Hoo boy. I really try to remain present with my three-nage girl, and make a valiant attempt at parenting by slowing down and staying in the moment rather than threatening or bribing. I don't always succeed.
Exhibit A:
On Friday, Zoe and I visited some garage sales. The only thing we came home with was an Angel Barbie - Zoe's first Barbie of any kind. This Barbie has beautiful white sparkly wings, long blonde hair, and incredibly teeny tiny little white Barbie shoes. That you know, as a parent, will be lost in about two seconds. We were on our way out the door that very night to see Shasha, and Zoe wanted to bring the doll. I suggested she take the shoes off and leave them at home so that we didn't lose them, but Zoe refused. I figured she had been warned, and off we went.
Two blocks away from the house, I hear an, "Uh Oh!" from the back seat. Lo and behold, Zoe has dropped one of the delicate little 'glass slippers,' as she calls them, through one of the seatbelt holes in her fantastically safe - and very well installed, to the point that twin sumo wrestlers could bungee jump from it (Thanks, Honey!) - car seat. I told her that we would have to search for the shoe some other time when Daddy was home, so that he could re-wrestle the seat into it's indelibly imprinted spot in the back seat of my Volvo after removing it to find the (@$%*$#) shoe. I endured many many many requests to pull over to look for the shoe, only narrowly escaping a complete meltdown prior to our arrival at the restaur....SHASHAAAAA! YAYAYAYA SHASHA! Thank God for Shasha and the short attention spans of three-year-olds.
Cut to the next day. I am so very weary by the evening. Moving across the country, having no close friends here, having none of my own stuff, none of my own space...well, it's been wearing on me. We're so close to our final heave-ho into the new rental home and out of my sister's place after this three month journey, that I'm having trouble steering clear of negative feelings of loneliness, loss, and fear about treading these new waters in Tennessee. Things with our moving prep have not gone as planned, and curve balls such that I have thus far handled with grace and ease have really been getting stuck in my craw.
Zoe and I pile into the car - with Angel Barbie in tow - to head to the grocery store not even 10 minutes away. Within two minutes, Zoe has whined about finding Angel's 'glass slipper' at least five times. I repeat that we have to wait for Daddy to search for the shoe, and that Daddy will be home tomorrow. This does not help, the whining and slow ramp-up to shoeless hysteria continue. So what do I do? Keep in my mind - I have very little fight in me, very little energy, so all I say is said without raising my voice and with a seriousness that is not often a part of my tone...
"If you ask me for that shoe one more time, I'm going to throw your doll out the window of this car."
Oh, yes I did say that. And then, she asked again.
...my hand reaches back, as if holding it outstretched to retrieve an empty banana peel or snack trap from her seat...
"GIVEMETHEDOLL."
Zoe protests, and I reply, "Don't worry. She has wings. She'll fly."
Mother of the Year I tell you. No, I did not throw her doll out the window. I finally said she had her warning, and not to ask me again for the doll's shoe.
We complete the rest of our drive in silence, but I don't sense any sniffling or upset vibe from the back seat, so I just drive to the store and park the car. When I reach back to un-do Zoe's seatbelt, she is desperately clutching her Angel Barbie looking at me wide eyed, lower lip out, not sad - just a little bit of a dramatically-enhanced frightened look on her face.
It was a priceless moment. The look, oh I wish I could show you. Not that I delight in scaring my daughter, because I don't. She wasn't truly afraid of me, just shocked mostly that I would threaten such a thing. And clutching her doll for dear life.
Ah, what I will do for a quiet ride in the car...
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