Wrong Side of the Planet

There’s getting up on the wrong side of the bed, and then there’s the lass this morning.

It all started innocently enough. She was eating her breakfast, but at a snail’s pace because her attention was on the TV and the show her brother was watching. He had already finished his breakfast and was dressed and ready for the day. The lass, by contrast, was still in her PJ’s and barely ready for the next mouthful.

I told her to eat her breakfast, which simply resulted in her turning to take mouthful of food and then turning back to the TV, jaw barely working. Beginning to realize the foe I was up against, I enlisted my Nook Tablet in deploying a counter measure: I had the boy turn the TV off and handed him the Nook so he could watch his Netflix show on that.

My strategy had the desire effect of prompting the lass to finish her breakfast. It also had the side effect of darkening her mood considerably. It’s almost like one of Newton’s laws: for every action, there is a disproportionate reaction.

She had hockey this morning at 8:50. So naturally, it being around 8:00 at this point, she decided to sit down and turn the TV back on so she could watch “her show.” When I told her to go start getting her under garments on for hockey, she groused, stomped around the house, declared that she “couldn’t find her stuff” and went back to watching her show.

My blood pressure was rising, but I kept myself in check. Remember- don’t feed the monster. I located her clothes for her, told her where they were and told her to go start getting them on. She started moving and, satisfied that things were kinda-sort-of on track, I decided to go take a shower.

When I finished up, the Wife informed me that she’d gone downstairs to find the lass sitting in front of the TV, again, still in her PJ’s with some of her hockey stuff sitting next to her. The Wife had her turn the TV off and that’s when things started to go downhill. Fast.

The lass started complaining, loudly, that her thermals were itching her. She even declared “That’s all this stuff does is make you itchy- it doesn’t keep you warm at all, just itchy.” Then she wanted to know why she needed to go to hockey. The Wife ignored her. The lass persisted. The Wife continued to ignore her. The lass persisted louder. When the Wife continued to refuse an answer, the lass sat down on the floor, folded her arms across her chest and declared she wasn’t going to hockey.

So I stepped back into the fray and told her she’d lost Wii and DS privileges and she’d be going to bed early tonight. She countered with “I don’t care.” Total, unadulterated BS, to which I simply replied “You will.” She started getting dressed again. Then she stopped. We prompted her to get going because she was going to be late for practice. Even the boy had realized they’d normally have been on the way to the rink by now. The lass started to cry because she wanted the Wife to put her hair up.

I took this as a sign that the tide was turning, slowly, in our direction. Thankfully, I was correct. She continued to drag her feet, but she was moving forward, not stuck in neutral anymore. After a final few altercations about elbow pads and her jersey, she was finally ready to go and out the door.

By that point, the Wife had commissioned the boy to start the car to warm it up. That move had as much to do with removing him for the scene as anything. I’d say it helped since he wasn’t there to tweak his sister about her mood.

Practiced started at 8:50. They left the house around 8:45, finally.

I can hardly wait for the teen years.