Sarah emerges from her room this morning, looking grumpy. I say good morning. She huffs, "I can't find my hairbrush. Did you steal it without asking?" I start singing "Where is my hairbrush?" from Veggie Tales. It's the perfect opportunity to sing it in the proper context, and I'm pleased that I thought of it. Sarah glares and says, "NOT funny." I tell her I don't know where her hairbrush is and that I haven't used it. She stomps off to look for it. A few minutes later she comes back and says she had to brush her hair with a doll brush and asks me to make her some toast. I agree and ask her to start some laundry. She says, "No. I have to find my hairbrush." I bite my tongue and let that one go (I'm learning to choose my battles). A few minutes later, she starts the laundry. I ask her if she found her hairbrush, and she says, "Yes, it was in my drawer." Then she informs me that I overtoasted her toast.
Hours later, after her behavior and attitude continued to deteriorate, I had severe words with her. She turned herself around then, and I told her that I appreciated the change. She said, "I'm trying to be good. It's like in gymnastics. If you mess up or fall, you have to get back up and do extra good to make up for it, or else you'll end up with a low score."
p.s.--She ran in the St. Jude Mud Run over the weekend, and I told her that she was beautiful even when she's wet and covered with mud. She sighed and said, "Beauty is such a burden sometimes."