from first contact with H this morning, i could tell it was going to be one of those days. those days when we’re fighting each other almost every step of the way: she pushing the limits, me losing my cool, back and forth and over and over again until i long to put her to bed or lock her away in a closet.
she is my
strong-willed spirited child. she is LOUD, this child. there is nothing quiet about her, except for the first 5 minutes of meeting a new person. she sings loudly (and off key), laughs maniacally, shouts her requests, screeches in the car just to make noise, and demonstrates affection with something bordering on smothering. when she is mad or upset, she cries dramatically and with sometimes shocking endurance. her very loudness wearies me, an introvert prone to sensory overload. sometimes i just want so badly for her to tone. it. down. fortheloveofGod!
but this is how He’s fashioned her to be. and her voice — which is loud and confident — will be such an asset to her one day if, God help us, we can shepherd that in her well.
in some ways, i can learn from her. how wonderful that she sees it as her right to demand our attention, our assistance, our provision, our affection. she is confident in her status as our beloved daughter and so she knows that she can ask for what she needs (though we must teach her how to ask with respect and gentleness) and accept a favorable reply. though her
sense of entitlement assertiveness irritates the heck out of me sometimes, i’ve been wondering lately how she might be able to teach me something about how i approach my Papa.
so today. today was one of those hard days. the sort that you feel as though you’ve barely survived. you collapse on the closest soft surface after putting her to bed and thank God that you didn’t say or do anything too terribly regrettable in response to her button-pushing. we’ve survived the day.
tomorrow i hope we’ll connect from our hearts, and we’ll dance a little more harmoniously.