Mrs Tweezers

I can't help thinking that I've done something wrong somewhere. Again. Just for a change. The thing is, I'm so fond of having a quiet life and working things out so that everyone remains (as) happy (as possible) as often as possible, and not getting myself into face-offs with toddlers, because we all know they never end well, that it appears young mistress Mabel has never heard the word "No" in her life. At least, that's what it feels like lately whenever I do say no to her.

It brings to mind the story of Owen and how Mrs Tweezers next door asked his parents if they'd ever heard of saying no, and they hadn't. Mrs Tweezers (ominously enough) filled them in.

Owen's parents eventually found a compromise to keep everyone happy, and Mrs Tweezers and her antiquated notions of childrearing were sent firmly back to the other side of the garden fence - but sometimes, whether it's not staying another five minutes or not getting another cookie, saying no just has to happen. And Mabel is displeased. Depending on her level of nappedness, Mabel is wheedling, whiny, whingy, screamy, shrieky, or appalling. And sometimes I reach a compromise, and sometimes I just can't.

I don't think she's spoilt, but then, what parent ever does? Yes, she's the baby; but I try my hardest to treat them both the same when it comes to things like cookies and priveliges - not least because I know I'll have trouble on my hands from the elder lemon if I don't. I am trusting that we're doing pretty much the same with this one as we did with the other, and while he's certainly not a done deal yet, he's just that much less of a work-in-progress that I can see a light at the end of the tunnel, and it seems to be a good sort of light. (More daylight, not so much oncoming train.)