When Brooke was a baby, she was super easy. I could put her down, go about chores, and almost forget about her. Not that I did, but she was always so happy and content.
Then she turned two and I questioned myself on how I could have successfully raised one child painlessly through what some call the terrible twos (obviously it was a matter of who had the strongest will, I thought) to have a second child that became the poster child of the terrible twos.
Brooke made life miserable. For one year I couldn't go to a restaurant, because it wasn't fair to other paying customers. For one year, many times my parents asked me to take my girls and go home, that they'd had enough of her. For one year, I remember pulling the car over to yank Brooke out of a car seat for her back arching, piercing screams because her chocolate milk in her bottle ran out during a 10 minute car ride and she didn't appreciate the confines of a car seat.
Oh yes, I went there! Chocolate milk in a bottle to buy me as much quiet in driving time as possible.
One year. It felt like a lifetime.
Now Brooke is 13 and daily I am reminded of her terrible twos.
I'm building an arsenal of consequences.
The middle school called yesterday, which was my 3rd form of contact in the 3 days of this week, saying that Brooke was in the clinic.
Actually, the phone call came more like, "Hi, this is Chris from the clinic ..." It's hard to sound etiquette appropriate on the phone when aggravation sets in. [Insert frustrated sigh]
Chris said Brooke threw up twice, but when she pulled her student file she saw the note from last year stating unless they "see it" I'm not picking Brooke up.
I know, that's gross. Brooke learned last year that throwing up will get a free pass home. Until I caught on to this game of hers. Saying you threw up isn't the same as the real thing. She wasn't fevered yesterday and I refused to come get her yesterday.
My thought is, if you can walk to the clinic and claim you threw up twice in their bathroom, you really didn't throw up. I want proof and sound effects heard in the office.
My sympathies are gone. Welcome to karmageddon.
