We’re Not as Nice as We Used to Be

According to Sophie, that is. Who was extremely disappointed in us yesterday for not stocking the freezer with any ice cream she liked. I returned home from a long day in New York to Sophie lying on the kitchen floor in tears, despondent, because “there’s no good ice cream!”

How is one supposed to respond to such histrionics? Shouldn’t a 7-year old be beyond pulling such a hissy fit? Is this what I’m going to be dealing with on a daily basis come March 30?


It didn’t end there. It got worse once we told her we were going to have fish for dinner. “I don’t want stupid fish!” cried Sophie. Sophie has always enjoyed fish, mind you, especially salmon, which is what we had prepared. She stormed into the TV room, slammed the door, and moaned and groaned for the next two hours. I did not want to acknowledge her drama. I told her she didn’t have to eat dinner if she didn’t want to. Perhaps she wasn’t that hungry.

Finally, it was about 9 pm and she was still complaining about being hungry and how we’re just not as nice to her as we used to be, which in Sophie talk is a euphemism for not letting her get everything she wants. I told her to find Papa and complain to him.

The next thing I know, Papa is cooking a turkey burger for his precious baby. Papa, being Papa, had relented. So much for standing up for one’s principles. But even despite his caving in, we weren’t off the hook.

After twisting his arm for food, she returned to the TV room and looked at me with a scowl. “Mommy, I don’t understand. I told you two hours ago I did not want to eat the salmon. And now Papa’s making me a turkey burger. Why did you make me wait so long!”

I hid my annoyance at my husband for giving in to her demands. I made her promise that the next time we eat fish she would savor it without complaint. She cheerfully agreed.

Sophie has her Papa wrapped around her little finger.

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