“I hate you!” cut like a knife today when I sent Olivia to her room after school after she completely ignored me when I told her to come to the house, instead running after her friends.
A quick step back, a listen to what I was saying, and she could be at the park playing right now.
Instead, there’s the stomping, the screaming, the angst and the “I HATE YOU” and feet banging coming from upstairs, when she heard me answer the door and tell her friends ‘No, she can’t come to the park’.
She’s so strong willed. So independent. So in charge. All things I’m certain are going to be easier to appreciate more when she’s an adult. For now, she’s just so exhausting.
It all could have been completely avoided if she had listened, for just a moment,
And here we are. We’ve reached the ‘I hate you’ stage when we repeatedly have raised this child with ‘hate’ being the word not spoken in our house.
While she was still screaming ‘I hate you!’ from upstairs. I closed the door, and counted to ten.
I snuggled with the one who doesn’t hate me and wait for the one who does to come down with an apology and yet another freakin’ lecture about respect, rudeness and following instructions.