No Fear

I have a strong-willed child. I remember listening to someone speak on parenting years ago. Back when I had one toddler and a baby. She said, "If you think you might have a strong-willed child--you don't." I now know this to be true.

Back when I was a novice mommy--when I just had a toddler and a baby--I wondered if my child was strong-willed. She wasn't. She was an angel. An angel who happened to be a toddler. Which meant she would occasionally whine, occasionally have tantrums, and occasionally test the waters to see if her dad and I were still in charge. She was NOT and still is NOT a strong-willed child.

My youngest daughter is a strong-willed child. The sneaky kind. The kind that hides behind these two huge, beautiful, brown eyes and two adorable dimples and a winning personality--when she chooses to exercise it. It is very easy to get along with this lovely child and to see her bright smile. Do whatever she wants, don't make her do anything she doesn't want to do, and certainly don't hand out any consequences for inappropriate behavior. If you violate this code--be forewarned--her strong-willed personality will rear its ugly head.

It happened tonight. Apparently, my son touched or looked at his younger sister. She let out an ear-piercing scream. The kind that shatters light fixtures. She has a rather nasty habit of doing this when she is displeased. She has been told that is inappropriate behavior. She has even been disciplined for it in the past. You'd think she'd remember that. I calmly told her to go to her room. She gave me "the look," yelled at everyone to leave her cup of milk alone, and then she stuck out her tongue when she thought I wasn't looking.

"I need you to go to your room, put on your pajamas, and brush your teeth and get into bed." I told her. "You are done here for the evening." She stomped off to her room and slammed the door. But not before giving me the kind of look that could kill. The kind of look you usually see on the face of someone livid. Like the person you accidentally cut off on the Interstate. Or on the face of your teenager when you've just rained on his/her parade. Not the kind of look you want to see on your five-year-old.

Even after all of that, she had the audacity to come back in the dining room and yell at her brother again, telling him it was all his fault that she got into trouble.

I keep praying that we will get this under control. I keep searching for creative discipline techniques, and I keep hoping that if all of this passion can be channeled appropriately, it will be used for some great purpose someday.

Meanwhile, I guess I will get out the screwdriver so her dad can take her bedroom door off of its hinges when he gets home.