Katelynnda Blair

I’ve been playing a really aggravating fun new game with the four-year-old since she got home from school this afternoon. It starts out with her asking for something, like maybe another snack when she’s already had two string cheeses and a Key Lime Yoplait, or asking to do something, like ride her bike around our cul-de-sac without supervision or a helmet. Anyway, she asks for these things in a calm, rational, matter-of-fact tone, all smiles and using her best indoor voice and run-on sentences and she finishes off each query with a disclaimer that it’s okay with her if I say no, which ends up being a total lie because it’s so obviously only okay to say no as long as I DO NOT ACTUALLY SAY NO, lest she be instantly transformed into the supervillian known as Mini Screaming Mimi.

Take about ten minutes ago for example. She comes to me and she says, “Mommy can I have some microwave popcorn and it’s okay if you say no because I already had two string cheeses and a yogurt but I’m still hungry and I know you’ll probably say no and it’s okay if you say no but can I?”

Being a Good Mother, I gave it about twopointsix seconds thought before I replied, “No.”

So then she, in WAY LESS THAN TWOPOINTSIX SECONDS starts screaming and jumping up and down like I doused her with kerosene and lit a match to her, “BUT WHY!!!!????? WHHHHHHYYYYYYYYY???!!!! ALL I HAD WAS TWO STRING CHEESES AND A YOGURT AND I’M SOOOOOOO HUNGRY!!!!!!! MOMMY PLEEEEEASE!!!!???? PLEEEEEASE!!!!???? PRETTY PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE!!!!!!???????”

I was a little in shock from the Jekyll and Hyde-ness of her, but I held my ground and repeated my answer, only louder and through gritted teeth for effect. She took the hint and bansheed up to her room.

But then, not five microwave popcorn-less minutes later, she returns and, again with the calmness of a thousand Tibetan monks, says, “Mommy is it okay if I go ride my bike by myself not in the driveway or the garage but in the street but not past the end of the street and if I can is it okay if I don’t wear my helmet because it makes my head all itchy and it’s okay if you say no since it’s almost dinner time but I just want to ride it for thirty minutes but you’ll probably say no but can I?” (Okay, maybe like a thousand Tibetan monks on The Crack.)

And once again, I gave her a quick “no.”

And once again she came UN-GLUED.

She howled “AWWWWW!!! WHYYYYY NOOOOOOTTTT????!!!”  while dancing around with much flailing of the arms and such intensity that my first instinct was to call for an old priest and a young priest, but before I could, I got distracted by trying to wrap my brain around the sheer quantum energy it must be taking her to dissociate so rapidly like that. Her shift was mesmerizing to witness.

Then I did the only thing I could reasonably do at a moment like that.

I laughed out loud at her.

She took off screeching down the hall at eighty miles an hour, but so far no head spinning or projectile vomiting so we should be good.