Arguing

Ask anyone. I can argue until the cows come home. I never tire or weaken my argument...I only grow stronger. I can argue until my opposer tosses their hands in the air in frustration and gives up...then I will consider arguing the point of why it took us so long to realize I'm.Always.Right.

Ask my friends...ask my mom...ask the man at the grocery store who attempted to tell me there was no banana yogurt in the box he was stocking the refrigerated shelves with- I will win. (And I'll win with yogurt!)

That being said...while arguing doesn't typically phase me- arguing with a tiny clone of myself, does. Little Miss doesn't choose her battles...she clearly wants to challenge the man at the grocery store who seems to think her mother is an arguing maniac. She thinks I'm a wimp. She sees my skills and throws fire on them. She will argue over any.thing.

I remember my first argument with my mother. (Well, it may not have been the first argument with her- but it was the first time I realllly pissed her off during an argument.) I want to say I was in first grade...and I believe the argument was over something silly like brushing my teeth.

Silly little argument...mmhmm, you're now rounding the bend to bite me in the arse, eh? I see ya. Oh and Hello, Karma...glad you could join us too.

School mornings begin with sweet cuddles from Little Miss in her bed. We get the clothes down that we've picked out from the night before...and it starts.

"These socks don't match!" Little Miss demands.

"They're pink. You're wearing pink...it matches," I respond.

"It's not the same pink!"

"Well, it coordinates...come on- lets go brush you're hair, monkey."

"I am changing my socks! These look horrible!"

I consider swapping coffee for wine...but know I'll never pull it off.

We argue over the color of the socks back and forth until finally...she decides she will just wear shoes that cover the socks. (While cursing me and calling me color blind in her head, I'm sure.)

In a few short moments, we're out the door and on our way to school. Hugs and kisses commence and before I know it- my little girl is sitting in a classroom full of kindergarteners and I'm? Crying in my truck because we fought over socks. SOCKS.

I argue with myself in my head...I should've just let her change & not argued. But what is that teaching her? That she can spend 30 minutes changing socks in the morning before school to find the perfect color hue to match her shirt? Doesn't that just promote child OCDs? Is that even a thing?

The afternoon rolls around and Little Miss bounds into the truck like a kitten with a ball of yarn. She's thrilled to see me and tell me all about her day. I'm thrilled to hear about every tiny detail. (Even the day she apparently beat up a boy on the playground for being a bully. Thats a post in itself.)

We get home and begin homework. Yes, kindergarteners have homework too...and since Little Miss went to preschool for 3 years- it should be a breeze for her, right?

We begin with a name-writing worksheet. I think it will be a piece of cake because...again, she was in preschool- homegirl can write her name with her eyes closed. But now, she is asked to write the letters a certain way- not just to make them look like letters.

"I can write them however...it looks the same," she tells me.

"Well, your teachers are suggesting we practice doing it this way- so we can-"

"They hate my handwriting! I want to write it my way! The way I have always done it!" she interrupts.

She's slightly more dramatic than I am. She goes from zero to hysterical in less than 2 seconds.

We work with the letter y...since it is in her name. We practice over and over...and finally, she stops arguing, opens her brain and realizes it's not difficult. But you have to try...

So our days in the B home have been a little trying. But we will get through it because clearly...we're fighters. ;-)