The reason I let my daughter trash the house in a temper

As any mum knows, children have an innate ability to push your buttons and test their limits, and while the vast majority of us have learned various ways to deal with this, there are times when we simply don't have the energy to tackle the issue.

Recently, I was confronted with a shrieking six-year-old girl who had thrown herelf so deeply into her tantrum, it looked like she may never find a way out.

Curled on the couch with a hotwater bottle to soothe period pains and a box of tissues to contend with my standard January headcold, I was in no mood to humour a child who was still struggling to deal with the fact Christmas had finally come to a close.

30 minutes after explaining that Mummy would need a day to rest and 15 minutes after reminding her how good she usually was at entertaining herself like a big girl, I was smack-bang in the middle of a tantrum I hasn't seen since her Terrible Twos.

With her dad working and her usually willing mum unwilling to crawl around the house looking for treasure, Ella found herself at a loose end – something which didn't sit well with her on this particular Saturday afternoon.

After attempting to play by herself, Ella soon found herself teetering perilously close to the brink and suddenly she broke.

Graduating from a whinge to a wail before launching into a shriek, Ella demanded I play with her and failing that, insisted she be brought to the local activity centre by Nana.

Explaining that neither would be possible that day, she began kicking her toys around the room desperately waiting for a reaction which I did not have the energy to give that day.

Breaking toys she had been gifted on December 25^th, Ella watched me from beneath her eyelashes and grew increasingly irate at the lack of attention she was being given.

I may have broken every rule in the parenting book that day by allowing her free reign, but I truly felt that this was a learning process.

She could break every toy in her playroom, smash every cup she could lay her hands on and scream herself hoarse -all of which she did – and I would ignore it.

I won't lie – there were moments when I felt I should intervene and calm her down, but between the foggy feeling in my head and the stabbing pains in my lower abdomen, I truly didn't know if I would be capable.

Approximately two hours after it began, she finally settled down and I allowed her to sit beside me and watch Saturday afternoon TV.

Wary about the return of her father and the inevitable shouting match that would ensue when he saw what his daughter had done to his home, she asked if we should set about cleaning.

“Absolutely, I replied. “Each and every single thing you broke will go in the bin, every cushion you launched will be put back in place and every drink you threw will be mopped up.”

“But what about you?” she asked.

“I will stay here and trust that you will get rid of every sign that you behaved like a spoiled, thoughtless and unhelpful little girl when your mummy was sick and simply asked for a little quiet-time.”

Shocked, she intially persisted before slowly making her way around the warzone that our house had become.

By allowing Ella to do what she did that day, I firmly believe I thought her a lesson in learning the consequences of her actions.

Had I relented and played with her despite feeling like death warmed up or had I spent the afternoon continuously telling her to stop, I dont think she would have learned the importance of other people's feelings and the repercussions of certain behaviour.

It took her two hours to make her point and three hours to hide evidence of it – all of which I truly feel will stand to her.

Al least, I hope so.