Last night the Princess exhibited the greatest display of temper tantrum that has ever graced our halls. She cried. She wailed. She hit. She kicked. She jumped. She thrashed. She rammed into doors. She disowned me in about 25 ways. All because she couldn't find the "right" Yoga Pretzel card.
The fit lasted about 45 minutes, and if she hadn't tired herself out, probably could have gone on another hour. She was determined to do The Snake yoga pose, but could only find The Cobra pose in her stack of yoga cards. Trying to explain the a cobra is a snake and therefore they are the same move just made her madder, and before long she was in full Hulk mode. And, somehow, the whole affair became my fault.
When the Queen and I got drunk enough and thought that it was a good idea to have kids, we were told that the "I hate you" stage wouldn't start until she turned 12 or 13. "When they're young, they have short fits about things and just cry," they said. "It's those teenage years you have to worry about." Well, my kid must be jerkily gifted because she lets me know that I'm not her family about 5 times a day.
Today started started with my loving child climbing into bed and slapping me in the face and telling me to get out of the house. Then, she tried to dictate what pair of daytime underwear I should go and fetch her while she waited to pass judgement. Unfortunately for her, these strong-arm tactics haven't worked yet. The next hour and a half found her screaming at the top of her lungs that I needed to go and find "the right" pair of underwear, bring them to her like a faithful dog, while she waited and watched iPad.
I drank coffee and watched Morning Joe.
Right now, I'm not allowed to work on my computer, sit on the couch, eat with utensils, or talk on the phone. As someone with a deadline looming and about half of dozen pictures to edit and a Flash movie to compose, my computer is sort of necessary. As it stands now, my day looks like alternating between punishing meanness and then hugging and talking about better choices. When you work at home, your schedule usually is dictated by the moods and leaps of your much younger co-workers.
The good news, the Princess has not outlawed dreaming of being alone on a deserted island. Boy, look at that monkey dance!
Jack Grubb writes an incredible blog, Losing the Internets, which is read by at least 37 people and over 2,100 Russian SPAM bots. In his spare time he helps small companies find their marketing voice. Jack currently lives deliberately in Appalachia, Kentucky with his wife, two daughters, Jack Russell and a Lego collection beyond compare.