Hose Hissy Fit

Our afternoon July 4th celebrations were pretty enjoyable, mostly because Danielle wasn't here for most of the afternoon and evening. Although she managed to pull things out of the ditch for part of the morning after pitching a fit, it wasn't long before she threw another, even more spectacular, one.

The second fit started after Danielle had been calm for a while. I had gone to the grocery store to pick up a few things for our BBQ. After bringing the groceries inside with Danielle's mostly cheerful help, I went out to the RV to clean up. My mother was expected at any minute, and I had realized, rather late, that the trailer was still dirty from the last time we had overnight visitors.

As I headed out the door, Danielle jumped out of her seat. "Can I help?" she asked, eyes beaming.

I really didn't want her to help, because I knew her good mood wasn't going to last, and I knew I could do a better job without her. Still, I kept my negative feelings to myself.

"Sure," I replied. "Thanks for the help." We headed out to the trailer. I gave Danielle the window cleaner and asked her to clean the mirrors and inside of the windows. I took the bathroom cleaner and headed for the bathroom.

While we were cleaning, my mother arrived. I'd finished most of the scrubbing, but we were still waiting for clean sheets to come out of the washer. FosterEema came out of the house, and pretty soon all four of us were in the RV, chatting amiably. I started cleaning the galley (kitchen) sink and counter top, and had to step out for something, and almost tripped on a garden hose that had been left lying on the driveway.

"Danielle," I called cheerfully, "can you do me a quick favor?"

"Sure," she called back, equally amiably. She jumped down the RV steps.

"Can you please take this garden hose and put it back on the hose rack? I'm worried grandma might trip on it."

As soon as the request came out of my mouth, the clouds rolled in. Danielle went from being cooperative and amiable to disrespectful and insulting in less than one second.

"Why do I have to do it?" she demanded.

"Can you please do it?" I asked again, "I would hate for grandma to trip and get hurt." My mother is 71, and I had visions of a broken hip dancing through my head.

Danielle angrily grabbed the end of the hose and marched towards the house. I went back into the RV to resume my cleaning, and we could hear her screaming. She suddenly "didn't know how" to put the hose back on the rack, and she said she would end up breaking the succulent plants that grow in front of the rack.

She screamed, she ranted, and she raved.

"I have every faith in you," I called from the trailer, "and I'm sure you can figure it out."

Before I knew what was happening, Danielle started screaming at FosterEema, who had gone back into the house. She was screaming something about how the succulent plants that live in the flower bed near the hose bib would get in the way, and she would break them and then she'd be in trouble for it. She didn't know how to roll up the hose anyway, and there was no way she was going to do the job.

I couldn't see what was happening, but I could hear every word.

FosterEema replied calmly, "well if the plants get broken, then they get broken, but FosterAbba asked you to put the hose away, so please do it."

I heard her go into the house and Danielle followed her in. FosterEema again reminded her to go outside and do the task she had been asked to do. Danielle went silent for a moment, and then I heard a terrible amount of pounding and screaming.

I was just about to stick my head outside to see what was happening, when the intercom on the cordless phone I'd brought out to the RV started beeping. FosterEema was paging.

"Hello?" I asked tentatively, wondering what the heck was going on.

"If you need to come back into the house, let me know and I'll open the door for you. I just latched the screen door because Danielle refused to coil up the hose and kept coming back inside the house."

Just as I started hanging up the phone, Danielle started kicking the bottom of the screen door. She was screaming that she wasn't going to put the hose away, and we could not make her. I didn't respond, and FosterEema remained in the house.

Eventually, the screaming and the pounding stopped. My mother and I just stared at each other in complete disbelief. Danielle had been screaming so loud I was sure the entire neighborhood heard the commotion.

After a few minutes, I paged FosterEema with the intercom, and she told me that it was safe to come in. Danielle, after all the fuss, had coiled up the hose and had gone inside. When we emerged from the trailer, I found a small piece (perhaps two or three leaves) of the succulent had been broken off and were dead center in the middle of the front step. It looked too deliberate to be accidental, but I said nothing.

When we came in, Danielle was huffing and puffing and slamming around the house.

Calmly, I asked her to sit on the love seat so we could talk.

She stomped in and threw herself into her seat.

"Now I understand the plan was that you were going to go watch the fireworks with Ms. Teacher and her niece. Is that correct?" I asked, calmly and quietly.

Danielle glared at me through her hair, which was covering her eyes. Her arms were crossed defiantly across her chest. "Yes," she surled.

"Do you want to go to the fireworks this evening with Ms. Teacher and her niece?"

"I don't know," she grumped. Then she added, almost haughtily, "I hadn't really thought about it."

"Okay," I continued softly, "let's look at this from my perspective. Can you honestly tell me that you have been behaving in a way that would make me want to let you go?"

"No," she sulked.

"So what do you think you need to do?" I asked.

"Behave better," she growled.

"Well I want to make something really clear: I don't care if you go or not. However, I am getting very tired of your abusive behavior. So, here's the deal -- if you don't pull this out of the ditch right now, I am going to decide for you. If I hear one more disrespectful word out of your mouth, if you refuse to do one more chore, or you even so much as roll your eyes or make ugly faces at me, then I will call Ms. Teacher and I will tell her that you can't go to the fireworks. Furthermore, I will tell her why you aren't going."

Danielle sat on the loveseat and positively glared at me.

I continued, "You have a choice here. If you want to go to the fireworks, then you will pull this out of the ditch. If you don't, that's fine, but you will spend the rest of the day in your room. When [the across-the-street neighbors] come for the BBQ, you will stay in your room, and you won't enjoy hamburgers with us. You won't watch the fireworks, and you won't go with Ms. Teacher. You get to decide, and I don't care which you choose, but I want to make it very clear that this is your choice. It's completely up to you, and the consequences of your actions are on you."

Danielle stared at me in disbelief, then went to her room and grabbed her art book. She calmed herself down and started drawing and writing poetry. She managed to hold it together long enough to be granted permission to go, which was a great relief to all of us.

Of course she had to be nasty when she came home. I dared to asked her to change her clothes because she'd been wearing the same two layered tank tops for at least two days. She was wearing them Friday when she came home, she slept in them Friday night, and she'd worn them all day Saturday. They looked dingy and enough was enough. She pitched a fit, but did change, and I took the clothes and threw them in my laundry basket.

While she was at the July 4th festivities, she got another invite to go shopping and get her hair cut with Ms. Teacher on Monday. I've reminded her several times this morning, that her behavior today will determine whether or not she'll be allowed to go.

Danielle, on her own initiative, has decided to spend most of today in her room so she won't be tempted to get into trouble.