Catherine the Grouch woke up this morning in a MOOD. First of all, she woke up before 6 am. She has a child proof knob on her door so she can't get out. All she can do is knock. So I heard her knocking. But I was sitting in the den nursing the baby so all I could do was sit there quietly, willing her to go back to bed. Luckily Andy heard her before he left for the gym, and since it was still dark outside, he was able to get her back to sleep.
It actually stayed dark for a while since it was stormy, so the kids slept a little later than usual. So I was hoping the extra sleep would help Catherine wake up in a good mood. Wrong. She was ornery from the moment she stepped out of her room.
I was making blueberry muffins for breakfast, so she started whining for some as soon as she realized it. But they were still in the oven and not baking fast enough, so she had a meltdown. I got her into her high chair by dangling a banana in front of her, but she had another meltdown trying to "bucka (buckle) myself." When she couldn't do it she started hollering "Bucka me, Mama....bucka ME!" So I snapped the buckle into place, at which point she started screaming "I manna do it....waaaa....waaaa....waaaa....I manna DO IT!"
Then she had a cup of yogurt. She ate it all. Then she wanted another cup. She ate all but one bite and started yelling "I finish, Mama....I all done....I manna get down."
"Don't you want your last bite of yogurt?" I asked her as I held the last spoonful in front of her face.
She bucked back in the chair, hollering "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!"
Fine, I thought, as I walked off and, not wanting the last bite of perfectly good yogurt to go to waste, crammed it in my own mouth as I tossed the empty cup into the trash.
At this point total hysteria erupted as she started yelling "I MANNA MY LAST BITE......I MANNA MY LAST BITE......WAAAAAA.......WAAAAAAAAAA!" Kicks, screams, tears, stamping of the feet, pounding of the fists, complete drama.
Holy crap, I thought, as I grabbed the cup OUT OF THE TRASH, people, grabbed her spoon, scraped up as much as I could (if I'd had any left in my own mouth I would scraped that out too to stop the hysterics) and said "Here ya go....LAST bite!"
She was happy.
I've been accused of being afraid of Catherine. I think I may be. And well I should be. Very, very afraid.
Now you know why we call her Sybil.