Did you just throw that at me?

Whack! I never saw it coming. . . and if you've ever had it happen with one of your kids, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

My sweet daughter LOVES her writing desk. It's not exactly new. In fact, it's really old and only cost me $8 at Deseret Industries. But the top opens and it is big enough to hold her crayons, markers, colored pencils, coloring books, paper and envelopes. This is a feat because she has more art supplies than any child I know. She loves to color pictures and send them to people. This run down desk is one of her prized possessions, not because it is beautiful, but because in her words, "coloring pictures makes people happy and brings the Spirit". I should have known that putting it in time out would bring Armageddon.

Brynlee is really good at cleaning her room but only on her terms. Tonight, after letting her know that it was bedtime, I started helping her put her letters away. "Mom, I want to finish my letters to Auntie Amanda and Grandpa Fugal first." she said with a definite whine in her voice. I let her know that she could finish them in the morning. I was expecting her usual response of "sigh...ok mom". Don't get me wrong, this compliance isn't done willingly or cheerfully but she usually does it anyway. Not tonight. Weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth soon ensued. Not far behind were the tears, screams and self-hurling. After a long day at the zoo, I know she's tired. I turn around and start straightening her sheets and blankets for bed. That's when it came.

Whack! . . . I'm not sure what it was. All I know is that only Brynlee and I are in the room and something just hit me square in the back. I turn and see her princess purse at my feet and a hellfire and brimstone look in my daughter's eyes. "Did you just throw that at me?" I asked her, knowing full well what the answer would be. Her arms are folded like when she says her prayers, but her lips are pursed and her eyes are aflame with what I can only assume is poorly suppressed rage. Instantly my blood begins to boil. Ok..Keep calm. Obviously, we need to have the "hitting is not ok" talk again. So how do I go about doing this when every cell in my body wants to beat the living tar out of her? I did the only thing I could do..."Mark!" I yelled. "You need to handle this one."

I won't bore you with the "Daddy talk" details that followed or the list of psychological catch phrases that EVERY parent uses in secret, despite our constant poking fun at those that use them publicly. Suffice it to say that the terms "hitting is not ok" and "use your words" were probably said, followed closely by "you made the wrong choice" and "choices have consequences". Really, I just feel sad. Nothing grandiose. Nothing to analyze. I just feel sad. I'm sad for Brynlee that she is angry and frustrated. I'm sad that she cares more about "having her new Ariel jammies taken away" than her Mommy's hurt feelings. I am sad that I am taking this so personally that I have to blog about it. Then it happens... A soft, high-pitched noise from behind me.

"Meow." He jumps up on the desk, walks across the mouse and plops down right on the keyboard. It's our cat Murphy. He wants me to cuddle him. I know this because he does this several times a day. Mark says that he is "my cat". I think he's right. I just feel comforted by having something big and fluffy to hold. He climbs up on my shoulder and as I scratch his ears, he starts to purr. I love his purr. This always surprises me because those who know me can attest...I HATE cats. I'm not sure how we got so lucky, but he couldn't fit any better into our family. Sometimes I think that all of the world's problems could be solved if everyone had a cat like this one. His ability to bring down my blood pressure, soothe my wounded feelings and make me laugh simultaneously is remarkable. It's as if he is saying, "This too will pass. It's ok."

So now, I blog through utter exhaustion while Murphy sleeps on the desk in front of me, Mark sleeps on the chair behind me and Brynlee & Landon sleep in their beds above me. I'm going to snuggle my cat now and hopefully my daughter will have stopped hating me by morning. If not, at least I know her love for me will return...when her beloved desk does.