In Which Mothering Sucks

So, after a day of class and mandatory conference with students and grading while Class #2 took their midterm exam, I picked up Crabby Kid (aka LG) from daycare. Crabby Kid did not want to come home, even though I was already picking her up "late." Thus, Crabby Kid dawdled and prolonged the going-home process to about twice its usual length, whining and falling down on the ground. When we arrived at home Crabby Kid couldn't manage to extricate herself from the car seat without bawling, despite the fact that I had already undone the straps (which she also knows how to do).

Crabby Kid had already lost TV for the afternoon, based on poor choices (i.e. trying to hit her mother) in the morning, so she then proceeded to do some various crafts while I made dinner, according to her specifications. I thought we were in the clear. But, no. Crabby Kid took one look at dinner and started crying because it wasn't what she wanted: "No, Mom, I wanted the kind of noodle soup *without* broth. And that spiral thing we ate the other night that was spicy." (Nevermind that LG doesn't do spicy. And the noodles were the exact ones we ate the other night, which she liked.) The problematic noodles landed in her lap. More sobbing. I sent her up to her room to relax. Screaming about how I refused to give her a napkin?! Hystrionics and door slamming ensued.

I went to talk to her: Can you explain to me the problem.
LG: I'm crying because YOU DIDN'T GIVE ME A NAPKIN!
Me: Well, apparently I'm the worst mother in the world because I don't make the right dinner and I never give you napkins so clearly you should go live with someone else.
LG: I don't want a new mother.
Me: Then what is the problem?!
LG: You didn't give me a napkin!!!

Yeah, that's worth a good fifteen minutes of tears. Eventually, after a good hug, she stopped enough to return to the dinner table. At which time the noodles once again landed in her lap. Naturally, more crying. More drama.

Me: So is it really just hard being five?
LG: Yeah.
Me: Why don't you tell me about it. What happens now that didn't happen when you were four.
LG: I have to clean the house!
Me: Excuse me? You have the same chores you had when you were four.
LG: But I don't like cleaning my room. I want different jobs!

So, basically, in the 2 hours I had with LG between pick up and bedtime, there might have been about fifteen minutes when she wasn't either sobbing or arguing with me. Good times.