When it was time to turn the wii off she first ignored us. On the second request, she started to argue that it hadn't been 30 minutes. On the third request, she continued to argue that it hadn't been 30 minutes.
Parent lesson of the day: Use a timer always.
The rule in the house is 3 strikes and you lose a privilege. So at the second request, I told her if she doesn't stop playing, she will lose gaming privileges through Wednesday. So when we hit the third request, she lost them. "I don't care" she said as she stormed out of the room.
Then we started homework. Mid-way through she asked if she could play her DS after homework was done. I calmly said, no, that she'd lost her privileges. "That didn't include my DS. That's MINE." Well, gaming includes the DS, I said. "THAT'S NOT FAIR" she yelled as she stormed away from the table and into her room.
Then, two minutes later she stormed back out, yelled, "THE DS IS MINE, YOU CAN'T TAKE IT" as she grabbed her DS from the coffee table and marched back into her room, slamming the door theatrically behind her.
How I managed to keep my voice at steady level is beyond me, but at this point I turned into the principal from The Breakfast Club.
"Life isn't fair" she said. "I think kids and adults should be equals. They're not, they're like black and white people, and kids are like the black people. When I grow up, I am going to be the President and make them equal."
I had to hide a chuckle here and said, "I'd be very proud if you became President." I held my hand out and asked for the DS or she'd get another week.
"I don't care" she said, hiding the DS under her. OK, I said, that's TWO weeks.
"I don't care she said."
You want to make it three weeks?" I asked.
"I don't care," she repeated. "Fine, I said, four weeks. Do you want to keep going?"
"I DON'T CARE."
"Fine, you've lost it indefinitely."
Mike, who was just watching said, well, let's go make dinner, Amy. Thank you Mike for pulling me away. How I got so sucked in was beyond me. How I ended up sounding like the principal also bewildered me.
In about 5 minutes, I brought her a glass of water with her evening meds, and she handed me the DS without asking. I was relieved she did. If she hadn't, I wasn't sure what we'd do the rest of the night.
Then we tried to make the rest of the night positive. We focused on the stickers she'd earned for being asked to do things once. We read a chapter of Matilda. She still wasn't thrilled with us, but she clearly wasn't permanently damaged.
Meanwhile, I went to bed pretty shaken. I knew it couldn't happen, but I had hoped she'd just fold right into our house and we'd be one perfect family. I had a hard time sleeping and I started to question what we'd done. So Wednesday, Mike watched Rosie at night and I went for a workout. Nothing like a few endorphins to push away the evil principal. By Thursday I began to feel a little more positive. Friday was wonderful.
Update: After considering things, Mike and reduced the penalty to 2 weeks, and told her if she got dressed for school within 5 minutes this week, she'd get it back 3 days sooner.
2 comments:
I had to smile at the principal from The Breakfast Club reference. It's seems as though you can look back and have a sense of humor over certain situations which is definitely required in parenting. We ALL have our not so bright moments and days, said things we may cringe over later. The other day in the van I went off in a rant over some spilled juice, which the girls are rarely allowed to have in the vehicle for this exact reason. In a not so bright moment I started yelling and calling the juice "Stupid", which is a word I rarely, if never, use in front of the girls - as they are not allowed to use it ever! But I apologized and said it was wrong of me.
Later I laughed and thought about how silly it was to lose it over such a small thing. But I take a deep breath and I remind myself tomorrow is another day. Have to admit, the endorphins ARE a wonderful thing. I still play basketball 2x a week and can 'feel' it when I miss a week. We all need some 'me' time. It sounds like you're doing a WONDERFUL job. Rosie is very blessed.
Just keep swimming....
Kelly
Dear Mr. Vernon: We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it is we did wrong, but we think you're crazy for making us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us: in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain, and an athlete, and a basket case, a princess, and a criminal. Does that answer your question? Sincerely yours, The Breakfast Club.
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