever since.