Confession: I'm late a lot. Usually, I feel bad about getting somewhere late, even if it's by just a few minutes. Sometimes, though, I enjoy it. Today, I embraced it. Here's why:
The kiddo had her zumba class this afternoon, and we were about to leave the house right on time when she noticed that her frozen yogurt cup from yesterday was still in the car (do not judge me). She tried to lick out the remnants, which I thought was too gross to allow. (I gotta draw the line somewhere.) I told her that she couldn't do it, and reached for the cup. She held on, and as I tried to pull it away, she started yelling. I calmly told the kiddo that I wouldn't take her to zumba class if continued to act like that, and I went back into the house. Almost immediately, she quieted down and was apologetic. So, I slowly walked back to the car and leisurely got going. We would have been just one or two minutes late, except...
We had to wait on a train! At that point, the kiddo knew we were going to be late to her class, and she was not happy. I reminded her that it was her behavior that made us late, and that she was lucky to be going to zumba at all. The kiddo grudgingly accepted this, adjusted her attitude and had fun dancing. And since then--no 'tude. Now, I have to go clean out my car.
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