Thursday, February 19, 2009

I gotta get used to this whole "2" thing...

We made it a week into the second year before Little Elvis decided to pitch a super-big, super-public fit.


To say I was not prepared for this would be a huge understatement.

On Wednesday, I took our sweet angel to the mall play area. It's a nice big play area, and while I wouldn't call it his favorite place, he doesn't usually hate it.

A key part of this story is that I was in charge of the playgroup this week. This means, I pick a locale and provide snacks and juice boxes.

The play area is right beside an escalator. Escalators are fun. There's no doubt about that. But we were on the verge of being late, so I would not let Little Elvis go down the escalator.

He did not agree with this decision and very quickly let me and everyone at the play area know that he was a VERY unhappy little boy. He screamed and tried to fall to his knees on the floor (I was holding his hand, so he was only mildly successful.)

I ended up dragging 31 pounds of pure angst and a canvas bag full of heavy juice boxes to a bench. As soon as I dropped his hand to unzip his jacket, he ran. I dragged him back to our spot and managed to get the coat off while he screamed. I also managed to get his shoes off, even though he attempted several more escapes to the escalator.

After getting our stuff semi-settled, I dragged Mr. Fit-Pitcher to the tree slide. He screamed. I put him on the steps, he screamed and scared the little boy at the top of the slide.

I carried him to the book slide. He screamed. I put him on the book slide. He screamed. I was sweating and heaving both from embarrassment and the sheer energy needed to corral Little Elvis.

We ended up back on the bench. I wanted to go home. If I hadn't had the snacks, I would have. If any of the other mothers had shown up, I would have handed over my big bag of snacks and taken little Mr. Fit-Pitcher home.

Instead I called Bob and worried him. He listened as I fussed (we all know there's a better word for what I did) and Little Elvis whined and tried to melt out of my hands. He put his arms up by his ears and tried to wriggle out of my grasp.

A little boy sitting beside us wanted to know why Little Elvis was crying. If I had any idea, I would have answered him.

Finally, I caved and brought out a juice box. It worked. The screaming and melting stopped and his bright red face started to fade to a mottled pink.

By the time some of the other moms and their kids arrived, he was better. Not fine, but better. One mom told me that, "Two was tough on everyone." We have 51 more weeks of this to look forward to?

And, since I am a total slacker, he did eventually get to go down the escalator and play at the Barnes and Noble train table.


Blogger Ann(ie) said...

You are a lucky girl. My boy hit this stage at the tender age of 18 mo. :( big fun.

3:05 PM  
Blogger Laura said...

Oh - two is hard...but it is also lots of fun as vocab increases and things get least when they are good, they are really is the temper tantrums that are really bad!

You and I have lots to look forward to!!! Madigan is officially a 2 year old Diva and Little Elvis is prefecting his fit pitcher drama!!!! Poor us!!!!

Hang in there - HUGS!

5:46 PM  
Blogger mpotter said...

oh no!
i'm sorry.
maybe you can just stay inside for the next 51 weeks. how does that sound??

joking, of course.

doesn't it suck that we can understand the reasoning behind tantrums, but that it doesn't make it any easier to bear?

good luck.

10:41 AM  
Blogger The Burp Cloth Babe said...

So sorry...Sam's Club...same story different happens to the best of us!

4:00 PM  
Blogger MoziEsm√© said...

I feel for you! We had our own escalator incident, but at least I didn't have to provide snacks and juice while trying to manage it! Good luck on the rest of the year!

5:40 PM  

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