There has been a fierce battle raging in our house this past week. The epic battle of "Clean-Your-Room" ...
Fiance and I: "Teenybop, go pick up your toys, please."
Teenybop: Either "NO!" or "I don't want to ..."
That, or the favorite in our house ... complete activation of selective hearing. Followed, of course, by whatever happened to be the tactic Fiance and I were desperately trying that day in an effort to teach our daughter to be responsible for taking care of her own belongings.
Today, after no TV for a week (not as a whole, but the course of daily punishments has lasted this long), time-outs, groundings, no treats, and spankings ... her room was clean today when she went to bed. With a minimum of cajoling and punishments ... It was clean!
And as I walked out of her bedroom from tucking her into bed, basking in the return to peace in our evenings, smiling ear to ear in love with the prospect of at least a one-day reprieve from the devil-child that seems to have overtaken my little angel lately ... I saw my favorite of all my fish taking a nose-dive in the tank.
I'd been worried about him since before our move ... but today he finally took his trip down the toilet to FishHeaven.
Why does wonder and peace always come at a price?
