So we move from the hooray-causing reading Mr.D. to today’s Mr.D. It is only lunchtime and I am posting already. You can tell that whatever is coming isn’t good, can’t you?
Mr. D. wakes this morning – early-ish for a Saturday when they normally all walk up to the bakery, leaving mummy to have a slight sleep in but not weirdly early – but he wakes with a bang!
Screaming, slamming, thumping, jumping. “I won’t take my tablets. I am not taking them ever. I don’t like them. I don’t like taking them. I will not. Nooooooo.” Screamed in my husband’s face whilst we were still lying in bed. Ms. E. starts crying – we don’t know why, yet, because we are trying to get out of bed while trying to medicate Mr.D. as quickly as possible.
We stumble out. What a sight. Bedroom is trashed. Strangely, although done by Mr.D., most of the mess is Ms.E.’s stuff, strewn about. Then we find the music box.
When I was a wee snippet of a lassie, my beloved Daddy gave me a music box. You’ve seen them – fairly tacky really but delightful to little girls who love ballet – all pink and white with ribbons and ballerinas. You open it up, and there is space for your treasures and a little ballerina pops upright and when you turn the dial, she spins in front of her mirror to some random piece of classical music. I kept that music box in pristine condition for years, playing “her” every night. So at Christmas, when I saw an almost exact replica, and I now have a ballerina-mad four year old, it was a given. It was the only gift specifically from Mummy to daughter. As I had hoped, Ms.E. fell hard for the box and had to be given lessons in not over-winding, etc.
Then Mr.D. played with it and Ms. E. didn’t like that so it went inside her top dresser drawer to live for a while – out of sight out of mind being good sense around here.
Seems it didn’t stay out of mind for long enough.
This morning we discovered the ballerina broken in half, the mechanism that holds her and turns her was pulled part out and bent severely, and the lid no longer closes. None of this damage was done by Ms. E.
I can deal with my disappointment without projecting it too far; Ms.E. is upset but she’ll live – she is four and doesn’t always feel things as keenly as Mr. D. and I. But what to do as, well, as punishment? Really the only appropriate word because this behaviour is just indicative of his inability to see Ms.E. as a real person rather than as his personal doll.
In my mind, I believe the permanent confiscation of one of his toys is merited (even though I am as sentimental and soft-hearted as he is). I find it very hard to do. Whereas, at the other extreme, Daddy is just about happy to remove every toy.
Is there another way out? This is NOT a rhetorical question, I really would appreciate some advice. What would you do? What have you tried? Any ideas at all as to appropriate redress?