I keep telling myself that “three” was a very hard year for us with Emma, too. I vaguely remember thinking “Wow, the ‘terrible twos’ were NOTHING compared to three.”
So I went on a little scavenger hunt looking for some documentation of the low points of parenting back when Em was a mere three-year old girl. I did a search in my blog for tantrums and I got eight different hits. Hmmm…all of them are tagged with Addison, like this one, or this one, and this one…oh yeah…and THIS one.
So I went back to the old journal, pre-blog days, and still couldn’t find any entries that confirm my suspicions that Em was a three-year old terror, too.
Huh. That Mommy-amnesia is a really powerful thing apparently. Or I just didn’t have time to capture the loveliness of Emma’s temper tantrums?
Seriously though, Addison has become a bit of a little dictator. She wants this food (Alphabet pasta for breakfast, lunch and dinner, please? No? Then I’ll sit here and not eat anything!), this outfit (Only the purple and blue sundress – nooooo, not that skirt! AAAAAHHH! The skirt is searing the skin off of her body, it is not acceptable!), to be carried (I can’t possibly walk another step. I’ll just stand here in the middle of the sidewalk. Will. Not. Walk. Another. Step.) – and if any of these demands are not met? Eardrum shattering screams. Lots of them.
Yesterday we went to try out a little gymnastics class and had 12 minutes to get back home and across the street to pick up Em from school. By the time we pulled into the driveway, we had about 3 minutes to get over to the school.
I said to her, “Ad, put your shoes on and get out of the car, we have to go get Em.” Reasonable request, right? You would have thought that I had asked her to put on shoes that were two sizes too small and run a mile.
“I don’t waaaaant tooooo! I’ll just sit heeeeeere. YOU go get Emmmmmaaa!” The “here” being shoeless in the middle of the driveway.
So I put her shoes on her, dodging the kicking and stomping, and took her by her hand and started to march her across the street.
And then the screaming commenced. Top of her lungs, stop you in your tracks (because surely the child who is screaming like that is being beaten, kidnapped or run over by a car), shrieking like has never been heard before. And it continued the entire way to Em’s school, while I picked up Em, back across the street and up the path to our house, up the stairs (at this point I had let go of her hand and picked her up) and into her room.
And it did not end for 20 minutes.
Emma sat downstairs with her hands over her ears. “Mama, why is Addie screaming like that?”
“Um, I am not really sure, Em. I have to think it is just a matter of stubborn will right now.”
When it was finally quiet I went upstairs and opened the door.
“Addie. Do you have something to say to me?”
“Yes. I don’t want my door shut, Mama!”
“Ok. But when you scream like that you are going to stay in your room until you settle down. Now do you have something to say to me?”
(She really looked like she was searching for the right thing to say.”
“Um. Yes. I really don’t like it when my door is shut, Mama.”
Grrr…she did finally apologize, but the tantrums seem to be more frequent lately and have frayed my already unraveling nerves. And they are just over the silliest things. But, I figure I might as well document it so I can look back and have a good laugh.
I am going to laugh about this one day, right? Right??