I have to give it to my four year old… she has the ability to turn me into a psychotic beast at bedtime, without even taking that little thumb out of her mouth. Within seconds my emotions move from crazy angry to tearfully touched. I have dealt with some pretty tricky customers in my time, mostly during my career as a multimedia producer… like the guy who was the content developer for my first full blown CD ROM project. After repeatedly driving a 140km round trip in the hope of seizing videos required to complete the project I gave up and referred it to my boss. Eventually the police were called in… literally. At one point we were walking down a street in Collingwood and he started banging his head against a brick wall… literally. Yet even he didn’t fiddle with my head as much as my darling daughter. “I promise I won’t kick you again”, she pleads as I threaten to prematurely end story time. Before I have turned the page I feel toes digging into my thigh. My lip curls and I feel irrational thoughts darting through my mind. I know I can’t hurt her, but God damn it I want to SCREAM! I WANT TO SCREAM REALLY LOUD! Because this is the 768th time today I have had to plead… or threaten, or bribe, or blackmail her into behaving well. Or even behaving moderately well. Look just a pass would be great. I commend her ability to drag me down into the quicksand of meaningless battles. I’m drowning. If only $ meant something to her. I would pay her a tidy sum to go to bed at the right time… AND STAY THERE! What do you say to your beautiful little human being you have created in your very own uterus when they pop out of bed for the twenty-seventh time that night? Well you don’t say anything at all actually. You are in fact holding your lips together so tightly that your eyes are popping out of your head. You can’t say anything because you know that if you open your mouth the profanities that escape will shock your neighbours into next year. You decide it is better to throw a cup of ice cold water over yourself to calm down and finally open your mouth to ask in a feigned soothing voice, “Why are you out of bed again Darling?”. And just as you’re warming up your smacking hand she hits you with the double handed backhand that throws you directly into the far left hand corner of the court… nowhere to go. “Mummy, I just wanted to come out and say goodnight again, and tell you how much I love you.” With that she throws her arms around your neck like you were the Wimbledon trophy itself. You declare her the winner as tears sting your eyes, every misdemeanour melts away and you carry your perfect princess back to her bedroom. Game, set, match to the four year old.
Mind games magnificence
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