I don’t even know where to start.
This morning we did our usual: get up, eat breakfast, get dressed. I made the beds and congratulated the kids on getting themselves ready with time to spare. Henry and I talked about what he was taking in the car and how he had his book right there by the door and was ready to go.
I was a little preoccupied with some work things, but the kids seemed to be moving through the morning just fine.
Or not.
When it was time to actually LEAVE the house, after Wade had driven away, everything fell apart. Henry decided that he needed to buy something from the school store but he couldn’t get his safe open to get his money out and he started to cry and yell because he was frustrated. Then he couldn’t find his book, the one that had been right next to the door ten minutes earlier, and so he cried MORE and yelled louder.
I was trying not to yell or threaten; I was trying to be rational and calm. I don’t think I was succeeding.
When Henry has a tantrum (do you still call it that when you’re talking about a kid who is nearly eight years old?) he is completely irrational. He will fixate on one small thing and scream and yell and fight, like toddlers do when you tell them that no, they cannot play with that steak knife. But because he is not a toddler, he rants and raves about how we are all going to DIE if he does not get his way and he is DOOMED and I am MEAN and do not CARE.
I’m not mean, but usually in these moments I am angry and frustrated. And very sad.