Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Recycle bin

Wednesdays are good for recycling, as Nate puts it. This is a post from February 15, on another blog. It pretty much sums up who my daughter is.

This is the morning that all mothers dread. Actually it began in the wee hours. Caleb has a stomach virus. Rotavirus to be precise. He is miserable, and while I will do everything I can to comfort him and care for him, he will remain in said state of misery. I have restricted him (read: quarantined) to his room and the bathroom, in the effort to disinfect the rest of the house. The problem is that this virus lives on hard surfaces for days, and takes one to two days to present. So every surface in the house has to be washed down with a bleach solution. Hailey and I have gone into voluntary seclusion in an effort to protect our friends. Actually, Hailey would rather share any possible or perceived germs with friends, but I won't let her. So we are staying home from our Valentine's Day skating party. The boxes and Valentines they made may be contaminated, so they have to go in the trash. Fortunately, I have the candy I bought to take to the party, so there is some consolation. I knew Hailey would take it hard, because she has been PMSing. She gets all drama on me over the least little thing. Last night I nixed Survivor until I could preview it, because of some inappropriate content I knew was in the episode, and you would have thought I had taken TV away from her permanently. She had such a fit that I told her to go to her room and read for the last thirty minutes until bed time. She threw herself down at my feet squalling and begging me to change my mind. So I took away the reading option, and told her to go to bed early. That just escalated the reaction. She started screaming at me to forgive her and give her a second chance. "I'm sorry, Mommy! Pleeeeeeeease give me another chance! Let me read for a while, pleeeeeease!" So I sent her for the paddle. Needless to say, I knew the information that we would not be participating in the festivities today would be met with a high level of resistance and drama. Boy, was I unprepared. I explained the properties of the virus, and as understanding dawned in her eyes, I took her in my arms and told her I understood her disappointment. I was looking forward to this party, too. We cried together, and she begged and pleaded as I expected her to do, and then she quieted down. I sent her back to bed, as it was still before time to get up, with instructions not to wake her sleeping brother, and I took my weary bones back to bed. It wasn't five minutes, when I was drifting into the warm, fuzzy state of oblivion, that I heard the dying mountain lion. At least, that's what it sounded like. "What's a mountain lion doing dying on the other end of the house?" I asked myself. Then it registered. There is no mountain lion. That sound is the wailing of a drama queen. I jumped out of bed and ran to her room just in time for her to be drawing in a breath. "Are you kidding me?" I ask. I understand she is disappointed, but this it way over the top. So she goes into detail. "I'm crying because I am sad my brother is sick, not because we can't go." "Oh, pah-leeze!" I say. "You can dial down the drama now. No one believes you, and if you wake up your brother when he has been up puking his guts out all night, and has drifted into unconsciousness, you and I will need to have a serious discussion. Is that understood? Now get out your book and take your mind somewhere other than your problems. That is not a suggestion!" So we have come to an understanding for now.

2 comments:

HappyChristian said...

The joys of pre-teens, I guess I didn't realize that she was soooo dramatic, I can't wait- NOT! I have 2 drama queens here, and so far 1 drama king. I am looking to you dear friend for advice! :)

My Goodness said...

Wow, that's really something. I have seen signs that Ella is going to give me all kinds of heck when she starts PMSing.