It starts kind. It starts quiet. It starts with a gentle touch; a sweet reminder.
And before I know it, I am yelling up the stairs, threatening, and invoking my own mother so very well. “That’s it! I’ve had it!”
This dance, this struggle, is frequent enough that it deserves my attention. My REAL attention. And it needs me to do something different, for the love of Pete.
So, this morning, I could feel the slow dance beginning and picking up speed. The 5 year old defiantly and happily bounded down the basement steps (the opposite direction of her clothing), and I stared at my husband with wide eyes. Click. Okay, something different.
“Mark, we are not going to say one more word about the damn clothes. I will find her clothes, bring them in the car, but that is it.”
He nodded in silent agreement, happy to be freed from the usual “DO something with that horrid child” he usually gets.
And don’t ya know it. About 20 minutes before we were leaving, she found a dress, brushed her hair and teeth, got on her shoes, and happily bounded out to the car.
Huh.
Sometimes this parent coaching stuff works.