Sarah did it.
That is going to be what is indicated as “cause of death” in my obituary.
She will not have ACTUALLY physically caused me harm. She’s as sweet as they come. But if I lose my sanity and die an early death, it will be because of her.
Don’t let that cutie pie face fool you. Come by any morning when we are getting ready to leave the house. I don’t need to give you the address, you’ll hear us when you get within a mile. Trust me.
In typical “second child” fashion, Sarah has a stubborn, independent, “tempestuous” streak a mile long. She wants to be 10 years older and do all the things without any of my help, thank you very much.
Gone are the days of getting up, throwing a diaper and some clothes on her, grabbing a snack and heading out the door. I used to get her up 10 minutes before it was time to leave the house. That gave her as little time as possible to be distracted by all the things she would rather be doing than leaving the house, like rearranging the crayons in the crayon box or making sure the magnets are JUST RIGHT on the fridge. It worked like a charm. Have her snack visible as soon as she rounded the corner and we were out the door. Worked like a charm.
She was dressed up, cute as a button. She had matching skirts and tops, fun colorful pants and whimsical dresses with tights.
Then she got an opinion when it came to fashion and wanted “choices”.
Choices that one would describe as “eclectic”, “eccentric” and “unique” on a good day.
And these choices are not made lightly. OR quickly. No, not quickly at all. With a commute that even a 5 minute delay can be the difference between smooth sailing and dead standstill, I do not have time to waste.
But apparently the artistic choices of my pintsized Fashion Plate cannot be rushed.
Oh, and help is not wanted. Nooooo, no help. She needs to do it. “I do it myself!” In a state of frustration, one time (maybe even this morning) I took her pants off after she, for 10 minutes, declared she wanted to do it herself. I pointed out to her that she was, in fact, doing nothing herself so I would help her. I am sure you can imagine how that went.
There was flailing about, tears, throwing of things, and she was even worse.
She finally got her pants and put them on.
Just not the pants she needed to put on for school. She put back on the pants I took off of her. Looking at me defiantly she declared, for the 100 bazillionth time, “I do it MYSELF.” She then took those pants off and took another 3 years to put on the rest of her outfit.
I love her independence. I love she wants to do these things herself because at times it really helps out. On the weekend she is dressed and ready to go before I even get her out of her room. Standing there sweetly, “I did it myself!”
Then she demands I make her breakfast, like a little tyrant.
I know some people can’t stand their kids going to school in outfits that don’t match, isn’t appropriate to the weather, or don’t fit quite right.
I understand that. Sometimes my daughter looks like something belonging on the Island of Misfit toys. But I love it. There will be a time she will be all to self-conscious about what she is wearing, wanting to look like everyone else. I am going to enjoy her being entirely 100% true to herself, in all of her colors, prints and patterns.
Even if it means I will be pulling my hair out.
Have a great crazy day!