Of Tantrums. . .Sigh

Brigade, as you know, it is our practice to snuggle a bit with the bambini before plunging into the day.   It is also our practice to change Clara out of her Pull-Up and into a pair of underwear.  Often Clara likes to toss the Pull-Up in the garbage by herself, and her scampering off to do so is one signal that snuggle time is over.  Tuesday morning, Clara padded down the hallway with the Pull-Up, tossed it, and then came tearing back down the hall. . .and promptly pitched herself on her bed and burst into tears.

Dearest Readers, we think we can all agree that a tantrum is always a drag, but none more so than the tantrum that occurs while one is trying to execute the morning routine that--and here, of course, comes the critical part--occurs in advance of leaving the house for school and work.  They are enough to make you want to pitch yourself on your bed and sob inconsolably, and with renewed vigor should anyone have the temerity to remind you that breakfast is occurring right now and not held for you until you work it out so you'd best pull it together if you are hungry.

Practically every day this week has been marked by a terrific tantrum, and not just at home it would seem, as Thursday, we arrived to the bambini's school to this note explaining Birdie's swollen lip: "Clara  was throwing a tantrum, tipped over in the chair she was sitting in, and bit her upper lip, causing it to bleed."  (The upside here is that between the lip, and the bruise on her eyelid from when she clocked her head on a coffee table Grandma Connie and Grandpa Charles'--while pitching a fit--she looks like a real tough.)

Second only to the tantrum that occurs during the getting-ready-to-leave-the-house fanfare are the tantrums that occur in advance of getting into the car.  What makes these tantrums especially sigh-inducing, is that it is our practice not to begin driving the car until Clara has packed it in and this, as you might expect Brigade, can take some time.  Such was the case yesterday evening.  We had made a trip to The Container Store where, as it happens, the establishment next door has a fire pit ringed with some chairs where we rested and warmed up before heading for home.  It was lovely, Brigade, on so chilly and soggy a day as we had here yesterday, but if you are thinking that Birdie pitched a fit because we were leaving, think again.  (Remember, you must toss logic to the wind!)

No, Birdie pitched a fit because she got called on the old no-I-don't-want-to-yes-I-do! trick.  Julie asked Clara to hold her hand as we headed to the parking lot.  Clara said no, and so Julie simply picked Clara up, at which point Clara began screaming that she wanted to walk.  She thrashed and kicked to underline her point.  Julie informed Clara that she could make a different choice next time, and underlined her point by carrying Clara to the car in what Julie thinks of as the lock down hold (child slung across chest with one arm pinning child's arms and the other arm pinning child's legs).  Clara was dumped into her car seat, wrestled into the straps, and buckled in, and then there we sat, chatting, pretending to care not at all--not at all!--that we weren't headed home to dinner and that our ears didn't hurt from Birdie wailing in such close quarters.  The old no-I-don't-want-to-yes-I-do! trick is one of the oldest tricks in the book and here, Brigade, can we pause to ask why?  We think we can all agree that this trick is the worst and should be retired.

And so we have made it to another Sunday.  We're off to change the Bird out of her Pull-Up.  We'll see how it goes.