When life gives you lemons...

Or children. Take them, because, hey! Free! I have to say that living with Sece is an experience, and as I have stated in Facebook, an experience that is reaffirming the correctness of my choice to never, ever, ever have one of those of my very own. Ever. Never. She is a watercolor of sound, an oil painting of emotions, a sculpture of habits (mostly annoying and bad because she's 12). She is smart and brilliant when you put a pencil and piece of paper in front of her and let her draw. She would be the first to die in even a semi-apocalyptic event. I would almost think she would walk right into the first round of horrifying death, simply because she refuses to condition and comb the mop of nappy, crazy hair out of her eyes. She is dumber than a door knob when it comes to street smarts, and is so afraid of everything- or pretending to be so afraid of everything because it is funny- that she is actually a danger to herself while standing still in a room made of pillow. So, she makes me laugh, and her Mom loves her. I had respect for parents before. I knew it was a hard, merciless, spirit-breaking job that I never wanted. I have an even more acute respect and awareness now. Lets take example A: pan burns on the counter. If you make eggs, you do not set a hot pan on the counter to load your plate. You take the plate to the pan. Unless you are Sece. Then you burn the counter 'cuz hot pans only stay hot when on the stove. They instantly get cold when you take them off the stove. *headdesk* Example B: For 3 weeks you are told multiple times a day to not kick your shoes off into the middle of the entryway when you come in. People will trip on them. People will hurt themselves. You explain this multiple times, show her 2 corners she can kick them into, and give her a shelf to put them on in the shoe rack. You start yelling when she does it. Then, one day, you simply take them. She can't find her shoes. When she figures it out, she learns she will need to earn them back(That was my brilliant idea(. What better way to get her to understand to respect her stuff and others, right? So, to earn them back she has to load up a pile of branches that had been cut a few days before, and unload them at the dump. At most, going slow, this should only have taken an hour. 2 hours later, I am helping her finish up because I have better things to do with my time, because I have been up in hot and humid conditions since 3am doing hard physical labor, and because she is the biggest whiner ever. And I mean ever. I can't help but wish it was winter, and that I had a chipper, and that I lived in Fargo. I kid you not(hahaha); 10 minutes into this she wants to know when we are breaking for lunch cuz she is hunger. She had an hour before we started to get ready. She could have eaten then. I point it out, and tell her I can cut her up some cheese and salami to tide her over. Nope. Not good enough. She wants something specific. I tell her tough shit then, let me know when you change your mind. There are many other versions of trying to get out of The Punishment during those few hours. I hold fast. I think of chippers, of hog boiling time, of bigger, prettier rosebushes. Finally we are done, and a few hours later I hear her talking to her mom about how making her do that made no sense because it had nothing to do with shoes, and she will never remember. THAT was pretty infuriating to hear, but I am willing to bet if she has to do more stuff like that to earn her shit back, she will make the association. I just don't know if I can do it. There have been many little trials and issues since she moved in. She is spoiled in the way that kids get when one parent is tired of trying to do it all themselves. Mary's husband was not a constant when it came to teaching and helping. Mary is all over it with Diana and I backing her up, though. However, there are 12 years of whining and laziness to overcome if she is going to live here with us. Fingers are crossed.