I Know Who's Going to Bed Early Tonight

Ella threw the tantrum of the century a few days ago.  I remember it vividly and still haven't completely recovered.  Neither has she -- her voice is still raspy such that some might think she's recovering from a cold.  I know the truth.  I lived through the 45 minutes of incessant screaming.

It all started with my innocent request for her to walk herself from the car to the front door of my mom's house in response to her request for "uppy."  This should not have been a surprise to her or anyone of sound mind -- in one hand I held a watermelon, in the other I held a bag of groceries.  Carrying Ella just wasn't feasible. 

This was coming off the pleading I did with her to walk herself out of Jewel and to the car where I was in a similar situation -- holding that damn watermelon and carring the bag of groceries after foolishly abandoning the cart figuring I'd get full cooperation from the one who had begged me to take her with me to the store when I had four willing babysitters at Grandma's house.  I played that game where I respond to her refusal to walk out with me with "Okay, I'm leaving. See you later," and then walk through the first door and see if I can keep an eye on her through a window to be sure she stays safe.  Sometimes this works, and she comes scrambling out behind me.  This day, I had to go back in and beg her to come out with me, which I did and miraculously got her to walk out alongside me herself.

At any rate, safe at Grandma's house, I wasn't in the mood for her bossy antics and was up for the fight that was brewing.  I left her crying by my car for me to carry her as I walked to the house with my watermelon and bag of groceries.  My mom greeted me at the door and said, "I'll go get her."  Ahh... relief, I thought.  Oh, Grandma... you don't know what you're in for.

Grandma fought through Ella's "no's" near the curb, grabbed her and managed to carry her to the house, Ella kicking and screaming the whole way.  Ella clearly wanted me, not Grandma, to carry her.  At this point, I was not going to carry her, watermelon and groceries or not.

Once inside, it was a test of wills.  I dropped the watermelon and groceries at the door (they'd be making the trip home with me -- I just wanted them out of the scorching heat), and I walked to the kitchen.  Ella followed me, still unhappy that it was Grandma who carried her in... I think that was the case, anyway.  She screamed that I pick her "uppy," and I told her "no," that she could come sit with me on the couch and then made my way to the couch.

Ella didn't follow.  Instead she heightened her dissatisfaction with me and kicked off her  tantrum.  While crying, she repeatedly screamed "Mommy! Come here!"  She even threw herself to the ground and pounded her arms and legs against the ground similar to the stereotypical tantrum you might see depicted in a cartoon.

I didn't know whether to laugh... or to cry... or to feel bad for her or for me.  I did a little bit of everything.  I certainly felt bad for the witnesses who, not long before, had told me that she was perfectly behaved, no issues, just wonderful.  Clearly, she saves it for me.

One thing I did know: I wasn't going to go to the kitchen to pick Ella uppy.  She bosses me around a little too often for my liking, and this time I wasn't going to respond to it.  I just sat on the couch only periodically acknowledging her loud tantrum with an "Ella, you can come sit with Mommy on the couch," which was always met with a clear, "NO!" from the tantrum thrower.  She made it clear she wanted me to come to the kitchen to pick her uppy.

At one point, Aunt Sandi pealed her off of the kitchen floor and brought her kicking and screaming to me on the couch, where she continued the kicking and screaming.  I held her tight and spoke softly to her for a few minutes, a feeble attempt to calm her; and this didn't work. Once I set her on the ground, she ran back to the kitchen where she continued the tantrum, again, calling for me to come to her to pick her uppy.

If the witnesses were bothered by the noise, they didn't say anything about it.  In fact, I'd say I had their full support to carry out my don't-give-in-to-her approach until I came out the victor. Uncle Mart tried to lighten the mood with an "I wouldn't take her on a plane anytime soon." For sure.

Cal even tried to calm her.  "Ella, do you want me to take you to Mommy?" he asked as he stood over her in the kitchen.  This was, of course, met with a certain "NO!" from Ella.  Message received, Cal ran back to Grandpa Fred to continue to play, unaffected by Ella's tantrum, with him.  I learned later that Cal had told Fred later in Ella's tantrum, "I know who's going to bed early tonight!"

In the end, I did go to the kitchen to pick her uppy. Immediately upon doing that, that little bugger stopped her tantrum, wrapped her arms and legs tightly around me and lay her head on my shoulder, curling it tight against my neck and under my chin. I spoke calmly to her as I walked from room to room, her breath-catching sobs getting lighter and lighter as I did so.

I don't know that either of us won this battle, really.  I doubt that either of us handled it the "right" way -- no one in his right mind would suffer through either end of that given the choice.  What the right way to have handled it is, I don't know.  But one thing is for sure: Ella did go to bed early that night.