I fought a battle over a baby carrot that escalated into a war.

Sounds impossible, right?  Not when I’m working with one of the most stubborn three-year-olds ever to wipe a stringy blonde piece of hair away from her peanut-butter crusted face.

And today I’m writing about it over on (in)courage.

Carrots and Obedience

I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t been the most diligent of mothers when it comes to the eat-all-your-veges fight that plagues mothers of toddlers everywhere.  This is mothering confession number one.

And now that my sweet toddler has morphed into a three-and-a-half-year-old, full of gumption preschooler, I was worried that it might be too late.

She hates vegetables.  I know, I know. It’s my fault.

My older daughter took to them easily.  Maybe because I forced her to eat them early on (earlier than my necessity born “whatever works” mothering philosophy kicked in) or maybe because she simply likes them.  Either way, she will eat them and my three-year-old will not.

Up to a couple months ago, I hadn’t wanted to deal with the ramifications of a screaming preschooler sitting for 90 minutes at the dinner table digging her heels in over a half of a baby carrot. Mothering confession number two: I was more concerned about peace in the home than what was best for her health.  So I never made her eat them.

But one Saturday night we decided to make a war out of a baby carrot…

Click here to read the rest of the story.

I got angry yesterday.  I stamped my foot, crossed my arms, packed up my dolls and went home.

It was at another mom on the playground who spoke harshly to my three-year-old without my permission.  Because really, aren’t I the only one allowed to speak in that tone of voice to my own children?

Right.

I don’t know why I got so angry.  In my intial ten-second, in-the-moment self-analysis, I chalked it up to defensiveness.  I was defending my child from the hang-ups of some other over-tired, talking-on-her-cellphone mom.

Now I realize that it was anger.

And then a few minutes later one of her other children waltzed right up to us (as we were packing up to go home) and said something else deserving of a true open-mouthed gape.  Like mother like daughter, I thought.

And so we left.

My passive-aggression at work:  I made a point to pack up our things and leave to try to make a statement (as if she cared).  We’re leaving because you are mean so maybe now you’ll realize how silly you sound…

More like, how silly I LOOKED.

My point:  all day I tried to figure out something else to write for my post for Tuesday. I even started another draft.  Usually by late afternoon the day before I have the idea solidly in place.

But I kept coming back to this angry mom from Monday.

Ugh.

So here I am, telling you all that I acted like a selfish two-year-old at the playground.  Because she made me so angry, I decided to punish my own daughter by removing us both from the situation.

Like mother like daughter?  I do things like this, however minor in the grand scheme, but significant when stacked up over years.  I teach my daughters to act the same way I do, like angry-mom taught snotty-daughter.  I will teach this even if I try not to.

The only solution? Retrain myself to be different.  Not to get angry at things like this.  Treat others the way I want my girls to treat their friends. Be the woman that I want my daughter to grow up to be someday.

Like mother like daughter: rather than anger and defensiveness, love and grace and forgiveness.

Do you need to retrain yourself in something?  Do you get angry easily?