My daughter is very sweet. She’s downright precious. And I have had several people tell me how well-behaved she is and how happy, and they are right.
But she’s not always that way. She saves those moments for when it’s just me, her, and a couple hundred pairs of eyes at Walmart. She has thrown some pretty epic tantrums. From the episode that happened today, I see we are nowhere close to them ending.
It all started when I so graciously offered to buy her a battery-operated, spinning toothbrush. I was replacing her brother’s and she wanted one just like his.
She picked out the pony one. That wasn’t a surprise because this has been “the year of the pony” for her. Everything pony.
As we entered the checkout lane, she ever so politely asked if she could place it a-top the conveyor belt (code for: she cried and whaled at a high pitch until I could decipher what she was talking about).
I told her to stop crying immediately and that I would allow her to put it on the belt if and only if she stopped. She did and so I let her do it. When all the bags had been put in the cart and we were leaving the isle, she began her intense screaming campaign for the toothbrush.
Now…. sometimes I can tell by the way she’s crying that she’s capable of being reasoned with. Other times she’s too far gone in her rampage. I was dealing with the latter.
But because I am a very hopeful person, I tried to explain that if she would stop screaming, she could have the toothbrush once we got to the car. Needless to say, she didn’t care. I quickly picked her up. But trying to maneuver a cart, while your toddler is acting like a spinning toothbrush herself is difficult, so I placed her in the back of the cart. She began opening bags and throwing out the ones that didn’t contain the toothbrush.
This led to me running over my bags with my own cart. All the while, she’s screaming like a banshee. As I picked the bags up and placed them in the cart, she had found the bag containing the toothbrush.
Too bad for her and everyone at Walmart; I was not going to let that happen after the way she had acted.
So I’m clutching the bag with one hand and driving the cart with the other. Meanwhile, I have to keep glancing back to make sure my five year old is still in tow. My daughter is smacking my hands and is spitting mad that she can’t have in her possession the pony toothbrush.
I won’t go into detail describing the events that took place once we reached the car. But after wrestling her into her car seat and feeling like I just went ten rounds with Mike Tyson, I settled into the front seat of the car with a deep sigh. I will tell you one thing: she will not be using that toothbrush tonight!