Preschool, speech, OT, and softball practice for E2. The icing on the cake for her this Tuesday is all that is accompanied with a sinus infection. Damn germy kids. You would expect E2 to melt down each Tuesday from this crazed schedule, but she does not. She is not typically our meltdown child.
E1 is our meltdown child. When you love as big as she does, your anger is a spot on match. Hell hath no fury like E1. Seriously. Her meltdowns are caused by lack of sleep and poor nutrition. We know this for sure. With age, her meltdowns have lessened, but every now and then they blow through here like a category 5 hurricane.
Tonight's dinner was spaghetti and meatballs. E2 decided she just wanted the meatballs and some broccoli. E1 decided she wanted a meatball sub and broccoli. During our 10 minute drive home from softball practice E1 decided to forgo the sub and have the same dinner as E2.
Dinner is served. E1 looks at me and starts crying with anger saying she wanted a sub. I explained the conversation I heard in the car, she says I misunderstood, I apologize, and remind her to watch her anger and tone. At this point, a meteorologist would tell you to go to your safe place. Unfortunately for me, E2 was in the middle of the storm and I could not run from the hurricane. E1 loses her shit. Screaming, crying, she refuses to eat, this isn't what she wanted, and then the kiss of death, a pet peeve of mine if you will, she pushes her plate across the table.
Oh E1, you know when I am super mad I don't yell. I move swiftly and quietly like a fox. I took the plate, placed it in the sink and excused her from the table. The screams, cries, continue while hate filled words of I don't want to live here fly out of her mouth. CATEGORY FIVE. I quietly take E2 by the hand and whisper to her that we are going to have a picnic in my room. I tell E1 to go upstairs and get in the shower. As our picnic began, I hear E1 screaming about not taking a shower, not living in this house, and she is hungry.
E2 and I discuss our days, our favorite things, and have a pleasant picnic of meatballs and broccoli in my room. We head upstairs for bath time. I go to check on E1 and for the second time this week, she has found items in her room (books, stuffed animals, pillows, comforters, etc) to barricade herself in her room. Getting smarter, she even locked the Jack & Jill bathroom door that leads to her room.
Oh E1, apparently you forgot what I told you the last time you did this.
Swiftly and quietly, I use my gorgeously shellaced nails to unlock the bathroom door. I walk quietly into E1's room, take out my trusty screwdriver, and take the door off the frame.
As I am removing the last screw, she comes out from her hiding spot in her closet. Simultaneously, my husband is staring at me as he literally just got home. All in a day's work, I tell him.
I do not give a rat's ass what caused the meltdown. Maybe it is the fact that she is tired from our week long trip to Disney. Maybe she is tired from her day. Maybe she is coming off the sugar high from the candy (which I said no to) she ate during softball practice. Maybe she is premenstrual at the age of 8. Maybe an alien took over brain. I DON'T GIVE ONE OUNCE OF CRAP as to the why.
NO ONE in this home is allowed to shove a plate across a table, scream, say hurtful words, and then barricade themselves in their room without consequence.
After discussing her behavior and acknowledging she made a mountain out of a mole hill, my hungry and door-less 8 year old is in bed.
And I am off to meet a friend for a beer.
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