In her defense the wound was quite substantial and the blood was all over the side of the pool, but the fit that Rocky had was more on the scale of an amputated leg. After a ridiculous display of bawling it turned into hysterically screaming that she wanted to go home...for 20 minutes. It was to the point that everyone at the pool was feeling uncomfortable, the kids, their parents, the employees, and even the people doing laps on the other side of the complex. In these situations I always find myself looking around and trying to figure out who is going to solve the problem and am horrified when I realize that the answer is me. I did what any other mother would do, left my infant and three year old in the pool with my friends and took Rocky into the bathroom to beat her. Well, that is what I felt like doing. I finally told her that if she didn't get herself under control she was going to lose her Friday night movie. The movie night is not something I normally use as a threat but I was out of ideas. Leaving was out of the question because the tantrum that Daisy would have thrown about leaving would have probably been just as loud. The second I mentioned the movie the screaming stopped, the tears stopped, and a poised little girl walked out with her harried mom and got into the pool like nothing had happened.
I wonder what the other moms thought had happened.
Maybe this is where Rocky gets her fire.
I still feel slightly justified in my anger because it wasn't just the colors that were mixed. It was the old dough with the new dough. The crumbly nasty stuff with the beautiful, pliable, soft and vibrant freshly opened birthday stuff. Seriously? Who is with me?
I think this situation is a mistake that none of us will make again.
It is in moments like these that I cling to this little girl who is too little to even recognize a color, let alone mix it with another. Her rebellion is surely on the way but for now I will enjoy the fact that if she does something annoying it isn't on purpose.