30 minutes before heading off to gymnastics practice…

Mommy: Isabella, let’s do your hair.

Iz: Brush out my braid, and then make another braid so my hair is straight.

Mommy: No, we are going to comb this out quickly, then re-braid your hair.

Iz: Nooooooo! I want straight hair. In a braid.

Mommy: That would take an hour of shampoo, conditioner, de-tangler. We don’t have time.

[Here begins the stand-off.]

Iz: Aaaaaaaaaaaa!

Mommy: Don’t scream in my face.

Iz: Aaaaaaaaaaaa!

[here’s the truncated version…]

Mommy: You won’t go to Gymnastics.

Iz: Yes I Will!

[Here begins a two-hour standoff. Mommy and Daddy versus an 8-year-old.]

et cetera. Things take several turns, but they are always pointed back to:

Iz: You HATE me!

Us: No. We love you.

Iz: But I don’t know how to drive!! I’m just a kid!

Me: Imagine that.

Yeah, things went downhill from there. And, by the way, gymnastics practice is over. Doesn’t matter.