Our daughter has an interesting relationship with rules. They fall into two categories: if the rule is explained and it makes sense to her, she will not only obey it religiously, she will enforce it with others. And by others, I mean anyone within the general vicinity. It doesn’t matter who you are—teacher, parent, complete stranger—if it’s a rule she agrees with, it will be rigorously applied.
If it’s a rule she doesn’t agree with, then it will be ignored completely, regardless of consequence. This has led to some highly frustrating conversations and arguments where I’ve felt like I’m banging my head against a brick wall.
For example: yes, I know that neither Daddy nor Mummy has to travel in the back of the car or on a booster seat, but the law requires that anyone under the age of 12 or under 135 cm does so, and as such, you have to. No, we don’t have any say in the matter—neither do you. I know you don’t agree and don’t understand that the efficacy of the seatbelt is affected by the height of the passenger, and I have no way of demonstrating this that won’t lead to significant therapy bills in the future. Can you take my word for it? Of course not. So, every journey is a fight—until she was finally tall enough not to require the sodding thing.
Conversely: “Why are we travelling slower in the wet?” Well, it’s been a while since it rained; the water brings the oil to the surface in the form of rainbows that you can see, and this makes the road more slick and the car more likely to skid. So now, she will shout at anyone doing over 20 mph in the rain—regardless of the amount of rain, the condition of the road, or the fact that the speed limit is actually 70 mph.
She has also tried to make other cars obey her rules, regardless of whether they can hear her or not.
It’s caused meltdowns and tantrums in sports clubs because what is obvious to her as a blatant foul has not been caught by the group leader, and so other kids haven’t been sanctioned. These kids are between 6 and 11, but telling her to get over it would not go well. The “it’s just a game” argument does not compute, nor does “there isn’t a prize, it isn’t a competition.”
So we now think very carefully about any rules we introduce, because the phrase “hoisted by our own petard” will be inscribed on our gravestones. And for someone who can’t remember where she left her shoes, she has the mind of a steel trap when it comes to rules and routines.
Also, swear words—she can’t say “Mummy” and “Daddy” to the right person consistently, but she has learned the correct context for “for f**k’s sake.”
Raising the Modern Fae 