Saturday, September 7, 2013

"We be the best we can be in the moment. And we live with grace." 

Post-Kenpo, soccer uniform pick up, a line of people in the waning heat of late summer, mostly accompanied by children, who, given the hour, may or may not have eaten dinner.  The kids group about, two games of tag are being played, then one Duck-Duck-Goose! and one Tag.  Chatting amicably with a young nanny, baby's falling asleep in the sling.  My turn at the table, I call my child over to try on a jersey, at first there's a lite resistance as she was playing intently...then IT begins, because there are only 10 girls on her team, and her only choice is between number 23 or number 12.
We'd had a discussion about color, team colors are green and white, only green and white.  There had been a brief discussion about numbers, that she wouldn't get to pick a number as we hadn't pre-ordered.

Apparently it wasn't enough.  

But really, who would predict that a discrepancy of numbers would send a 7 year old into a raging fit?

I can't even remember everything that was said.  The hate-filled ugliness screeching from her mouth, confusion about how team uniforms are numbered exacerbated by lack of food, and a long active day.  I eventually ran out of verbal tools, gratefully it was the same time I completed writing out the check, I called the Second Born and we moved First Born drama short distance to the parking lot.

I am grateful I didn't do anything to feel ashamed.  For me, her behavior was somewhat embarrassing, though I've come to care less and less about what others think.  At some point I mentioned she was embarrassing herself---a flicker of doubt crossed her face, but then I guess she figured she'd already committed to the tantrum so publicly, she may as well go all in.  And I do mean all in.  

"I will not speak to you again until you've eaten something and you're calm."

After moving her seat back between the younger two (as I can't be expected to drive safely while there's anyone fr-eak-ing the eff out in my passenger seat) I had to buckle her in.  She woke her brother with her shrieking and caterwauling though eventually helped him with his paci.

"I think you shouldn't speak again either, until you've eaten and  you're calm."

We made it home.  With a call ahead The Man had prepped simple dinner for them.  They got fed and then even had story at bedtime.

I'm completely wrung out.  We had such a good week, to end with such crap...it's just really really disappointing.  I've sadness, anger, and feeling weary.  It's these behaviors that 'cause me to think she should be in brick & mortar school, or that there's something amiss with her functionality.  But I know that giving in to her crazed states would only create more tantrums in the future.  Now delayed consequences loom in the coming week, because my energy has been completely drained.

All this after a standard three year old tantrum 'cause I wanted to listen to the Broncos game recap/analysis instead of Wheels On The Bus.

So, aforementioned Ms. Martin is dead on---Carry on Brave Mother.




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