Chippie awakes just before Grumpy needs to get up for work.
At that horrible time where there is just enough time for him to get some decent nap time before he has to get up.
I cuddle Chippie whilst Grumpy showers and gets ready for work, and leaves.
Chippie is being cute, and I’m forcing myself to make the most of it. He falls asleep. I make my escape. He wakes. I climb back into bed with him.
Mostly so I don’t have to put up with the screaming and head butting for longer than necessary.
Eventually, it reaches the point where I really need to get, because stuff needs doing. He’s not happy. I am beyond caring. I think I’m almost beyond feeling.
Am so stressed, I manage to muck up the making of the Vegemite sandwiches for school lunches. Am super impressed I have mucked up such a simple task, and wonder how I can explain it.
Perhaps should nominate self for Award?
It is raining and I am undecided about walking to school, because I like my daily walk, or listening to the rest of the family complain. It rains harder. I agree to drive.
Am impressed that we are, as a result, twenty minutes ahead of schedule, yet I am still yelling about getting shoes on, grabbing bags, putting lunch in bags and running late as we walk out the door. Late.
Arrive school to discover Godzilla has not got reader bag. Both, however, are replete with stuffed up Vegemite sandwiches.
Head to supermarket with Chippie for essential provisions such as milk and bread and something scrumptious for lunch.
I am unsure as to what caused it; perhaps the length of the isle was too wrong? Or I looked at the wrong bread? Something, however, caused him to stop in the middle of the isle.
Something then caused him to collapse in middle of isle and refuse to move. Until I said “seeya” and mumbled “I’ve had enough of this shit” and went to get the milk.
He ran after me (Hurrah! That trick works on this one!) screaming, and sat in the middle of that isle. And screamed a bit more.
All it took was a lovely, compassionate elderly lady to walk past me and smile empathetically. I walked around the corner and the weight of it all almost caused my legs to buckle under me. I was very nearly found in the bread section, on the floor. Sobbing.
I made it to the deli department and wondered if they’ve ever had to serve anyone over the age of 3 with tears running down their face.
I am just so grateful that I have mastered the art of Not Giving A Fuck What Other’s Think when it comes to my ability to deal with tantrums in Coles.
Now … on to Master The Tantrum …