|Oh, the nightmarish horror of it all.|
I'm the worst mom ever.
Yadda, yadda, yadda...
Wow. Haven’t heard this kind of tantrum—complete with throat-shredding screeches—in a long time. Here’s how it started:
The boys are away on a ski weekend, so the girls and I are home alone. I made Daughter and Little Girl a deal: if they help me with housecleaning this morning, they both get to have a friend over this afternoon. Woot-woot, win for everyone!
While the eleven-year-old changed her bed linens and collected her dirty laundry, the nine-year-old worked on cleaning out the kid-junk drawers in the basement coffee table. I was vacuuming in the next room when I heard a scream.
“There’s a spider in the drawer!” Little Girl cried.
“Dead or alive?”
“Dead,” she told me.
“Here,” I said as I went into the laundry room. I pulled off a full-size sheet of paper towel, dampened it, and demonstrated on top of the freezer how you slap it over the spider, the spider sticks to the towel, and you toss it in the trash.
It is now thirty minutes later and the horror has escalated to the point that it sounds like Hannibal Lechter is butchering my child in our basement.
“I hate my stupid life!” (Wails and screaming and gnashing of teeth.) “Why do I have to do everything?!?” (Banshee howls and flailing of body parts.) “I can’t doooooooo iiiiiiiiiiit!!!”
Was that the music from Psycho I just heard?
Her older sister headed downstairs.
“Do not clean up the spider for her,” I commanded. “She can do this.”
They’re down there now. Big Sis—who has killed, picked up, and disposed of spiders for her older brother since she was four—is talking Little Girl through it.
Yipes! Here they come!
Little Girl’s eyes are wet, but otherwise she appears unbutchered.
“I did it,” she says. With a smile. A SMILE.
“I knew you could,” I tell her.
“It was gross.”
They have now gone back to completing their chores.
One more milestone on the path to adulthood: Check.