Shut the Freak Up

I deserve a freakin' medal for not hauling back and whacking this old lady. Doodles and I were having A Day. You know it was One of Those Days days. It started with trying to get him out of the house to run some errands at Target.

"Pants off?" he asked, starting to tug at the waistband.

"No, sweetie, we need to go out. Pants on."

"Pants off!" he now demanded. Luckily the pants have a snap and zipper, as he can get elastic-waisted pants on his own.

This goes back and forth for ten minutes. Desperate I look out the window. Our across-the-street neighbors, ages 3 and 4, are playing outside. "Look, Doodles! Connor and Cole are wearing pants! Do you want to go say hi to Connor and Cole?"

I did manage to get the three of us out of the house. At Target, Doodles was given a choice: "Doodles, do you want to sit in the front or back of the cart?" (I'm wearing Sweetie Pie who is happily drifting in and out of sleep through this whole thing.)

"Back."

"Okay, but that means you need to sit down. You cannot stand in the back of the cart because it is not safe."

This is fine and for an entire five minutes, Doodles sits in the back. But then, in the middle of the sheet aisle, Doodles stands.

"Doodles, you need to sit."

"No."

"Doodles, you need to sit down or--" Hmmm. What's my "or" going to be? It's not to go home, because he'd be delighted with that, and I'm not trekking the three of us back out again when we're already here.

Doodles looks at me expectantly. "Doodles, you must sit down or you'll be strapped into the front of the cart. Doodles, you can't stand. It's not safe."

"I want to!"

This goes on for a few minutes before I physically lift the child out of the back of the cart, force him into the cart's seat, and manage to get the strap around him, all while making sure Sweetie Pie doesn't get crushed.

As you can well imagine, this did not sit well with Doodles, who proceeded to let out the Howl to End All Howls. It was the Howl Heard 'Round the World. It was one of those legendary meltdowns that you read about in parenting magazines and horror stories, but never experience for yourself. Doodles is screaming, tears streaming down his face, and I blithesomely push the cart, determined to go about my business.

I'm searching for another twin waterproof mattress pad, doing my damndest to ignore the tantruming monkey strapped to the cart right in front of me, when this older woman looks at me worriedly. Finally, she speaks. "I can give you money if you need it to buy him some food."

Huh? Does my child look hungry? My roly-poly carb-addicted toddler is quite well fed and it's hard to miss. Does this woman think that I'm simply starving my child?

"He's fine, thank you," I say with as much chill as I can put in my voice. I continue down the aisle but she persists.

"You really shouldn't let him cry like that," she tells me. "It will only make him angrier."

And remarkably, instead of shrieking, "Go f--- yourself, you old cow!" I merely seethed, "He'll be just fine," and wheeled away to the toy aisle, where three minutes with a noise-making toy calmed him right down.

If any of you are thinking of giving advice to a frustrated mom, let me help you out here. DON'T!!