Daughter for sale, one crying and whining little daughter for sale

Spring is upon us, but last night when my head hit the pillow I raised my arms in celebration lost in thoughts about next fall. I entered a little contest on a website I frequent. The prize? A fancy battery operated HEATED Polartec fleece vest. I never thought the day would come that I would thank BC Football, but I think I am officially indebted. My comment about using this in the "wicked" cold at the games won me the vest. Next fall, I’ll be roasty toasty at even the frigid post Thanksgiving game! WooHoo! I will now try not to think of how amazing this vest would have been at the Bowl Game in Nashville.

Caroline. Seriously where is my daughter? My sweet, responsive, happy to oblige little girl? Since we arrived home there has been near constant tears, frumpy unhappy scowls when we ask her to do/or not to do just about anything, and a general sense of unhappiness. She even put herself into time out last night for the first time. We typically bring her over to her step, sit her down and tell her she is in timeout. Last night when I was ready to poke my eyes out with a toothpick as she reacted to yet another injustice, I commanded her to go to timeout and off she went, whining the whole way. She spent some of her day in time out yesterday at school too, which was unusual enough to be reported at the end of the day. Her crime – not listening and sassing. As we exited the building she refused to hold my hand, collapsing into a heap at the door causing an embarrassing traffic jam of parents and kids. I had to pull her up and into my arms where she squirmed and screamed bloody murder all the way to the car. In the car there was no movie as she had hoped there would be and that caused an all out sob fest. Sounds a lot like Alexander's No Good Very Bad Day doesn't it? I turned on the car, raised the volume to drown her out and took a deep breath. I spent the majority of the ride home calmly validating her sadness about the movie, reminding her that we need to hold hands for safety in the parking lot. At home there was more of the same, the details aren’t important, just understand this – I was ready to ship her off to wherever it is she came from in exchange for my real baby. It wasn’t all bad, there were a couple shining moments of affection and contentment, but even the absolute delight in rediscovering her kitchen and shopping cart gave way to the tears.

Time away from us may have caused some resentment or she may still be transitioning from days in MA to home, but SERIOUSLY, enough. This gig is NOT easy.


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