Sabrina hit her social worker.
Need I say more? Analyze it? I feel better knowing that it isn't just me. It isn't just the color of my skin. It really is setting limits that sets Sabrina off. The social worker said the same things I say, with the same calmness and persistence but I think a little more forcefulness.
And Sabrina hit her in the nose.
Now: a fuller update.
Sabrina had a visit with her mom this afternoon and brought home cookies and donuts. She refused to put them away: "I want to hold them!!!" It was putting them away (the second time, actually, after she had choked down some turkey and taken her inhalers without holding her breath so I let her have one donut) that resulted in her hitting the social worker. (Oh yes, the SW picked Sabrina up at school and brought her back to my house after the visit. I like this schedule.)
Sabrina was extremely defiant (look, she's a cute kid but she absolutely refuses to do anything suggested by another person--I know of no word for that other than defiance) and also screamed a lot. She called the social worker and me mean. She cried, she hit the social worker, the social worker made her go to her room, and then...
She threw up. On my cute sheep blanket. And her clothes. And then blamed the social worker and me for letting her throw up. She is old enough to know that she should go into the bathroom if she feels like throwing up. At least since it's not like she has a stomach bug and is just vomiting all night long. This was tantrum-created vomit. (I know this well from my childhood.)
So one more parental milestone reached. And how do I know from above that she really did just choke down the turkey instead of chewing it? Because her vomit was nothing but undigested chunks of turkey and donut crumbs. And after she threw up, guess what Sabrina wanted to wear to bed? Her clothes. That she had just vomited on. It took two grown ups to convince her that she needed to take her clothes off and put pajamas on.
So no bath for her, even though her last bath was at her Daddy's house on Sunday. (Am I a bad parent for not having her bathe every day? I didn't take a bath every day when I was 4.) So I really wanted to make sure to give her a bath tonight, even if just so that my bathing negligence doesn't get revealed to dad tomorrow. Oh well.
She's now asleep, in her bedroom. Can you believe (I'm sure you can) that she tried to direct where exactly in her room I sat while she fell asleep? I didn't want to sit on the floor so I pulled a chair over to where she could see me, but that wasn't good enough for her. She wanted me to sit on the carpet. "Sabrina, this is not a subject of negotiation." (Too big a word for a 4 year old? Well, she'll learn, even if it is.) "Sit on the floor!" "Sabrina, this is not a subject of negotiation. You need to be quiet. If you complain, I am leaving." "Sit on the floor!" At which point, I left and started writing a post about how I felt awful about leaving her because she was still crying about being scared. I got one sentence in before I gave in, but we then repeated the conversation about where I should sit. Anyway, as I type this, I'm still sitting in the chair.
Next up: taking her bookbag out of her room, seeing if we missed any homework, and most importantly, taking out the vomit-covered Hello Kitty sweatshirt.