The battle of Monday

Monday was a BATTLE: against messes and mischief, against what I wanted vs. what Amber wanted. In short, Monday was a long drawn out battle of wills.

On Monday morning after Jay and Rose left on the bus, Amber asked me to turn on music for her in the playroom while I did a little sewing in the basement, so I sent some Tinkerbell music up on Alexa. Amber often happily plays in the playroom when the right music is on--earlier that same day, she had disappeared to play happily with Barbies for 20 minutes. I thought we were on a roll for a smooth peaceful morning.


When I finished sewing, I went in search of Amber, expecting to see a heartwarming scene of Barbie finery laid out with the Tinkerbell movie soundtrack playing in the background. Instead, I found Amber crouching in a plastic bin hiding the old cell phone in her lap and watching cartoons on it. I sternly told her to hand it over, which she did on my third request. Obviously I told her that it was NOT ALLOWED to steal the phone without permission. She was not happy that I was stern with her, and she did her ear-piercing fake howl cry. Not pleasant.

A little later I called my mom to say hi, and we talked for SO LONG. It was lovely. I love my mom. While we talked, I went outside and walked behind Amber on her bike, because Amber insisted on me going on a bike ride with her. Then Amber played around the garage with scooters and sidewalk chalk while I paced and talked with Mom in the shade of the big tree behind our driveway. Eventually, Amber started playing in the van, and when I shooed her out of the van, she went inside. I stayed outside for a little while longer after Amber went in because it was pleasant talking on the phone in the shade.

When I was ready to go inside, I walked behind our van to get to the basement door and immediately noticed that the rear windshield wiper on our van was broken off and hanging by a thread. Amber must've hung from it like a monkey to exert enough force to snap that thick plastic attachment! I mourned and fumed, then went to open the basement door. It was LOCKED. Amber had locked me OUT. I walked around outside to the kitchen door. LOCKED. Feeling defeated, trampled, and worn thin, I walked around to the front door. Happy day, it was unlocked. Our friends the Weavers had jogged past that morning on the canal road and I had gone out the front door to wave at them, leaving it unlocked afterwards. Usually the front door stays locked at all times because it tends to blow open in strong winds. Thank goodness Derek and Brittany went running this morning!

I entered the house and immediately noticed that it was unnaturally quiet. "Amber?" I called. No response. With a mounting sense of dread, I began searching for the Amb-child. She was nowhere to be found. I checked all of the rooms. Nada. Then I heard a rustling in the hallway, and Amber came walking out with brown stuff smeared all around her face. She had taken the big jar of Nutella and a spoon into the playroom, eating it by the spoonful while hiding in a large cardboard box. I did not see her when I checked the playroom because she was so well hidden inside the box, and so craftily silent in her mischief. Who knows how much Nutella she ingested before coming out to confess. She was not hungry for at least three hours after that, though. When Amber appeared, I didn't freak out-- somehow all of the fight had gone out of me. I wearily asked her where the Nutella jar was, retrieved it from the box in the playroom, put the lid back on, and set the spoon in the sink. Amber scampered off to the bathroom to wash her face without being asked--the only silver lining in that whole spectacle.

She spent the remainder of the day climbing on me and pestering me till my bubble was popped, shriveled, and pummeled to dust. I suppose it was preferable to her destructive disappearing tactics.

A terrible, dirty car reflection picture of the busted rear wiper attachment. We removed the dangling pieces before driving. Thankfully it doesn't rain much here in the summertime...but I'm sure we'll get it fixed at some point in the next few months.

Stealing the phone and hiding with it in a plastic bin. She hid with the Nutella in that big box behind her.

Black and white seemed suitably gloomy for a picture of me trying to forgive my 4 year old for locking me out of the house so she could consume large quantities of Nutella.

The program Jay and Rose are in at school is called the highly capable program. We received this well-worded flyer in the mail and it was hanging on the fridge taunting me all day Monday as I did battle with my wild child. Obviously the meeting was about the highly capable program, not exclusively for highly capable parents, but I found the order of the words amusing. The school district has such faith in my parenting abilities, ha ha.