I love my daughter. She’s the world. Really, I do. I’m not just trying to convince myself.
It’s been a tough day. It’s been one of those days when she’s sucked away all my energy with major tantrums.
When she stomps and yells and demands and I give her consequences – I tell her what’s going to happen if she keeps going, thinking that she’ll listen, she’ll understand.
And then she doesn’t.
And that’s how I ended up in the car being screaming and cried at while my mother and sister finished visiting Avonlea Village.
I took her out of the village, I sat down with her and explained what was going to happen and I gave her one more chance, we went back in, and after about 20 minutes she started in again. I laid out exactly what we were going to do next: Visit the school house, ride in the horse-drawn buggy, have ice cream.
Don’t forget the ice cream.
Nope. Didn’t matter.
I know what happened, she didn’t sleep enough last night. I know that I handled it well. She got her consequence. This was a moment of good parenting.
But man oh man.
We’re here for another five days and I’m scared that I’m going to spend the whole vacation either fighting with her or feeling gun shy.
In my head I just have to keep telling myself: she’s a good kid, overall.