Since my daughter has turned four, she has been...um...shall we say, challenging. The Birthday Fairy sprinkled her with about a pound of sassy glitter and it seems to be getting all over the rest of us. I do not like sassy glitter. Or attitude glitter. Or "Humphf! I don't like your answer" stomp stomp stomp glitter. The glitter needs to go.
But, you know what? Deep down, I like the little pistol in her. She's a tough little cookie and she's not putting up with much gruff from me or her Daddy. And if she's not putting up with gruff from us, then I'm pretty confident she's not going to put up with much from the little boys on the playground either. I'm okay with that.
And she's a determined little thing. Someone, somewhere has taught my daughter the art of the negotiation. She will attempt to negotiate a "snack deal" just about everyday. Or work out some kind of offer regarding just how many toys she has to pick up compared to how many I have to pick up. And when she very reluctantly agrees to whatever rule Mommy and/or Daddy have put their foot down on, you can clearly see a I'll-be-back-to-fight-another-day look upon her face.
And the drama. Do I have to even go there? Words cannot express how teensy-tiny something can be yet the tears, the pouting, the collapsing on the floor...Ugh!...it wears me out just thinking about it.
God love her. And so do I. Because, if anything set this wayward ship on the right course, it was this mighty gust of wind. I have been thankful for this little burr under my saddle for the last four years now. While I was pregnant with her, my husband and I often said we wanted a fighter. File Miss London under "Careful What You Wish For - You Might Just Get It".
Thank you for challenging me to be a better mother.
A better woman. A better wife. A better role model. A better example.
A better fighter, myself.
And a better Christian.
Thank you, Lord, for the pound of sassy glitter. Amen.