Watching my toddler kick and scream in a fit on the floor gets me thinking: I bet that feels good.
Talk about getting it all out of your system. Why are tantrums limited to 2-year-olds? We all need an outlet. Just once I'd like to have a day where I can show that kind of emotion ...
I wake up and start screaming for somebody to come get me. Then I follow everyone around the kitchen whining, "Coffee, I want coooffffeeee." My husband gives it to me, but says we're out of creamer and I throw myself against the refrigerator, sliding down the front crying, "WHHHYYYYY?"
Time to get dressed. And I decide I don't WANNA wear comfortable shoes for chasing kids around. I wanna wear heels. High ones. Red, patent leather Mary Janes and I don't care what the preschool thinks. My son says I can't wear these shoes to school and I throw my tennis shoes at him and shriek, "I'm WEARING them!"
My husband tells me it's time to go and when I tell him NO, he drags me downstairs and puts me in the driver's seat. I squirm around, kicking, so he can't get my seat belt around me, screaming "I don't WANT to drive carpool, I wanna get OUT!"
We finally take off, but stopping for a train, and having to wait for everyone to finish running red lights before I can pull into the intersection, I start banging on the steering wheel, "When are we gonna BE there?"
My son scrambles to put a movie in the DVD player. "Here, Mommy, just watch the movie."
"That's `Beaches' I don't WANT `Beaches' I want `THELMA and LOUISE!' "
I drop the kids off and head to Target to get a pair of brown shorts. After I finally find the pair I want, whaddya know? I wrap my arms around the rack of clothes, hanging onto them crying, "I want my SIZE!" and then I slowly melt to the floor.
On to lunch with a girlfriend. My salad comes but suddenly I'm sick of dieting so I knock the salad off the table and shout, "I want a CHEESEBURGER and not a wheat bun, I want white bread. I don't care anymore, I want cheesecake, give me CHEESECAKE!"
And I can't even wait to get to the grocery store so I can just throw my arms up in the air and run up and down every aisle screaming about the price of milk and meat and canned chicken and the fact that they still don't have the new Us magazine at checkout.
Then to the gas station to fill up the car. SIXTY dollars? I throw the pump on the ground and start stomping on it, "NO FAIR NO FAIR!" The station attendant comes out and yells: "Stop, you're gonna break it! I'm sorry, ma'am, but you're acting like a 2-year-old."
My point exactly.
Family Tracy Curtis
