Supergirl was awful. Sassy, insolent, unrepentant.
She spent the afternoon in time-outs which were extended before they were served.
I wanted to smack her around a bit, but we don't do that.
Finally, by dinnertime, she would just not stop antagonizing her three year old brother. This, as she knows, is a button-pusher for me every time, as I would never have allowed any other seven year old bully to treat her that way when she was three.
I demanded she come downstairs to help me with dinner.
"I don't want to make dinner!" she whined.
"Wash your hands!" I snapped back at her.
Did I care? Did I care at all what she wanted? No, I certainly did not.
I handed her a bowl of eggs.
"Stir!" I commanded, adding melted butter to her eggs.
She pretended to stir very angrily, then became interested in the process of mixing yolks into whites.
"What are we making?" she finally asked.
"Matzoh balls for soup," I replied, beginning to soften, "Will you please cut the carrots?"
"YES!" she said, more brightly now.
Fifteen minutes later, we pulled the matzoh out of the fridge.
"Can I make the balls myself?" she asked.
"Oh, okay." I pretended to relent.
"I miss the times when you used to help me with dinner all the time." I remarked.
"Well, I could do that again...."
"I would really like that."
Thirty minutes later, we were eating steaming, salty, doughy delicious matzoh ball soup.
"Honey, I am so glad you are going to help me in the kitchen again. Dinner always tastes better when you help make it."
"Oh Mama, thank you! I love you! I'm sorry I was bratty today!"
Not a trace of bitterness remained by bedtime.
Supergirl, you are my Superstar.