TINY TANTRUM TIME-BOMBS. AKA, my adorable children.

Let me set the scene.  

I got not one but TWO boxes of my favorite cashew-milk ‘ice-cream’ treats, as a special treat to me after an exhausting hour at the grocery store.  

I’m rushing to get the last few items before they kick me and my adorable SCREAMING progeny out of the store, the city and possibly the state, for disturbing the peace.

I get us all home without losing my mind, despite the screaming continuing in the now tiny confines of the family-mobile.  (For those of you without young kids at home, I can assure you it doesn’t matter WHY, because, for the record, they don’t need a reason.)

Benji’s crying and screaming because he’s tired and teething.  (Or his onsie is too tight or he’s too hot or…)

Ellie is screaming because he’s screaming.  Or because I wouldn’t get her gum.  Or because I told her to stop hanging off the cart handles.  Or because her shoes got wet.  Or because I didn’t let her close the freezer door in the frozen food section.

Point is, WHY never really matters because there is little you can do to prevent the tantrums.  All you can do is pull on your ‘I’m the adult so it’s up to me to not lose my cool’ big-girl panties, grit your teeth, and like a good colonoscopy exam, grin and bear it.

Anyhow, I’m home and although the screaming continues off and on at least there is no one glaring at me or clearly wishing me and mine would disappear out of their line of vision not to mention hearing range.

I digress.

I rush to get the cold stuff in the freezer.  Only ONE box of my super-special non-ice-cream-caramel-chocolate treats.  


I briefly consider going back for it.  Ridiculous.  Both kids are still hungry, whiny, and in general ticking like the tiny tantrum time-bombs they are.  

Fuming about my box melting in the corner of the cashier’s counter, wondering, did I lose a whole bag?  I’m blaming myself.  I’m blaming the cashier and bagger – what were they, 14?  Clearly they didn’t know what they were doing.

After feeding the kids, and finally winning the twice daily fight to get Benji down for a nap, I run out to the garage to check the bag for the receipt.  

Got the receipt.  She only charged me for one box.  Well, that’s good I guess.

That’s when I remembered I only put ONE BOX IN THE CART.  They only had one Vanilla so I only got the one box.

What.  Is.  Happening.  To ME!?

When did I devolve into this crazy, absent-minded, last-night’s-mascara-smudged, bewildered, exhausted, just-hanging-on-to-sanity MESS OF A HUMAN BEING!?  

Oh.  Right.  About 8 months, five days, and 22 hours ago.

And THEN, Ellie, just before nap time, asked if I was feeling ok.  And then gave me a big hug.  And patted me on the head.  And told me she loved me.

Then I ate half the box of my special chocolate treats while they slept and decided it was a pretty good day after all.

“When my kids become wild and unruly, I use a nice safe playpen.  When they’re finished, I climb out.”  Erma Bombeck

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