How do I love to argue? Let me count the ways...

My mother insists Care Bear needs to become a judge.

Now that I'm done shuddering, I can continue. Care Bear came out arguing. Seriously. The nurse looked at her and said, "wooooooooooooweeeee, do you have a temper. Where did she get that?" Dada and I looked at each other and shrugged. Turns out, the nurse was right on. Our sweet, beautiful, funny girl has an amazing temper. Not only can she scream like a girl, and often does, she has a stubborn streak several miles wide. We are sure that as she grows older, she's going to be labeled "strong willed", "independent", "forceful", "determined" and other such ideas. Her teachers are going to mean "stubborn", "bull headed", "set in her ways", etc, but will be too professional to ever say such things. At least in writing.

I probably shouldn't be blogging in the heat of the moment, but since blogging is also my free therapy as well as what keeps you up to date, let me tell you about our day.

Today was the second day of school. Yes, things are already falling apart around here and it is only the second day of school. This morning when we got up... no, wait. It should start with last night. Last night was Dada's championship softball game. It was raining. Not too bad, but enough to be wet. The kids took their own plastic bats and wiffle balls and ran around batting, hitting, chasing balls, chasing each other, falling down, you get the idea. Then they ran the bases in the rain once the game was over (I believe the score was 15-1 in favor of Dada's team... officially, the game was called.) So we had wet, tired kids. By the time we got them home and dry and in bed, it was probably 9 PM. Care Bear had gotten up at 7:15 and had the usual unknowns and stresses that come with being a six-year-old getting ready for the first all day at school. She gets home a little bit before 4 PM. So we snacked and went to the game, had some pizza and Gatorade there (it being the last game and all), got rained on, got to bed late.

I got her up at about 7 this morning because if you've ever been here to see her eat, it takes awhile. She likes to look at things and talk about things and sing about things while she's eating. So after a late night for her, she gets up early, and right away starts arguing. We argued about whether or not she was going to eat her egg and then her toast. Then the crusts on her toast.

Who knew crusts could be such a big deal? Dada and I prefer that she eat her crusts. They are, after all, only the outsides of the bread. Carrie prefers to save the crusts for the birds. The people who started her on that tradition shall remain nameless. They are not the point. The point is, she wanted to fight about crusts. We compromised (before I'd even had coffee, thank you very much) on her eating three of the crusts and saving one for the birds.

Then she wanted to fight about raincoats. It was sprinkling here again. We have two raincoats. One is a humungous tent with Scooby Doo on it and the other is a smaller, plainer (but still blue) and lined version. She wanted Scooby Doo. I insisted on the other one for easier maneuvering. Tantrum number two, and it's not even 8:05 AM.

We (Liam and I, Dada is already gone for all of these fun & games) get her off to the bus stop, have our day together, and she gets home. She starts off with telling me "no" for any little thing I ask her to do. She neglects and neglects and neglects her dinner until I declare that we are not playing "Crocodile Rock" by Elton John any more times until her plate is clean. She eats.

She dances and runs around and burns off all the energy she couldn't get out on the playground seeing as they're only out there for half an hour or so and she's been outside all day most days this summer. I finally boot her and Liam and the dog outside so they can be crazy in the yard.

When it's bedtime, she fights about brushing her teeth. She really wants me to read to her. Still not brushing. She really, really wants me to read to her. Not brushing. She probably begged with "pleeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEEaaaaaaZZZZZZZZZZe" 23 times. That might be understating it. Also followed by the, "I'll liiiiiiiisten after you reeeeeead to me" and things of that nature.

The only thing that is keeping this child alive this evening is that I know how exhausted she is.

I tell her I'm not listening to it any more, because being the grown up I know she only wants the audience. I leave the bathroom after telling her at least 7 times to brush her teeth, I can hear her arguing with herself after I shut the door, and she locks it. I set the timer for 5 minutes, go back up, ask if she's rinsed yet and she says, "no. I haven't done any of it yet." Then she starts all over AGAIN and begs to brush her teeth. I bodily pick her up, carry her into the bedroom, set her on the bed, cover her up (all the while she is screaming like she's being murdered), kiss her forehead, tell her I love her, and that I'll check on her later.

She's screaming about not wanting to get cavities.

"No, there is too much, let me sum up" is a quote from the Princess Bride. We use it often around here. You don't need to tell me I am a terrible mother because I put my kid to bed without brushing her teeth. You don't need to tell me I could have negotiated better at any of those "no's" or "I won't's" or anything. You also don't need to tell me that I should have insisted we drive separately last night to get the kids home early. You don't even need to tell me I should pick my battles. I know all that, and more.

What I DO want to hear is this: how do you channel your child's determination/ strong will/ whatever into positives? I especially want to hear from parents of older children. Even ones with grown children. Please leave comments. Don't email me or call me, just leave a comment. That way the crew who reads this will benefit too. Teachers, parents, social workers (I just know someone's gonna call Children & Youth on me one of these days after one of these posts), whoever you are, please share some wisdom. What worked or works for you and yours?

PS Mommee, I still say she's a born lawyer. She'd argue with the Devil himself!