I’ve been around a few kids in the past couple of years who could be considered problem kids.
I know, technically it’s wrong and unjust to call a three-year old a problem child, but for the love of all that is holy like Justin Timberlake shirtless with five o’clock shadow, when one kid goes after another child who they know is apprehensive about them (aka scared as shit) repeatedly for an entire summer? That kid’s got problems. That kid’s a bully.
So, I’ve sat there and heard and doled out my own judgements about why such bad seeds exist and those comments usually end up being about the kid wanting attention from a lack-lustre parent. Good/bad attention doesn’t matter, when you’re getting none, right?
This judgeyness that I’m so developed at, I turned it inward.
Isobel…people think she’s a really good kid. She’s smart, social, takes care of babies who cry, damn cute, a little pixie of a ball-buster. Win, right?
Seems I’m the only person she trusts enough to show her bad-ass wench moments to. Lucky me, being the special one to take the punches, hear the shrieks and still have to say “goodnight, I love you.” It’s fucking hard and it might be my fault.
I thought, maybe, just maybe, it was because I wasn’t paying enough attention to her. So today, we embarked on quality time that didn’t make me want to hang myself in a closet with a belt. Don’t worry – I’d totally blog my suicide note, if quality time ever pushes me to the edge.
We got a little culinary – and inventive.
She helped me make some honey flax bread. Then we made some chocolate fruit loaf. Then, we made dinner together – spicy chicken dahl stew.
You’d think, with all of this quality time and helping I let her do (Because me and letting people help, especially when they’ll probably do it wrong, is like pickles and peanut butter. Just isn’t happening.), she’d be thankful and gracious and welcoming.
Not my kid. She threw a fucking fit about eating her dinner. Only wanted the flax bread.
She hissied herself into tremors over having to pee before bedtime.
She freaked the fuck out about not swallowing the toothpaste when we brushed her teeth.
What the hell is up with that shit?
Then, she passed the fuck out. Thankfully.
What do I have to show for all of this quality time? A lot of dishes, left overs and an eye twitch.
