That's My Boy

From a very young age Little Man was always told to save his meltdowns for home and not have them at daycare.

Hindsight like Murphy's Law loves to kick me in the ass. I really need to shrink that target.

I should have changed daycare to "anywhere in public ever".

Yes, he was that child and I was that parent today.

He refused to listen. He refused to take no for an answer (not a clue where that comes from). He ran away. I refused to run. Think Ron White when you read this: I was IN PUB... LIC. I think more people would rather hear my son shriek than see me jiggle trying to run after him.

The poor Girl Scouts chose that exact moment to approach me. Nah, don't worry. I didn't make a snack out of them. I smiled sweetly but the "not now" that came out of my mouth may have been a little more clipped than intended. They also ran.

MY child finally responded to my command and snapped to. He even took my hand but at this point he has lost all privileges. I've already sent John into the grocery store to pick up the two items we need so I'm taking my darling, wonderful, sweet, even-tempered child to the car. Once he realized that he morphed into banshee child.

Seriously, I think the banshees were in pain. John could hear him from inside the store. I asked if he shouted out with pride: "That's my boy!" I'll let you figure out the answer to that one.

So here I am, trying to leave the mall and head back to the car but I've got banshee child who thinks he can throw himself on the floor.

Seriously kid? That's all you've got? Fine. You will now be carried out quite unceremoniously - tucked under my arm (gotta be able to protect my body from flailing limbs).

I get him in the car and he is still shrieking at the top of his lungs. Now he adds in kicking the door and the back of the seat. So I decide to stand outside the car and entertain myself a game of mahjong on my phone.

All the while keeping a wary eye out for the cops. The looks I got - I'm convinced someone thinks I'm beating my child and is making the call. Considering some of the laws in this state, I'm amazed I'm not speaking with the police right now.

Needless to say someone went to bed as soon as we went home. Of course getting him to actually get into his pjs, get in bed, stay in bed and stop screaming involved threatening to empty the content of his play room into a garbage bag.

I've decided to leave the garbage bag in my room for future possible use.

Anyone with any suggestions on how to deal with banshee child...I'm listening. The only thing I can think of is a trick my grandmother supposedly used - she threw cold water on a child. I'm so tempted but part of me wants to save that one for a truly glorious moment - namely when I have someone who can record it.