Tantrum because S wanted second yogurt after giving the first to the dogs.
Tantrum because S couldn't drink out of the milk carton.
Tantrum because S wanted candy canes for breakfast. (WHY do I still have candy canes in the house? They need to move over for the valentine bounty sure to arrive any day now. Whats with every holiday having candy anyway?)
Interlude from S's day of tantrum to bring a tantrum from the usually tantrum free H. She wanted to wear all purple, and the only purple pants she has (in the right shade. She has at least 3 pairs of purple pants. Just one that is 'light' purple) are way too small, they come up above mid calf when she sits. (Not so far below the knee.) They had been put away. They were brought out again. And paired with a purple shirt that was also too small. 4 year old tantrums suck because they have words that go with them. H contorts her usually lovely face into a mask of doom and despair and spits out,
"I'm MAD at YOU"
"Because your pants don't fit?" I ask.
I know this is just going to feed the flame, and encourage the sarcastic gene I've passed down- but I can't help it.
Tantrum at Target (for reasons unknown to me) that resulted in S smacking her forehead against the wheel of the shopping cart, and getting a goose egg sized bruise. Me feeling like worst parent of the year and wanting to run away.
Tantrum from S getting into car, getting out of car, getting her jacket on (all 5 times so far today) and countless tantrums from not getting her way with the refrigerator.
Somewhere it between the tantruming I hear a phrase I've not heard from S's lips before, "Dat MY" Over and over. It goes nicely with the other phrase that rose above the consonants a few days ago, "LETS GO" That prompted a woman at Old Navy to say, "Did she just say Lets go? She's been shopping with Daddy too much!"
On the way to pick H up at school, I think the car doesn't feel right. Its pulling to the right. I keep going, although I do slow down at least. Park. Look at the car through the cracks in my fingers shielding my eyes, a flat. I call J, who U-turns off the highway, and is at the car changing the tire before I even get outside the building. My hero. We stand outside on the ice, me feeling like a damsel in distress, and not even minding so much. Yes, I did park the car with a flat tire on ice. I'm warm, because in other heroic behavior, J stopped on the way home from work last night to buy me the coat I was waiting to go on sale. I guess I am a damsel in distress. But, a warm one with a car with 4 tires. Could be worse.
Inside the school, H was disappointed because she had thought she was going to a friends house after school, but not everyone was privy to the plan, and the play date had to be postponed until next week. More tears.
After the tire changed, more tantrum from S at getting back in the car. I hardly noticed, though. this is the new normal.
We made it safely home, I put on the Curious George movie for us all to recoup. H's suggestion since S gets scared at every other movie we have. H said "She only gets scared at the roar." Which I half way heard but didn't understand. S is a monster, she is demanding, she tries so hard to be fierce, but she gets so scared so easily. Sure enough, in the beginning of the movie, a lion roars, and my fierce little tantruming baby cries her eyes out, scared, buries her head in my lap and melts my heart.