Wicked Witch of the Midwest

My daughter woke me up at 5:30am this morning to tell me she needed me to print a math homework page that she had forgotten to bring home and complete for school last night.  I dutifully rose from my slumber, sleep walked to the computer, and printed the pages for her.  Since she was already awake for school, and the bus stops to pick her up on the corner, I went back to bed for some much needed rest.  8am rolls around and she wakes me again.   Apparently after finishing her homework she decided to go back to sleep herself.  Since school starts at 8am, she was a bit desperate to have me get up and drive her to school.  I told her I would, and then she left my room and headed into her brother's room.  In her haste and anxiety I heard her getting upset with him for not waking up in a mad dash to see her off to school.  Her words are harsh and unwarranted.  Then I hear a toy being thrown in the bedroom, and my son begins to cry and yell at my daughter for actions.

I decide that the proper punishment should most certainly benefit my son and I this morning.  I go to my daughter and tell her I will no longer be taking her to school, that she can ride her bike or walk.  Her jaw drops to the floor as she stares at me in disbelief.  I repeat myself.  She asks why.  I tell her that her attitude and choice of actions are unacceptable, and her consequence this morning is getting herself to school (which is a whopping 1.2 miles from our house).  It's a route she has willingly taken in the past with friends, but for pleasure of course.  

She begins trying to argue her case, at which I repeatedly shut her down and tell her she needs to get busy walking or riding.  She is staring at me as if I might be the witch from the "Once Upon A Time" series she has been watching this week on Netflix.  I find that a bit curious, so when she tells me she neither wants to walk or ride to school I ask her how she plans on getting there.  I tell her there is a broom in the kitchen if she would like to try and fly.  Oh boy, now I really get the crazy witch look....but by now she also realizes I am serious.  She slams the front door as she leaves, and I step outside to blog with my morning coffee.

As I'm sitting down with my laptop and my heavenly cup of coffee, Spiderman comes to my front door to ask me if I can cut the tag from his costume because it is scratchy on his back.  Don't get the wrong idea here; Spiderman is a tough guy....he just can't stand scratchy tags on his back.  While his dad has been known to cut scratchy tags from garments, it's something I have refused to do.  My theory is that without the size tags, how will I know who to pass his clothes on to when he has outgrown them?  This being a Halloween costume though, and knowing that he will probably wear it until it is paper thin and no good to be handed down to any other little boy, I tell him that I will concede this time since these are not his regular clothes.  

Now I sit here typing again, trying to resist the urge to scratch all the poison oak bumps that have miraculously reappeared all over my body in the last 36 hours.  The last round of steroids had me feeling like a hormonal wreck by its finish, so I am determined to tackle the itch with over the counter creams and sprays this time.  One more day of this however, and I think my resolve might begin to crumble.  Even the wicked witch has to ask for help sometimes....