I lost it

Last night I brought the girls back from the Pitchfork Festival around 8pm. Friends of ours (another 4 year old Z and her mom) came back with us and they stopped inside our house to pick up a pair of flip-flops Z wanted to give to her buddy.

In the course of handing off the shoes, Z's friend had an accident. She needed fresh clothes. A t-shirt and undies, at the bare minimum. But apparently a puddle on her floor and the prospect of loaning her clothes unhinged Z completely. Yes, she was tired. Hungry too, although she wouldn't admit it. Whining and foot-dragging wouldn't have surprised me. But a tantrum unlike anything I've seen in about 6 months? That I was not prepared for.

And it was embarrassing. But Z's tantrum didn't stop when our friends left. She screamed and cried and carried on about that damn t-shirt for over an hour. Refusing food. Stomping her feet. Pushing away A, who kept trying to pat her reassuringly. Cursing me with "you're a BAD MOMMY" and other hateful, but completely G-rated slurs.

Finally, my reservoir of patience dried up and I lost it. I yelled--nay, ROARED at her. I snatched her up, carried her into her room, dropped her on her bed and told her to STAY THERE.

My blood was boiling and I lost my shit. There's nothing worse than seeing your kid's eyes change from tired/angry/defiant to scared. And she had ever right to be fearful. I didn't hit her, but if I couldn't stop her ridiculous temper tantrum, I wanted to punish her for putting me through it.

Fortunately, a little separation did us good. I put Z in the bath and put a very tired A to bed. In the time it took to read A one board book and tuck her under her blanket, Z stopped crying. She opened her mouth cooperatively for tooth brushing and flossing and curled up against me as I read her a few bedtime stories.

Either Z realized the error of her ways or she's afraid of unleashing the Mean Mommy, because tonight she was a perfect angel.

What a difference an hour makes

We're were a smiley, happy family this morning. Having Z wake us up at 6:40 with a chirpy "Mommy, is it okay if I turn on the bathroom light?" is so much more pleasant than being jarred awake by Baby A hollering her head off at 5:30 so that fill an extended morning with food-throwing, parent-slapping and "no-no-no-no-no" shouting.

Even though we had exactly 1 hour and 20 minutes to clean, dress and feed the family, shovel the walk, drop off A at daycare and pack lunches for me and Z, we were all cheerful and calm. There was not a single temper tantrum.

My beast of a baby (My 1000th post)

Fully 95% of the time, A's a cuddly, kissy sweetheart. But if you disturb her equilibrium in any way, by say, postponing a meal, placing her food directly on her highchair tray instead of on a plate, brushing her teeth with baby toothpaste instead of the grape stuff her big sister gets or trying to wrangle her into clothes, pajamas or a clean diaper, she will unleash the beast within.

She's also been known to lash out at inanimate objects. Throwing food I understand. Babies do that. Drop-kicking sippy cups of overly watered-down juice? It's kind of amusing. But biting your dolly's bed because the rug has stopped its progress across the hardwood floor? And then bursting into tears because biting the hard wood bed frame didn't feel so great? That takes the cake, kiddo.