The One With The Epic Meltdown

My kids are relatively good most of the time. They may fight occasionally, they may be fresh when they're cranky, but, for the most part, they are pretty good.

Except when they're not.

I have a theory that kids have a certain quota of nonsense they have to pull. Unfortunately, mine like to save it up for one atomic meltdown every six months or so. There was an episode, when Lucy was about 3 years old, that she cried for 4 straight hours because I wouldn't buy her a toothbrush at the grocery store. Sean once went the way of Linda Blair (a la The Exorcist) because I wouldn't buy him ice cream for breakfast. So, I know this isn't an unusual phase for my kids around the age of 3. Unfortunately for me, Charlotte has always been a little advanced for her age.

Charlotte decided to try her hand at the atomic meltdown at the grocery store the other day. My first mistake was saying out loud that I was just going to run into the store for a few things. I should know right away that I'm tempting fate with a statement like that. I only had Sean and Charlotte and really only needed a handful of items. Piece of cake, right? {Go ahead and laugh at my naiveté. You have my permission.}

It started with the shopping cart. Both kids wanted the cart with the car attached to the front. Sadly, every single one of those carts had only one steering wheel. Instant recipe for disaster. Luckily, the kids figured they could take turns driving. Until Sean decided he was going to get out and walk. Then Charlotte wanted to help me scan the groceries with the hand scanner. This isn't usually a problem, but I let Sean have a turn. Apparently, this was the ultimate offense, because that is when Charlotte proceeded to lay herself down on the floor of aisle 6 and sob like I just killed her best friend.

I thought I could just walk down to the end of the aisle and say goodbye. This usually brings her running. But, my little friend was in it to win it. She stayed right there and didn't even care when I turned the corner into the next aisle. I then had to run all the way back and grab her before someone called child services. Not to be conquered, Charlotte resorted to the boneless chicken maneuver. You know, when your child is suddenly made of Jello and can't be lifted? Of course, I'm not new to this game, so I had a pretty good handle on her. So, my wonderful angel of a child went straight up crazy and tried to kick me.

Oh no, sister. Not happening.

I took my little demon child and buckled her (by force) right into the car carriage. She proceeded to scream and cry for the remainder of my "quick" trip to the grocery store. She finally settled a bit when I was checking out, but then started up all over again because I wouldn't let her pay. Although, if she had any cash, I definitely would've given in on that one.

My darling daughter cried the whole ride home and finally fell asleep at the house. Which made me really appreciate the sound of silence. Until she woke up mid-nap screaming, "I WANT TO SCAN IT!"

Is this chick for real? She was carrying this tantrum straight into her dreams. What a lunatic!

All told, the atomic meltdown lasted for about three hours. Not including naptime. Let's be glad that they don't happen more than once or twice a year, because I'm sure one of us wouldn't survive.

What about your kids? Have they ever had a memorable meltdown? Please let me know I'm not the only one! ;)

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Tantrums R Us

Sean has developed an adorable new habit. Tantrums. If anyone had asked, I would've happily told them that Sean was the easiest child I'd ever had. From the time he was born, he was a dream. Terrible twos? Not my Seany! 

And then he turned three. (Cue the foreboding music.)

My perfect little Sean has been able to muster a decent tantrum at a rate of about twice a week for the last month or so. Sean, being Sean, he really likes to excel at everything he does. This means that a proper tantrum involves screaming, yelling, stomping, crying, and turning all shades of red. He actually gets to the point of losing complete control of himself. I'm fairly certain that he's lost all touch with reality when he's in the throes of a monstrous meltdown.

For the most part, the other kids never really threw too many tantrums. That's not to say it didn't happen. Lucy once cried for four hours straight when I refused to buy her a toothbrush at the grocery store. (Don't let her quiet nature fool you - that girl is stubborn as hell.) Granted, I've developed a weird sort of parenting amnesia as each child progresses past certain stages, but I can't recall any of the kids going through this tantrum phase for any length of time.

There is a recent event that inspired this post. Last Friday, after I dropped the three oldest children off for school, I asked Sean if he wanted to go get a snack. We popped into our favorite little convenience store so I could grab a coffee and Sean and Charlotte could get a treat. Normally, this treat is a muffin, donut, or a granola bar. While I poured my coffee, Sean and Charlotte had stumbled upon the Devil Dogs. I almost caved in and said yes to the Devil Dogs when Sean quickly tossed the package back and ran to the ice cream freezer. 

Any other day, I could've told Sean that we don't eat ice cream at 8:30 in the morning and he would've agreed. Not this day. Apparently, being told no ice cream meant it was time to channel his inner Linda Blair.  He turned all shades of red, stomped and shouted about wanting ice cream. While there wasn't any head-spinning, it was still a fabulous show for the entire store. 

I was very proud of myself. I told him sternly that he could choose another treat or get nothing at all. He continued to pitch a fit while I calmly finished preparing my coffee and picked out a snack for a very bewildered Charlotte. I went to check out, trailing a tiny monster behind me. The poor cashier tried to tell Sean that ice cream would give him a tummy ache. At this point he'd lost all touch with reality and just screamed. There were lots of stares. I could have shut him up instantly with an ice cream, but he's got the wrong parent if he thinks that's going to happen.

So... I ignored him. He tried to block me from leaving the store, but, I pushed right past him. The parking lot posed a new problem, however. Sean decided to try to run back into the store for the much-coveted ice cream. Safety-wise, ignoring him was no longer an option. I put Charlotte on one hip (while holding my coffee in that hand) then scooped Sean up around his middle with the other hand. There's nothing like a flailing child to kick off the day. I wrangled the kids (and the all-important coffee) and grew an extra set of hands to fish the car keys out of my pocket. Then I unceremoniously threw Sean (not an exaggeration) into the car.

Once Charlotte was safely buckled, I asked Sean (who was now crying on the floor of the backseat) if he needed a hug. Believe me, the last thing I wanted to do was hug the little brat child, but I knew he needed help coming back to reality. He fell into my arms and settled right down. He was then able to agree that ice cream is not a breakfast treat and that he shouldn't have carried on the way he did.

While I still haven't ruled out demonic possession, I'm hoping this is just a normal (and fast-moving) three year-old phase. Anyone out there have any tantrum-stopping tactics? Or the number for a priest who does exorcisms?

P.S.

I was going to add a picture of Linda Blair from The Exorcist, but I scared the crap out of myself when I Googled the images. I'm still way too freaked out by that movie. I blame my parents for making me watch that at such a young age.

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