Confession time. Sunday was a hard day for me. Ross closed both weekend days which meant I was the primary parent all weekend with little to no relief because even when he’s here, it’s “I want MOMMY!”. By Sunday, I just needed a break but I wasn’t going to get it. Even though she took a nap, I still had to make dinner, do food prep, and stress about all the things I wasn’t doing. Which turns out – if you look at my family room and the utter mess it is – is quite a lot. I’d include a picture but at this point, I’m completely ashamed of the state of my house. I’m going to need a hazmat suit when I actually attempt to clean it.
Scarlett was EXTREMELY whiney. Like whining about things she’d done herself. She woke up that way and it didn’t stop all day. We went to the pool and I thought that would exhaust some of the pure bitchiness out of her. Nope! I wasn’t so lucky.
For dinner, we had tuna noodle casserole. Now, I knew up front she wasn’t going to eat it without a fight. She’s three and a half. Everything, with the exception of peanut butter and jelly or a hot dog, is an argument. She of course, refused to eat it. We had a long conversation about trying things. She could absolutely not like it but she had to try it. This, of course, devolved into a screaming, crying, fit. I went into the kitchen go get my own dinner ready and when I turn around, she’d knocked her milk over, and spilling it everywhere – on purpose or not, I couldn’t say. I’m not sure why this was the piece that broke the dam but I had had it.
I grabbed her chair and put her in time out. Now, as a discipline tactic, time out sucks. I’m not sure what this is supposed to accomplish, other than my three year old daughter sobbing and staring at me with sad eyes and trying to manipulate me into feeling guilty. Jokes on you, I don’t feel guilt. Now, this bites me in the ass about twenty minutes into this melodrama.
She was staring at me with sad eyes and I asked her what was wrong. She said she was hungry and I said then she needed to eat her dinner. She got up, tasted a tiny bit, said she liked it and then asked if she needed to eat the carrots. About two bites later, she said she didn’t like it. At this point, I wanted to drink but wine is too many fucking points and I was already out for the day. Fucking weight watchers. Sometimes, I think I should just be fat and happy.
Anyway, I made her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She tasted it. I don’t care if she doesn’t like it. There’s a ton of shit I don’t like. However, she has to try it. If she tries it and doesn’t like it, that’s one thing. I’m not going to make her eat something she doesn’t like. I’m not going to feed her PB&J or hot dogs simply because she refused to eat ANYTHING else.
After she ate the sandwich, the melodrama eased some and she said she was sorry for dropping her doll. DROPPING HER DOLL!
Me: What about the gigantic tantrum you through and the dinner you refused to eat? Are you sorry about that?
Scarlett: Shakes her head no.
Me: You’re not one bit sorry, are you?
That’s what I have to look forward to. I might just disappear for a few days to a hotel. Have a nice massage and a glass or twelve of wine and not give a flying fuck about the points. God, I need to get some writing done. That too. No pressure or anything.