wallowing

Wallowing in my own self-pity about how recent life with Eldest is like creamed crap on a biscuit, I have spent my morning reading blogs instead of working.

I ran across a post by Irish Gumbo here. It caused me to remember this story, which in turn reminded me that I do actually admire (if not appreciate) Eldest's ability to manipulate her world:

Eldest was two. She was a tiny but mighty ball of energy, attitude and shocking white hair. I'm certain she was swathed in pink head to toe and stomping about in high-top Nikes. It was a Saturday morning and I was doing the grocery shopping. Car-man was staying home with the baby and I--for some strange reason--thought it would be a good idea to take the two-year-old to the grocery store. (Feel free to slap me upside the head.)

The trip started out calmly enough. We filled up on veggies and fruit, stopped for our week of meat (that just sounds wrong, doesn't it?), formula, diapers and gathered up some other staples. It was uneventful. I remember that the cart was about half full when we turned the corner down one of the more tempting aisles. I don't remember where it started...cookies or fruit snacks (a/k/a gummy candy in disguise) or some other such nonsense...but the begging and no'ing began in earnest. I let her out of the cart. (I don't claim brilliance.)

At some point, one of my "nos" caused complete and utter meltdown. The kind where they are limp and laying on the floor and the decibels are rising and your blood-pressure is threatened to blow off the top of your head and other parents are looking at you sympathetically thinking oh-thank-the-baby-Jesus-that-isn't-me and the non-parents are looking at you and thinking nice-mom-she-is-why-can't-she-control-that-kid? You've been there, right? (And if you haven't? Please just nod nicely and say, "Why, yes, I have!" I could do with a little white lie right about now.)

So I did what any sane adult would do, I abandoned my cart, scooped the child off the floor and began to walk out of the store.

She silenced as we walked.

We reached the bright sunshinyness of outside and I stood her on her own two feet. Then she saw the ride-on-duck outside the store. She asked to ride. I shook my head no. And the fit started again. Mellowed by the sun, I looked down at her and said, "Why do you think that will work on me? I'm not going to buy you anything just because you are pitching a fit."

And I swear to God, she stopped that screeching mid-note and embodying utter calm, she said, "It works on Daddy."

Swallowing a combo scream/laugh, I buckled her into her car seat and drove her home. I delivered her to Daddy with the line, "That one has you wrapped around her pinkie finger."

I went back to the store alone. I think I took extra long and went to two or three stores just for fun. It gave her extra time to work her magic on Daddy.
*Edit--Just after I hit "post," I got this text:

"I just wanted to let you know Mr. K is talking to the administration about my attendance, and I'm feeling bad enough today that he thinks I should go home. So he's taking care of the attendance today. Dad's coming to get me."
So you see, dear bloggies, she can still manipulate her world. She IS sick. I know that. But if she doesn't do the damn make-up work...the cell phone is MINE! (That and the stupid administration should stop sending me threatening letters about Eldest's attendance.)

It's a crap house.