The Butterfly Grew Horns
A few blogs ago I was strutting like a proud peacock and boosting about how well behaved and disciple my little Butterfly is. I really must learn to keep my big mouth shut! She all but gave me the finger today and today has gone down as the worst day of my life. I think today she has made up for three years of good behaviour and earned her nick name “Terror-Marie.” I never want another day like today, ever!
It started this morning with a tantrum because she wanted to watch television. On Sunday mornings while her favourite parent cooks breakfast the television stays off and the music is on. To his credit and for the first time ever the Mauritian did not give into her and she earned her first smack from him when she threw her moon chair out the back door. Breakfast consisted of a refusal to eat anything except her bacon and trying to steal my bacon off my plate. So I sent her to her room, to which she screamed “I’m not going to my room!” and slammed her fist on the table. Well, not the table rather the edge of her plate which sent it on a triple back flip to the floor with a showering of breakfast on both her parents. That earned her a timeout while we cleaned up and no breakfast.
We had decided the night before to go out for a walk or a picnic but after all the performances we were running a bit late so decided we would share the housework and then decide what to do afterwards. We didn’t do anything much! What we did do between chores was argue, fight and punish a very defiant little Terror. She was playing on my laptop and couldn’t get something right so set about hitting the keyboard with her fists. Luckily the Mauritian just happened to walk into the room and was able to stop her before she started. Needless to say she has now been banned from the lap top, which caused a few extra tantrums today too. She gave her lunch to the birds, squashed bananas by stomping on them, bit me and hit me with her “Maka Paka” bath toy when I tried to bath her.
Then this evening we went to church, she didn’t want to go. She threw herself on the foyer floor and screamed that she wanted to go for a walk and she “not going to church ever!” I gripped Pierre’s hand and just kept walking, I wanted to crawl into a hole and die at that very moment. Our priest went over to the Terror and sat down on the floor and spoke to her for a long time and then quietly brought her into the church to sit with us. Five minutes into the mass she’s having a tug of war with another little girl over a book they both wanted. The Terror was winning of course, she had a huge size and weight advantage and she was screeching with rage. She refused to whisper and blatantly told me “I don’t want to!” when I told her to be quiet. I don’t think I need to tell you that when it was time for us to go home she didn’t want to leave. It took me about five minutes to get her kicking and squirming body into the car and a further ten minutes to get her into her chair and buckled in. I am literally battle scarred after that experience. She then screamed the entire journey home and promptly refused to get out the car when we got home. So we just left her there, for an hour and a half! We arrived home at just after 6.30pm she eventually came in very sheepishly at about 8pm and asked if she could go to bed.
I graciously and willingly agreed!
It started this morning with a tantrum because she wanted to watch television. On Sunday mornings while her favourite parent cooks breakfast the television stays off and the music is on. To his credit and for the first time ever the Mauritian did not give into her and she earned her first smack from him when she threw her moon chair out the back door. Breakfast consisted of a refusal to eat anything except her bacon and trying to steal my bacon off my plate. So I sent her to her room, to which she screamed “I’m not going to my room!” and slammed her fist on the table. Well, not the table rather the edge of her plate which sent it on a triple back flip to the floor with a showering of breakfast on both her parents. That earned her a timeout while we cleaned up and no breakfast.
We had decided the night before to go out for a walk or a picnic but after all the performances we were running a bit late so decided we would share the housework and then decide what to do afterwards. We didn’t do anything much! What we did do between chores was argue, fight and punish a very defiant little Terror. She was playing on my laptop and couldn’t get something right so set about hitting the keyboard with her fists. Luckily the Mauritian just happened to walk into the room and was able to stop her before she started. Needless to say she has now been banned from the lap top, which caused a few extra tantrums today too. She gave her lunch to the birds, squashed bananas by stomping on them, bit me and hit me with her “Maka Paka” bath toy when I tried to bath her.
Then this evening we went to church, she didn’t want to go. She threw herself on the foyer floor and screamed that she wanted to go for a walk and she “not going to church ever!” I gripped Pierre’s hand and just kept walking, I wanted to crawl into a hole and die at that very moment. Our priest went over to the Terror and sat down on the floor and spoke to her for a long time and then quietly brought her into the church to sit with us. Five minutes into the mass she’s having a tug of war with another little girl over a book they both wanted. The Terror was winning of course, she had a huge size and weight advantage and she was screeching with rage. She refused to whisper and blatantly told me “I don’t want to!” when I told her to be quiet. I don’t think I need to tell you that when it was time for us to go home she didn’t want to leave. It took me about five minutes to get her kicking and squirming body into the car and a further ten minutes to get her into her chair and buckled in. I am literally battle scarred after that experience. She then screamed the entire journey home and promptly refused to get out the car when we got home. So we just left her there, for an hour and a half! We arrived home at just after 6.30pm she eventually came in very sheepishly at about 8pm and asked if she could go to bed.
I graciously and willingly agreed!
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