Ridiculous Arguments

One of the worst parts about having a child is the ridiculous arguments you’re forced to either have, or adjudicate. 

On a daily basis a parent comes face-to-face with issues so mind-numbingly trivial that you find you have long since lost the tools and techniques required to comprehend the issues at hand let alone resolve them with Solomonic wisdom.

Yesterday was one of the more memorable days in this regard.  Anya and her good buddy Eloise had both picked up leaves they found pretty.  At some point there was a disagreement over whose leaf was whose and both wound up shredded in a pile on the floor.  Much crying ensued.  All I could think to say was, “You guys do realized that, unlike anything else in this entire world, leave DO grow on trees and you could probably both find another if you looked really hard.”  But there went 10 minutes of my and Hank’s lives;  20 full adult minutes lost to an intractable argument over leaves.

But the argument that took the cake yesterday was a tantrum about who would get Anya some water.  She said, “Dad get me some water. ”  I thought about her lack of a “please”, the fact that I had just sat down on the couch, her uncanny ability to fill vessels with water food coloring and balance them precariously on the arms of chairs and in cupboards, and the fact that half the time when I fill her cup she wails at the injustice of my having deprived her of such an auspicious activity.  So I said, “You can get your own water, honey.” 

This instantly caused a flop-on-her-back-pound-her-heels-into-the-floor-squealing category 5 tantrum.

Once a kid has flipped out, it seems unwise to give in lest you encourage such horrid behavior in the future, so the “good” parent in me is then forced to dig in his heels while the rational adult who is looking for peace and quiet is yelling nearly as loud as the child into my brain, “Seriously?!  You can’t just go fill her firggin’ water?”  To which I say, “Shut up rational-self, you coward.  I’m trying to keep her in college and out of a life of crime, and drug abuse.”

This yelling screaming kicking and yes BITING extravaganza spanned 2 hours and even had time for a quick nap in the middle. 

Finally we came to a compromise: I put the cup next to the sink, she filled it, and I put the lid on. 

She took a sip and said, “How’s your leg where I bit you?  I’m sorry about that.” 

Take that rational adult-self.