My Little Picasso's

My Little Picasso's

Monday, May 6, 2013

Triple Meltdown

It all started when Max had my pedometer on the way to U-Gro this morning.  He loves to "have" stuff.  It's simply the case of having something or holding something or putting something in a pocket.  I'm chalking this up to boys.  One time my blush made it to school in his pocket which was returned to me at the end of the day by his teacher declaring it really wasn't her color!

He wanted it clipped on him so it was, but then he pulled it off.  Then he wanted to open it to see what was inside.  The rattling noise.  He wanted to know what it was.  I told him we couldn't open it.  It would break.  Not good enough.  So then he started his ever so knowing phrase" Mummy I need something."  This then begins the process of me trying to figure out what he wants.  Guess what?  He doesn't know what he wants.  He just wants something else at this point.  I can normally subdue him with an empty CD case or my car phone charger because this is what I have in reach in the car.  This didn't work.  So then by the time we got to U-Gro at 6:41am he is in a full out ball.  The tears are streaming.  He keeps going on about the pedometer.  I keep trying to explain.  Not working.  So I ignore as I entice my "spazzing out" three year old and skipping about 2 year old down the hall.  As I try to hand over cleaned bed linens, Charlie now gets in on the game.  He starts balling.  I'm ready to fall over at this point due to the vice grip they have on my legs.  It takes two teachers to pull my sons off of me so I can escape to drop off other bags and get out. 

It's not over.

What did this dumbass mum do?  Forgot her car keys in the room where her two sons are still balling. 

Crown me Queen dumbass!

I bolt in, grab my keys, holler "SORRY" as I try to fly down the hallway without being seen.  At this point I'm crying.

There is no worse way to start your day than to leave two very upset children; your children none the less.  It tugs at my heart.  It pulls.  It snaps.  I just wanted to grab them, run, make pancakes, and watch Thomas the Tank Engine in our pajamas.  But I couldn't.

These are the hard times.  I don't want to be a grown-up. 

I know they were better within 5 minutes.  I know they will run up to me at the end of the day, tell me what they did, forget all about their early meltdown.  It's just hard at the time.

May 6th, 2013

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