A case of the Mondays

That nasty fever is gone.

In its place? A horrendous attitude. When I say horrendous I mean, well, horrendous.
Yelling. Screaming. Pushing. Spitting, shoving, kicking. Bellowing NO and NOW and I WANT. And my personal fave, OKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY MOM!.

It's been awesome.

Today around 5:30 p.m. she wanted to go out and play. Even though it was drizzling. Even though it was chilly. Even though she was in a sleeveless, short dress.
I gave in and said we could frolic on the porch IF she changed out of her play dress and tutu into her pants and shirt.

She charged upstairs clad in a ballerina dress, a tutu and her Snow White shoes.
Seven minutes later - sobbing: I need help Mama. Help me! I can't do my shirt Mommy.
So I helped her with the shirt and told her to head up and slip into her pants.

Pants that have an elastic waist. Adidas track pants. Pants she put on by herself this morning. And that's when all the fussing morphed into the most amazing meltdown.

Yelling at the pants. Saying she couldn't get her legs in them. Screaming. Sobbing. Yelping for help - Mama YOU DO IT.
But I wouldn't do it. I knew she could. I want her to try. To not give up easily. And I steadfastly told her to come downstairs and try, after she tried I told her I would help.
That resulted in her pants being thrown down the stairs at me. And her snotty tissue being tossed in my face. And screaming and sobbing and yelping and chocking on her cries. And in the middle of the loud histrionics she requested peanuts, a hair bow and a treat.

I knew then that she had officially crossed into the realm of being a hot mess.

Finally I picked up her tutu clad self. Adidas workout shirt on top, fluffy pink tutu on the bottom. I picked up the hot mess that was my daughter and held her tightly on my lap.

I rocked her and patted her back. I told her to take five deep breaths...and by breath number five she was snoring.

At 6:12 p.m. she curled into her bed.

And I worry that tomorrow is going to be an awfully early wake up call.