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I turned the door handle and looked in the room to see stuffed animals and clothes scattered all over the floor like she’d thrown them in her tantrum. She sat cross-legged on her bed, arms folded angrily over her chest. My first instinct was to make her pick up every last item, but instead, I knelt on the floor in front of her, getting below eye level.
Some of the websites I’d read online when I couldn’t sleep last night said being lower than the child helped them feel comfortable and safe. I gave her a gentle smile and said, “Hey, I’m not mad at you about earlier. Sometimes it takes a little time to learn how to treat each other.”
She gave me a confused look. “You’re not mad?”
I shook my head. “But I do have some breakfast on the counter, and I really don’t want it to get cold. Why don’t we go eat, and then we can come clean this up together?”
With a short little nod, she got up and followed me to the kitchen. I sat in front of my plate, and she sat in front of hers. I was so excited for her to see the pancake I’d made with little ears and a chocolate chip smile. But instead of being happy about the food, she said, “Ew, this bacon looks nasty.”
“That’s okay, you can eat the eggs,” I said.
Her lip curled up like she’d smelled something sour. “I don’t like scrambled eggs. I like dippy eggs.”
“That’s fine,” I said, taking a sip of coffee. “I’ll know that for tomorrow. But today, you can eat what I made for you.”
Giving me a glare, she shoved the plate off the counter, sending it clattering to the floor.
My lips parted, and I swore I saw red. If I’d done that as a kid, my parents would have reamed my butt. But I knew spanking wasn’t right, especially after all the research I’d done last night.
So instead of blowing up, I got off my seat, took my coffee, and walked outside, trying to calm myself down. With the door closed, I took an angry sip, maybe seeing why the other nannies quit.
The back door opened, and Maya peeked her head out. I turned to see her smiling. “Are you leaving?” she asked. “Grandpa can watch me when you go.”
That’s when I realized—she was testing me. Trying to see how much I would take.
I let out a laugh, probably looking like a crazy person standing there cackling with my coffee at half past seven in the morning.
Maya’s face screwed up. “You’re weird.”
“I am. Now get in the truck.”
“What?” she asked.
“Get. In. The. Truck.”
Her dad had set up her booster seat the night before, so I went inside, shoved an extra outfit for her and a swimsuit in a plastic sack and went out to my pickup. She was still standing outside it.
“Climb in,” I said, playing up my southern accent. “We ain’t got all day.”
With a huff, she opened the back door and got in. I checked to make sure she was buckled in before taking off down the dirt road.
* * *
We got approximatelytwo miles away from the house when I realized I had absolutely no idea where we were going. I just knew I needed to get her out of her element and do something new. Because I was not sitting around the house all day being terrorized by an eight-year-old.
At least Maya was being quiet for a moment so I could gather my thoughts and contemplate what there was to do in town. We could go to the park, but she might be a little old to enjoy that on her own. We could go to the baseball field once I got a ball and some bats—maybe that would help take out her aggression. Or end horribly, horribly wrong.
Then I remembered my brother Tyler and his wife, Henrietta, were building raised garden beds at the boutique apartments they owned for seniors. A couple extra hands would be good, and Maya could benefit from some hard work.
I called Henrietta to double-check that it was okay, and she eagerly said yes. She loved kids, and I knew she missed her nieces and nephews back in California. And Tyler was as patient as people come, way more so than me. This could be good.
“Where are we going?” Maya whined for the millionth time from the back seat.
“I’m putting you to work,” I chirped. “You’ll be moving dirt and compost into garden beds.”
Maya looked so horrified in the rearview mirror, I had to hold back a laugh. “I’m not doing that,” she said.
“Well then, you’re sitting around and watching while I do it,” I said. “But you won’t get any ice cream after.”