Doing as I Do, Not as I Say

I'm starting to think that one the behavior corrections that I do with Pumpkin is starting to sink in. On a daily basis I deal with keeping Pumpkin quiet enough such that she doesn't wake up Chichi, who, bless her soul, goes to bed early and wakes up late. This is a problem when Pumpkin wakes up all full of energy, but also during the bedtime routine, when a lot of activity occurs outside Chichi's door. I've had more than my share of cringe moments when Pumpkin has gone into psycho mode during a bath, causing Chichi start screaming after having already been asleep.

When I say that the lesson has sunk in, I don't mean that Pumpkin was quite either this morning or while getting ready for bed. However, when the delivery guy arrived with our dinner tonight, and the dogs started barking at the door, Pumpkin stormed out of her room and screamed, "I CAN'T SLEEP WITH ALL THIS BARKING GOING ON, AND CHICHI IS AWAKE NOW!" Then she marched back to her room, shaking her head at her moronic parents.

Whatever it is, I Don't Like It!

I didn't like to eat anything as a child.  I would always take one or two bites of whatever was in front of me, and then announce that I had a stomach ache.  That used to piss my mom off royally.  To be honest, I don't like a lot of foods now, but I am at least mature enough to force feed myself for the sake of nourishment.  I still kind of regard lunch with resentment as being such an annoying thing to require smack in the middle of the day.  I'd rather take a hypothetical food pill and be done with it.

When I was about three or four, my mom took me to a pool party at her friend's house.  It was a party for adults but kids were accommodated for in terms of food.  When it came time to eat, I looked at the hamburger on plate, folded my arms across my chest, and stated, "I don't LIKE hamburgers!"  Kindly, the host offered to make me a hotdog.  When I looked at the hotdog on my plate, I folded my arms across my chest and stated, "I don't LIKE hotdogs!"  Annoyed, the host went on to make me a sandwich.  When it was handed to me, I folded my arms across my chest and stated, "I don't LIKE sandwiches!"  At this point, the host just turned to me and shouted, "YOU'LL EAT IT AND YOU'LL FUCKING WELL LIKE IT!!!"  My virgin ears!  My mom thought this was pretty funny, given that this was her everyday battle.  However, my mom also thought it funny when I used fridge magnets to spell the f-word, so her amusement may possibly have been more of a function of the '70s than pleasure derived from someone else having to deal with my picky eating habits.  Maybe a combination.

 Pumpkin obviously comes by her bad eating habits honestly.  Including French toast, there are only three possible dinner options for her, and tonight she rejected macaroni, which might mean that we're down to two.  She even professes to dislike food that doesn't exist, such as the plopolop fruit in a book that we read recently.  It even extends beyond food.

I bought her new pyjamas.  She cried, "I DON'T LIKE TO WEAR THAT KIND!"  I showed her the moon last night, and she said, "I DON'T LIKE THAT KIND OF MOON.  IT LOOKS TERRIBLE!"  I'm not sure what's up with that.  Lately she doesn't like Kindergarden.  She also doesn't like one of our dogs.  She doesn't like her bedspread, and she REALLY doesn't like to watch Mighty Machines.  I pity the fool who turns on the Treehouse channel when they're playing Mighty Machines.

Do they have hypnosis therapy for four year olds?