The Rage of Innocence

This is another blog post about anger.  This time it’s not me that was angry.

This past Sunday our house lost power.  While we came through the hurricane all right, they needed to cut our lines to work safely in order to restore our neighbors’ lines.  Inconvenient but understandable.  The unfortunate part was that this was a particularly difficult area to work for the crews, so what may have ordinarily been about an hour job turned into over 5.  The lights went out at about 3:30 and stayed off.  By 6:15, we were all sweating to death.  I hadn’t been able to feed Stella anything proper for dinner as we had already put away the Coleman stove.  It was also just too bloody hot to eat much.  We decided that despite the fact that we were about 30-45 minutes away from normal bedtime, we needed to evacuate.  We ended up going to Barnes and Noble, figuring we could get an inexpensive cold drink and snack for the baby.

You know when you take your kid out past their bedtime that it’s a volatile situation.  This was no exception.  We let her run a bit at first, then ordered her a milk and a little pizza.  While Will chased her around, I set up the table and high chair so we could all sit and she could eat.  Pizza is usually a sure-fire thing.

You would have thought the high chair was composed of molten lava the way this kid reacted.  She refused to sit in it.  Will tried to force the issue.  This resulted in one of the most epic public tantrums yet.  I finally carried her away from the table, abandoning Will to my purse, 2 iced coffees, a milk, and a pizza.  It took all my strength to hold her and she still would not calm down.  Finally, once Will had locked our stuff in his back room, I took her outside where she screamed for another 5 minutes or so.  I was afraid the cops would come and accuse me of abuse or attempted kidnapping.

It was gnarly.  By the time she was done, she was a mess – tear-stained, sweaty (-ier), and with the most ginormous booger hanging out of her tiny little nostril.  It was like something out of Harry Potter.  Volumetrically, it just didn’t make sense that her little bitty nose could produce something so large.  But she was happy.  All was right with the world again, quite mysteriously.  We were able to find a private area of the store and sit down picnic style where she ate her “mmmm pizza1.” 

I just recently had to tell my father that it would be a terrible idea for us to fly up to Virginia Beach to see him at this stage in Stella’s life.  This is why.  My kid hates to be restrained in any kind of seat/apparatus she has decided is unacceptable.  She hasn’t ridden in a shopping cart since the great grocery store meltdown and that was months ago.  I could very well see us being one of those families booted off a plane due to their rampaging toddler.  My nerves can’t take it.

1= Pizza has never been just pizza.  It’s always been “mmmmm pizza.”  It’s an official compound word now.


About larva225

Working mom. Is there any other kind? Geologist. Nerd.
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