Hands are Not For Hitting

Ah, there's nothing like having the entire playgroup look on as your daughter attempts to hit one of her friends, then succeeds in hitting you in the face when you inform her she's going to have to leave. Such was my life this morning, followed by a tedious drive home as Annie screamed "I don't want to go home!" the whole way, an extended time-out in her room after I literally chased her into the house, and a silent lunch. Halfway through eating her macaroni and cheese, Annie started to pull it together. Here's how she worked it out for herself aloud:

"You didn't hit Luke. You tried to hit Lucy. Then you DID hit Mommy in the face. So you had to have a time-out, hon." (Very patronizing tone for that last.)

Pause.

"We don't hit people. NO. After lunch you'll give Mommy a hug and a kiss and tell her you're sorry. You'll feel better after your nap. Next time you'll make a better choice." Apparently, Annie needs to scold herself in the third person before she's ready to apologize and move forward. Incidentally, we did have a much happier afternoon, wherein she rode her tricycle around the block, apologized to Lucy, blew bubbles for Heidi and Jonathon, drew with sidewalk chalk, and danced to Laurie Berkner.

Through all this, Jemma spit/blew bubbles and pulled out fistfuls of grass. Grass pleases her.

Before Annie's playgroup meltdown, I discovered that others among the playgroup moms are also obsessed with taking pregnancy tests. I'm glad to find that I am not alone on that one, even though it gets to be an expensive hobby . . .