Last night we raced to get to my daughter's school Christmas concert. From the prior two years, we've learned if we don't arrive a minimum thirty minutes early we are lucky if we'll get a seat somewhere close enough to watch. So after work, I hurried to daycare to grab my little girls, and then maneuvered my way home through the 5pm traffic.
This is approximately the time, nearly every night, that my newly three-year-old, Emily, likes to act out. She starts with an impossible "want" and then escalates from there into fits of screams and kicking in the back seat. By the time we get home I'm pulling out my hair, she's bawling incoherently, and my seven-year-old, Madi, is nearly at her wits end. It's memorable-that's for sure.
As we walked into the house, the demands and fits continued, and as much as I wanted to stand my ground I had half an hour to feed and dress children, so I gave in to the younger one and allowed a treat, as I had the older one sit for supper. Then I attempted to get the younger one dressed, which brought on an entirely new range of problems. Oh me, oh my, and I don't mean Christian Grey style. I threw up my hands, made the little one a peanut butter sandwich, and ran upstairs to get my older one's hair curled.
As I worked my magic with my curling wand I realized, I can't handle this tonight-I just can't. So I called and made arrangements for the little one to get picked up by my mother, who was on her way to Wal-mart for some shopping. She scooped up the tantrum-thrower and whisked her away happily, and I thought WHEW-all is well in the kingdom of US. But no, to my dismay my husband was disappointed.
I ignored his mutterings, still focused on getting us all to the concert on time - and wow did we ever do well. We made it there, got decent seats, and Madi was content as could be, excitedly finding friends, and joining her class. All was well.
As we sat in the gym we enjoyed a plethora of songs, band instrumentals, and performances. Half way through one of the classes sang "Let it go" I said to my husband, "Awe, Emily would have liked that," to which he replied, "She was going to be fine, we should have brought her." For a moment I thought, you're kidding me, right? But why drudge up should-have's and such. I texted my mother and they were about to leave Wal-mart so I advised rather than a later pick-up, on her way home to drop her off at the school. Why? Because we are a family - and as much as tantrums drive me crazy, it's not the little one's fault. But I'm a firm believer in everyone getting their space-and when Emily arrived, rosy cheeked and a smile from ear to ear, I knew we made the right choice.
I keep reminding myself, in another year she'll be easier, tantrums will be a distant memory, but in all truth, it's the moments now that count, and I don't want to miss out on them all. Working mom's are much too hard on themselves as it is, trying to provide and support, that flexibility is the most important. Breaks are invaluable, and whatever brings you peace makes you a better mom in the end.
