Five is the new thirteen

Must be, because the drama and mood swings I saw from my five year old today were something I wasn't quite expecting until closer to adolescence. The child had the audacity to stick her tongue out at me and run away, into the maze of McDonald's playland tunnels. The engineers behind this playplace are truly my friends because, unlike most of their counterparts, these tunnels can actually be navigated by an adult. I captured Ruthie with little effort. She refused to put on her coat or her shoes, so she walked to the car wearing neither in the 35 degree weather. She screamed at the top of her lungs that she was cold. But I refused to be swayed by the horrified looks of the drive-thru patrons as they stared in disbelief at the pitiful, neglected child. Lucky for her it wasn't as windy as yesterday.
After a nap and a relatively peaceful late afternoon and early evening, (during which a favorite toy was confiscated for a week) the drama began again with the disapproval of tonight's dinner offerings. After carrying Ruthie to the the steps to cool off, where the screaming continued, I left her fate in the capable hands of Benny, since I was completely spent. This from having navigated the day's dramatics without beating her, or even raising my voice. Kudos to me If only I was drinker. I'd toast myself.