Phase 1: The war begins

Ever since I was little I knew the difference between right and wrong, black and white, good and bad. Why? ; Because every year of my life I was lucky enough to earn another minute of hell on time-out. Every time we moved the one thing that never failed to get lost amongst the mess was my little red time-out chair. I spent the first 10 years of my life on that chair. My mother knew I was trouble from the day I began to walk and talk.

I was never an obedient kid. One time when I was only 18 months old I was sitting in the kitchen throwing cheerios out of the box when my mom walked in. She decided to practice her new techniques she had learned from the latest “take control of your child” parenting books. So she began with her calm voice “Sophia please stop throwing the cheerios.” To this I smiled and grabbed another handful. “Sophia if you keep throwing the cheerios you’re going to have to pick them up.” This was just fuel to the second handful. “Sophia, I’m serious now you’re going to have to pick them up” (slightly firmer tone). Throw number three “Sophia” she said now in her firmer, I’m going to put you up for adoption voice “one more cheerio and your picking them all up.” I turned around and gave her a preview at what the next 8 years and 6 months would be like. “Make me” I said throwing the fourth handful. My mom quickly forgot everything the books had to say as she proceeded to pick me up and use my fingers to pick up every single cheerio I had thrown. From this day forward the war had begun.