The first day I took the boys to the bus stop in the morning, some weeks ago, there was another man there waiting with his son when along emerged a carful of kids just as the bus approached. Included in the car was a little girl who was clearly having a very bad start to her day. She stormed from the backseat and took off in the opposite direction from the bus, stomping, crying, and furiously throwing objects in her path.
It was a scene.
After she left, and the bus rolled on with our kids on board, the man who had been waiting with his son, a man who lives just a few doors down from us, turned to me. “Did you see that little girl? No way. Nuh-uh!”, he exclaimed. “If I ever acted like that, my mama would have whacked me upside the head.”
I nodded, “Tell me about it. I would never hit my kids, but they know better than to act like that.”
This, right there. Do you see that? That’s where I eat my words.
Yesterday, my daughter and I took a stroll around the neighborhood. As we neared home, however, it dawned on her where she was and it was not where she wanted to be. Abby didn’t want to go inside like I explained we needed to do. Her voice raised in sheer defiance, the rocks she had been saving in her hand were lobbed like angry baseballs. It was a scene. Right in front of that man’s house.
Um, well, my daughter will know better. Eventually. After she gets done being 3.