It’s a question I find myself asking almost daily when Lucy and I are going toe to toe over some asinine point.

My five year old daughter is fierce and determined and focused and passionate; all qualities I admire in women. Unfortunately, when those qualities are found in a five year old, I have a harder time appreciating them. Especially when I’m trying to get said five year old to eat her after school snack.

I’ll give you a cookie after you’re done your carrots and pears.

Why can’t I have the cookie now?

You’ll get a cookie, I promise. Once you’re done your carrots and pears.

lucyI want the cookie now.

You have to eat your carrots and pears first.

Put the cookie on the plate now, but I won’t eat it until after I’m done my carrots and pears.

If you’re going to eat it after then why does it matter if the cookie is on your plate now or later?  I find myself asking.

Why does it matter if you put the cookies on the plate now instead of after I’m done the carrots and pears? I hear her reply.

What does it matter, Lucy? You’ll get your cookie when you’re done your carrots and pears.

What does it matter, Mom? You can put the cookie on the plate right now with the carrots and pears.

Lucy! Why are we fighting about this?  It doesn’t matter if we put the cookie on the plate now or after you finish your carrots and pears!!!

Then why does it matter if you just put it on the plate now?!?!?!?!!


By this point it’s taking everything in me to not stomp my feet and scream at the top of my lungs.  (Alright… I may have stomped. Just once.)

And this is when I have to ask myself, “Who’s the grown-up here?” I know we’re arguing a stupid point (who cares when the cookie ends up on the plate???), but for some reason, it’s so hard for for me to give in. I don’t want her to feel like she wins all these little battles. But I know it’s okay for her to win some. But how many is “some?” When am I supposed to give in? When is she supposed to win? And when I am supposed to fight?  When am I supposed to win?

Arrrgggggggg! (I’m about to stomp my foot again.)

So…. “Who’s the grown up here?”

I ask myself that question as I hand her her plate with carrots, pears… and a cookie.