Anger Management

For some reason, my not quite seven-year-old has taken to screaming at everything. She yells at me, her brother, the dog, the toothpaste... I'm not sure what prompts this rage. She'll be laughing one minute and then a satanic voice blares from her throat, frequently followed by her lowering her head and charging like a bull, if a bull had windmilling fists, that is.

The mood swings are killing me. I'll be all snuggled up with her, watching TV, and I'll compliment her hair. Then the yelling starts.

I finally lost it today and told her that if I heard that tone in her voice directed at anyone at all, including the dog, she was gonna get it. This technique is really not good parenting since I'm supposed to give her a specific "it" that she's gonna get, but I mostly wanted her to stop screaming at the bathroom doorknob for hitting her elbow.

She did stop screaming and even attempted to control her eye rolling as she asked me if I really meant it about the dog. I said I did, along with a few choice wisdomly tidbits about controlling her temper, treating people with respect, and thinking about how her words would sound before she let them pass her lips. She got in the bathtub with only one eye roll, conversation ended.

After she finished her bath and brushed her teeth, I sent her to her room to get ready for bed and told my son to make his bed. I did my nightly shut-it-down routine, which includes letting in the dog, locking the doors, and feeding the cat.

My daughter started yelling that she had a splinter in her foot just moments after I scooped the cat food, so I ordered the dog to bed and went for my handy dandy needle. I remembered a bandaid (the magic cure-all for any pain) as I stepped into her room, so I turned and headed back down the hall. Then I heard the crunching.

That blasted dog was eating the cat food, not because she was hungry since she'd been fed less than twenty minutes ago, but because it was CAT food and therefore tastier than her food. More than just eating it, she had surreptitiously snuck back into the kitchen to eat it since this battle ended months ago. She will not touch that cat food bowl if I'm anywhere near after the last time I caught her eating it.

I erupted, screaming, "Bad dog! No!" and various other imprecations not fit for print. She cowered in a corner, knowing my displeasure. When I commanded her to bed, she tore off, straight to her crate this time.

Bandaid forgotten again, I went back into my daughter's room and picked up her foot to look for the offending splinter, still irritated, but controlling it, partially as an example to my daughter since the lecture on maintaining her temper was still fresh in my ears.

"When you said I couldn't yell at the dog, can I yell at her if she's eating the cat food?" she asked with syrupy innocence.

I was so proud of myself. I didn't stab her even a little with the needle. I did think about it though.