Do you ever go to the store and hear a screaming, out of control child? Chances are that insolent child may have been one of mine. My standard M.O. is to visit the restroom with the offending offspring for a bit of a “meet your maker” discussion. This has proven to be successful with my son, but my daughter has perfected the art of being stubborn and I’ll admit that I am at a loss of what to do with her. If I spank her, she’ll scream like I’m ripping off her arms. If I make her wear pants, she’ll scream like I’m ripping off her arms. Get the picture?
An example of a recent incident occurred at a local grocery store which I’ll not name in order to protect the innocent. On this day, my little angel is liberally spreading her new sparkle pink lip gloss around the area of her mouth when a catastrophe sets upon us: a missing cap. She alerts me to the absent cap and I look behind us thinking that we are ¾ of the way through the store and it could be anywhere. I tell her, “Sorry for your luck,” and resume shopping.
Her reaction is to catapult the capless tube at my face. I react calmly by picking up the tube and tossing it into a garbage receptacle believing that this will get my point across very nicely and nonviolently.
Engage ultrasonic, high pitched scream fest.
Being a woman, I can understand the minor devastation involved in losing a make-up product, but this child literally lost her mind. While shrieking at a decibel level that I believe capable of causing permanent tympanic membrane damage, she begins frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog with her eyes rolling madly around in their sockets.
At that point in time, I’d rather believe my baby girl has contracted some rare form of rapid-onset rabies than the obvious evidence that she is capable of instantly going so deeply insane. My son and I both take a step back; a bit from the noise level, but mostly because she is now spitting and trying to grab us with her super-human, pinchy-claw fingers.
He falls to the floor in a hysterical fit of laughter at his sister’s blatant overreaction while I’m slack-jawed and “deer-in-headlights” stunned. I consider either lighting up her backside in the bathroom or trying to reason with her, but I have no time to choose because groceries begin flying out of the cart.
I react in the worst possible way by contracting a sudden case of the giggles. The fact that my son and I are both laughing just causes her to become more enraged. By this time, we have cleared five aisles of customers and when we get to the checkout, no one will look me in the eye. She has somewhat calmed down to gasping sobs and I’m sure all the employees and customers believe that I have publicly abused my child and the security cameras will provide sufficient evidence to convict me. I loudly proclaim, “She missed her nap today,” to anyone who is interested.
We are about to leave when a couple of tween girls run up to us and one says, “Miss? There are two little girl’s sandals over by the eggs.” I look at my daughter’s bare feet and receive visual confirmation that the shoes are hers. My son runs to get them and I vow to stay away from that store for at least two weeks, but I know the emotional scars may never heal.
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