Palm twitchin'

I've always been told to turn a negative moment or thought into a positive one, so here it goes...

I was very proud of myself last week. 

I resisted the urge to throw my screaming satanic head-spinning spawn through a window at the local doctor's surgery. In fact, I think everyone at the surgery deserve a big pat on the back for not throwing my screaming satanic head-spinning spawn through a window. Cudos to you all.

Oscar nominee Grace Butter-Wouldn't-Melt-In-My-Mouth-If-My-Head-Was-On-Fire gave her award winning performance in the art of dummy spitting. Again. Her 10000 hertz 110 decibel dog attracting screams made even the elderly lady crack her knuckles, her palm twitching, ready the lash out with a can of whoop-arse. All eyes on me, once again, the sweating woman with the expressionless face who was, once again, avoiding all eye contact with the patients in the small waiting room. 

I know in my day my mum would have, without hesitation, reached out with her experienced tennis arm and backhanded me on the spot. But alas, today we are not allowed to exact this sort of fury on our precious little ones. Ahhh, the 70's. Those were the days. Being disrespectful to your mum meant being chased around the house with the wooden spoon. My mum rarely dished it out, but you knew when she was truly pissed when, quick as lightning, her hand flashed out from her side to give you a backhand across the chops making Billy the Kid proud. I only remember a couple of smacks from my mum. I quickly learned you don't piss off a pissed off mum. But smacking your kids these days can mean jail time. And the kids know it.

Hang on, let me think about it...Jail time equals private room plus someone cooking my meals plus free gym plus free movies plus learning a skill or getting a degree. Hmmmm. 

No. No. Shakes head. I'd miss my kids. After a while.

But I am trying very hard to remain positive these days. My God, it's an enormous ask. I'm trying to stay calm, cool, confident and collected. 

I said trying.

Yesterday, Lily turned to me on the couch, tossed her apple core on my lap, and said, "Put this is the bin."

Are you shitting me?

Lily gave herself ink.
Don't ever turn your back on her.

"Uuggggghhhh," she sighed loudly, got off the couch, walked to stand in front of me and The Wizard of Oz on TV, looked me in the eye and said slowly, "I. said. put. this. in. the. bin."

I stared back at her. 

She continued to stare.

I was not going to back down. I was not going to blink first. I was going to win at the stubborn staredown.

Lily stared. And stared. And stared. My eyes ached and began to water. I blinked. Fuck. 

"Put this in the bin," she repeated.

Calmly, I tell her, "You put your apple core in the bin like a good girl."

"I not a good girl. And you do what I say you little bugger bum or you will go on the naughty step for how old you are." Oh my God, how I would love that! 41 minutes of sitting quietly with no interruptions. Bliss.

I admit, I am scared of this child. She can make Linda Blair's 'Reagan' look like an angel.

I picked her up, carried her to the bin and made her drop the apple core in it. We continued to the dreaded 'naughty step'. I kept my cool and this unnerved her. 

After three minutes on the stairs, I crouched down before her.

"Ok, you've sat there for three minutes to think about how naughty you were. What do you have to say to Mummy?"

Still tilted her head, crossed her arms and pursed her lips. "Yes. Next time I tell you you better put my apple in the bin when I say."

Yep. Lesson learned.

Keeping my cool.


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