The “willful” child; we have all heard stories about them, shaken our heads at them, whispered to friends about them, prayed about them and hoped beyond hope that we would not end up with one. You see where this is going don’t you, oh yes, my precious flower has become one of “those” children. I can’t seem to recall the boy at the age of three and a half anymore, I don’t know if that’s by choice or nature’s way of keeping me sane, but nevertheless, I don’t have any way to compare the two. That’s probably a good thing.
You see, this has started quite suddenly, just this summer. For someone with such an extensive vocabulary (for one so young) she sure does love the word, “no.” Whenever we tell her to clean up, take a bath, brush her teeth, get dressed, eat breakfast, put her shoes on, go to bed; I can see you are getting the picture here. It’s becoming rather terrible around our sweet little house as far as she is concerned. She flat out refuses to do anything we tell her to. Notice I say “tell,” I absolutely do not “ask” her to do anything, I learned that lesson long ago. Ask her highness to do something, you can forget it, I must TELL her and even then it gets tricky.
She is so stubborn that even threatening to take every last one of her toys doesn’t faze her. She will play for hours in her room, I love listening to her sweet little voice talking softly to her stuffed animals and baby dolls. Once it’s time to clean up, Cruella takes over and she becomes a nightmare! Not to mention her room has turned into a disaster zone; you can’t even see the floor. After we get to the point of begging, we start threatening, then I give up. Daddy or I might suggest to her that if she would like her behind to remain untouched by the palm of our hand she may want to clean up; nope, she will hold in the tears even if that unfortunate event does happen to take place. Nothing can get this child to listen. Finally, we take all of her toys and stuff them in a trash bag (which we hide in our laundry closet; no chance anyone but us will go there). She still doesn’t get upset.
Now, I am not purposefully trying to upset my child, I am just trying to get through to her. Anything that will make her understand that she must listen to her two loving, devoted parents who are at their wits end. Everyday it’s something with her. When she gets mad with me (for no apparent reason, I might add), she will march her little self-halfway up the stairs and look at me so upset and shout “You don’t want me down stairs anymore, you’re mean.” And I just look on stunned, thinking “What did I do?” When did my three-year-old turn into a pre-teen?
She is so bossy (I admit, that’s a personality defect she gets from her mother), independent (good thing), sassy, sweet, smart, willful, fearless, loving, silly, cheerful and so much, much more. I know this is just a phase we are going through, and one that I probably will forget (unless I go back and read old copies of the Village News, which I do to remind myself of the boy at this age). She loves to sing, dance, and play with her brother and her new puppy. She is the best girl in the world and I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect daughter, we are an excellent match; but I will say. I have my work cut out for me.