Meet me at the end of my rope

I'm beyond frustrated with Maddie right now. I'm at the point of losing my flipping mind. I keep having to remind myself that she's 7 years old. She's reverted back to her toddler years. She talks like a baby. She whines like a baby. She throws temper tantrums like a baby. In the morning I have to physically drag her out of bed and put clothes on her because she will.not.move. If she doesn't get her way she stomps her foot and pouts. She clings to me every waking hour that she's not in school. I literally weep tears of joy when I drop her off at the school, and then peel out of the parking lot like the cops are after me. Bedtime is a joyful time. I've given her excuses. She's not feeling well. She's just being jealous because Dylan is getting a lot of attention for his accomplishments in school. No more.

This is me being DONE.

She's going to get a chart. This chart is just a blank piece of paper. Every time her behavior is good, she gets a mark on the good side. Every time her behavior is bad, she gets a mark on the bad side. If, by the end of the week, she has more bad marks than good marks - she gets a privelidge taken away. If, by the end of the week, there are more good marks than bad marks - she gets a treat.

We've actually done this before and it worked AMAZINGLY. So well, that we ended up just forgetting about the chart because they were all good marks after awhile.

Then came this.

If this doesn't work, you can probably visit me every other Tuesday from 4:00 to 8:00 p.m. in the visitors center of the nearest psychiatric ward. If I'm not on self-imposed isolation.