Lucy, the three-and-a-half year old granddaughter whom we are raising, has entered another willful phase. She tests (“NO!”), she wheedles “PLEEEEZ?”), and she whines (“MA-ma, I want a COOK-ie”). It is exhausting to be her parent right now, but we see progress, and we know that the goal of forming her character is worth the inconvenience of disciplining her on the spot.
Impulse control is hard for preschoolers. Disappointment is tough for them to handle. They say what they think without editing. They lash out in anger when they are thwarted. I understand that–it’s partly the age, and partly raw human nature which simply needs to be tamed and taught.
But what is only to be expected in a three-year-old is singularly unattractive in a twenty-something. I found that out this week.
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