PMT and Growing Up Sane.

I'm pretty much convinced that my ten year old daughter Caitie has started PMT. As yet there is no obvious sign of the M but batten down the hatches folks cause the T is in full effect. And frankly, the screaming sessions, the abuse, the throwing of objects and slamming of doors is wearing me down. And wearing her father down. And traumatising the boys. And she just...doesn't...care!

There has to be a better way than this ever growing cycle of anger? We had a doozy of a fight the other day which ended in my totally losing it. I found myself screaming right back at her, angry spittle being flung from my lips. And in that one moment of crystal clear insanity, I knew that I hated her.

Don't get me wrong, I love my daughter with all my heart and soul. I can't wait to see her grow into the person I know she is capable of. Her empathy toward other children is deeper than the ocean. She is a calming influence on the smaller children at Vacation care. She cares deeply for her littlest brother Conor. But, in those moments when she has lost all ability to listen to reason, has switched off and has gotten on the "Its-not-fair" carousel, I can't deal with her.

The whole episode left me exhausted, her emotionally shattered and my husband and I completely overwhelmed. As parents, it is our job to bring our kids up safely. Bit hard to do that when you just want them to stop screaming abuse at you. She actually ran through the house screaming, "You hate me, you've always hated me!" (sigh) So, together, T and I sat down and decided how we are going to handle these meltdowns. It came down to one simple fact. We are the parents and she is the child. At ten she is on the cusp of young womanhood but she is still a child and needs structure and direction. The rule is simple but it is ever so hard to enforce. What we say, goes and no arguments will change that.

We had the perfect opportunity to try it the next day when the arguments started from the topic of the previous day. She had to wear her brothers formal shoes as hers were too small. With six weeks left of school, I flatly refused to purchase a new pair when her brothers were the perfect size and almost brand new. "I want my SNEAKERS", began the familiar whine. I faced her and said in my calmest voice,"No, Caitlin." And the arguments began to heat up. She sat outside my door whining in her most annoying pitch. T went to argue with her and I stopped him. "No means No and you don't need to say anything else." It took half an hour but this time there was no throwing and no screaming. Just an acceptance. She gave up because we remained a united front. In that moment I was proud of myself, my husband and, strangely enough, my little spitfire. It may be a small victory but its a start.

Peace reigned for a small period of time...Hallelujah.