I was perfect...almost

Tuesday could have been a hard day.  But I refused.

At about 4:30pm I received a call from Ladybug's afterschool program.  The counselor is a very calm girl -- college student.  Sweet.  Nothing rattles her.  And always smiles.  But she called.  Ladybug was melting down.  Refusing to listen.  Refusing to follow rules.  The counselor wanted some hints. 

I haven't talked to them about her new diagnosis.  I was hoping it was necessary.  And there is no way I can do this over the phone.  So I tried to handle it.  I asked to talk with Ladybug on the phone.  Upon hearing my voice she started crying and whining.  I couldn't understand anything she was saying.  I asked if she thought she could turn it around and have a good afternoon.  She clearly said no.  So I told the counselor I was coming to get her.

I could leave early.  It was only 20 minutes.  And my boss has been on vacation for 2 weeks -- I can leave 20 minutes early. 

I got to the program and parked.  I went in.  She was ready to go.  Backpack was on.  But I decided to take a few minutes and talk to the counselor.  Just a few things.  Eye contact.  Promises and no threats.  Follow through.  Zero tolerance.  And they can always call me.  I can not expect them to deal with her when she is melting down.

Ladybug hated it.  She didn't want to sit out of earshot and wait for me.  But I made her.  And then we left.  She was determined to punish me for talking to the counselor.  But I kept it light.  And normal.  I asked what she had for lunch.  About recess.  About "special" class.  She wanted to be mad.  She tried to stay mad.  But she couldn't.  And that made her sad.

We did homework when we got home.  We had dinner.  We got the "emotion" faces out and talked about them.  We talked about the options she did not take earlier in the day.  We talked about what she could do the next time. 

I was calm.  I was friendly.  I smiled -- all the way up to my crows feet eyes.  I laughed.  I was affectionate.  She was able to crawl out of her funk.  It was a lot of work.  But it worked.  And I was proud of myself.  I managed to do it all right. 

And then I crawled into bed with her.  She picked one of her library books.  And I realized that maybe I should be more careful about the books she gets at the library.  Our bedtime story that night?  Walter the Farting Dog.

Mean Mama