2:31 p.m. Now she wants sweet tarts. Same answer.
2:40 p.m. Cookie? No.
3:00 p.m. Sarah wants to know if she can have dinner now. I think it's an unreasonable time to have dinner, but I say yes anyway. I heat up chicken and noodles and mashed potatoes. She says she doesn't like chicken and noodles. She eats one bite of mashed potatoes and asks for a sucker. I lock all the desserts up and tell her she's not getting any.
3:15 p.m. Sarah stomps by me and drops a picture by my feet. It was a picture she had drawn of the whole family, even the extended family, without me. I exclaim over its loveliness and tack it up on the bulletin board.
3:25 p.m. Sarah glares and throws this note at me:
She writes, "Ok, but it won't make me happy."
I write, "Sugar won't make you happy either. You have to CHOOSE to be happy."
At that, she silently put on her coat and shoes and got in the car. She didn't say a word all the way to Kroger. I enjoyed the unusual quiet. Once we got inside Kroger, she forgot that she hated me, and she chattered all the way home.
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