Yesterday started out to be such a good day. And yesterday ended as a great day too. But the middle part? It was like taking a bite of a luscious, yummy eclair to find out there was no filling in the middle -- or better yet that the filling was cottage cheese (which has it's own appeal, but not so much in an eclair).
So what happened? When T got home from school, I took the kids to Blockbuster. T's birthday is coming up in a few weeks and he's been asking for a new Wii game. R and I both firmly agree that any game we are considering buying should first be rented to see if it's compatible - with our ears, T's skill level, and our tolerance for nonsensical, repetitive noise. You know, the important stuff. Oh, yeah, and content and blah blah.
At any rate, Iron Man 2 came out yesterday, so I wanted to rent that for R as a nice surprise. He watches enough Cupcake Wars and Hoarders and stuff that I like. The least I can do is give him a break with something he really wants to see every now and then.
Things at Blockbuster went brilliantly, the kids listened and didn't beg me for candy, soda, or other silly things like Super Mario Brother cartoon movies. From there we went to the Commissary. All I wanted were pre-formed Butterball turkey burgers, chicken breasts, and a loaf of bread. When we walked in, there was this huge display of cereal on sale. T asked for a box of Reeses' chocolatey puff cereal. I'll be honest, the nutritional value is questionable and it wasn't in my top 25 choices of cereal to buy, but I let him get it anyway.
Because I only planned to get 3 things, I grabbed a hand basket since if I'm pushing around a cart, I tend to fill it up. When I went down the soft drink aisle, they had Mom's husband's favorite root beer on the shelf, so I grabbed those for their visit in October. That left no room for the cereal box, so I asked T to carry it. T either didn't hear or me or was ignoring me (I choose to believe he didn't hear me, what with me being so soft spoken and all -haha!) so S said, "I carry!!"
Works for me.
When T sees his sister carrying the box of cereal, he immediately wants to carry it. S immediately refuses. Tears immediately ensue.
Really? It's cereal, for heaven's sake.
I, the ever wise voice of reason and compromise, suggest that S carry the cereal to the register, then T carry it to the car. S is fine with this since she currently has the cereal. T collapses in the aisle crying drama tears.
Sigh. It's cereal, for heaven's sake.
Does T want to help me carry the root beer? No! (whew...glass bottles aren't going to survive well with the dramatic collapsing)
Does T want to help me carry the chicken? No!
How about the cookies we picked up for his lunch box? NO!
Mmm kay. Next solution...
I explain that this reaction over cereal (for heaven's sake) is a bit extreme and if a box of cereal is causing all this fuss? We need to put the cereal back unless we can all stop crying and fighting over it.
This works until I pay for the cereal and hand the bag with the cereal in it to T, at which point S breaks down into tears and dramatic reactions.
It's cereal! For heaven's sake!
So I explain - S got to carry the cereal in the store, T gets to carry it to the car. S is having none of it. And I? I am so over this.
I usher the kids outside to continue the tantrum-ing in a wide open space that echos a little less. I explain my view point on this again. No one is budging.
What to do?
I sit down to wait out the tantrum. I also inform the kids that this cereal? Will never be purchased by me again. Ever. T, torn between wanting to carry the cereal and actually be able to eat the cereal (and it should be mentioned that he has been calm and non-teary since the initial collapsing and lecturing in the aisle), offers to let the still tantrum-ing S carry the cereal to the car.
Awwwww. And also? Nope. I commend T for this monumental sacrifice he's prepared to make. But rewarding S for tantrum throwing is not going to happen. She needs to learn, just like T did, that throwing a tantrum does not make this Momma give in to you.
We finally get to the car. Finally. But once we are all buckled in and the car is moving, S starts again with the kicking and screaming about wanting the cereal. So I warn her that if she does not stop this nonsense this instant there will be no eating of the cereal in our household. I can see the look on T's face like, "Oh, man. All that good behavior for nothing!" I feel ya, T, but still....
Of course S doesn't stop, so I describe in detail what is going to happen to the cereal. The box will be opened, the cereal poured into the trash, and the box top saved for T's school. And our household will likely only be purchasing Cheerios from here on out. Nothing to argue about then, right?
It was cereal for heaven's sake!