The Gianna Factor.

Gianna, is well..... Gianna.

She marches to her own beat. Rarely hears your drum, and could care a less if she does. She has HER beat and she is happy, thankyouverymuch.

Because of this, we have more than a few exasperated moments.

More than a few.

(As in, I can easily lose count before 10 AM on how many times I have had to remind myself to be patient, to respond lovingly, and to count to 10.)

Case in point: We are rushing around the house trying not to be late for art class, and the ONLY instruction I give her is to put her shoes on, while I: start the car, let the dog out to potty, grab coats, make lunches, find backpacks, throw a load of laundry in the dryer before it mildews, start the dishwasher, find my purse, my shoes, and grab a to-go mug of coffee. And she has been told we are late, so she is well aware of the need to hurry.

"Mommy, MOMmy, MOMMMMMMYYYYY. Is this the right foot? Is it? Is this the right foot???"

(Mind you, she never actually moves to find me, instead she opts for the "sit and scream" method.)

Me, running to find the location of the screamer: "No, Gianna the buckle goes on the outside of your foot. Put the other shoe on that foot."

As soon as I have rounded the corner: " Mommy, MOMmy, MOMMMMMMYYYY. Is this the right foot now??"

Grumbling under my breath, I run back to find that she has put the same wrong shoe BACK ON the wrong foot.

Blood pressure is rising....

"HERE.PUT THIS SHOE ON THIS FOOT, GIANNA. NOW."

As soon as I get back to the laundry room, I hear: "Mommy. MOMmy? MOMMMYYYYY. But is this the right foot?"

As I stomp, ahem... happily skip back to her, I see that she has FINALLY got the right shoe on the right foot, and is holding up the remaining shoe and foot wondering if they go together too.

Hey, Gianna, have you ever heard of the "process of elimination"?

Apparently not.

I have been seriously praying about how to respond to her in kindness and love. Praying for patience with her little quirks, incessant questions, and I was doing great! So great in fact, that I bragged a little about how wonderful I was doing.

Does the phrase, "Pride goes before a fall" ring any bells?

Fast forward a week: We have friends coming for dinner in 30 minutes. The girls are finishing video school. I run upstairs to quickly fold a bucket of clean laundry.

I think I hear something.

I ignore it.

Company will be here in 20 minutes.

I hear screaming bloody murder.

I run down stairs,heart racing, expecting to find copious amounts of blood.

I rush in to the schoolroom to find Gianna sitting in a pool of yellow liquid, crying hysterically, " I couldn't find the pause button. So I peed."

You what?!?!?

Hey Gianna. Have you every considered that leaving a playing video *might* be okay in a bathroom emergency?

Nope. She preferred to sit and pee right there and deal with the consequences later.

Through gritted teeth, I told her to stand on her chair, so we could contain the mess while I stripped her down for the world's quickest bath.

Company was due in just 15 minutes.

She refused. She was not going to stand up, and didn't care how much I wanted her to.

Screaming and crying, she absolutely WOULD.NOT. STAND.UP NO.MATTER. WHAT.

So being the patient, calm, collected mom that I am, I try to wrangle a very determined,sopping wet three year old into standing while trying to YANK off her clothes with the other hand.

That's when I found out that she didn't just pee.

POOP goes flying out of her urine soaked clothes- onto me, onto the chair and on the floor.

I may or may not have reacted with Godly character at this point.

T minus 10 minutes and counting until the doorbell rings and my house smells like a sewage dump, my hysterical daughter has to be bathed, and I am covered in bodily fluids.

All because she couldn't find the pause button.

It's a good thing that she is so scrumptious.