So remember that whole thing about how my kid acts like he's two and yada yada yada. Well today, after a MOPS session that was dedicated to disciplining, my son threw the largest tantrum in the middle of WalMart. He was in the back of the cart and it was half full of groceries and he decided he would start throwing them out. This isn't that big of deal if the things he chooses to throw are boxes of cereal or foil. It's annoying, yes, but it doesn't become a big deal until he does it with the milk. I caught it in mid air because, yeah, I've learned to adapt to my surroundings. So I thought that maybe we could try the whole, walk next to mommy and hold onto the cart scenario. It worked for about thirty seconds. One moment he was standing up against the cart and the next second I was diving for a carton of eggs that he had decided to pull down and examine. Only by the grace of God did I reach them before they became a pile of sticky goo on the floor. I put him in the front of the cart. He stood up. He hates being strapped in so I avoid it, but obviously this was no time for Pushover Mommy. I clicked the strap together under his arms.
And for the next TWENTY minutes he screamed absolute, bonafide, blood curdling murder. There was kicking. There was snot everywhere. There was bright red faced humiliation. Me, not him. Oh no, he was just as content as he could be pitching World War 3 in the middle of the grocery store. I tried whispering. I tried consoling and soothing. I tried stern looks and "this is unacceptable." Still the screaming continued until it became complete with gurgling and choking. I think children have been murdered for less but I was in a busy supermarket and had no weapon with which to proceed. Finally, when we rounded the corner into the produce section he spotted a watermelon. He pointed. "Ball!" And the crying ceased. I showed him little balls and explained that we call them apples. I showed him medium sized balls which we called honey dew. I showed him tiny balls which we call grapes. He wanted to eat them. I told him he could have some with his lunch. Complete and utter meltdown commenced.
He finally calmed down in the check out line. When we got to the car it was 12:45. I kind of feel like, while his meltdown was a product of a stubborn little boy who hates to be strapped to the cart, it may have continued for so long out of...hunger pains?
I put off my plans of slow dismemberment in favor of feeding my little guy and putting him down for a nap. Oh the joys of parent/toddler relationships. Some minutes it's all fun and games and angelic choirs declaring love and peace and some minutes it's all out guerrilla warfare.
To make it perfectly clear to any CPS worker who might stumble upon this blog, the writer would never murder or dismember her child.