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.]
Mommy: Don’t scream in my face.
[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.