meltdown

Since he turned 2, Caleb's tantrums have become more spectacular. His temper turns totally irrational, and the tiniest thing can send him careening right off the edge, screaming and thrashing wildly as he does. In the moment is it absolutely maddening as well as, if I let it, incredibly embarrassing. But in hindsight (and, if I let it, in the moment), it is hilariously comical.

Sunday was an off day for him. In the moments before church began and then again at bedtime he completely (and gloriously) lost it. Both times were quite the production. You want a glimpse? Here's a sneak peak at his meltdowns.

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On the bus ride to church, a few blocks before our stop, Caleb decides he wants to run up and down the center aisle. For obvious reasons I can't let that happen and have to restrain him. He, of course, gets upset, and so commences Meltdown #1.

He starts screaming and writhing to get out of my arms. We finally reach our stop and somehow I'm able to stumble off the bus with both boys and our bag. Caleb screams to be put down so he can walk the few blocks to the chapel, and I oblige, but after I do so, he screams to be picked up. I do, but then he screams to be put down. I don't have the energy, let alone the desire, to be pulled into this cycle and so I just carry him (haul him, is more like it), screaming and kicking, to the church.

Going inside the building did not let up his screams. I drag him into the chapel, which, thankfully, is not yet too full of people, and plop him down on the end of an empty pew. He immediately scrambles to the far opposite end of the bench where his screams subside to pouts and then to sulking. A few people, as they walked past him, made the mistake of asking him what was wrong. In reply, he'd startle them nearly out of their shoes with spastic punches and kicks into the air and loud "get away from me!" whines. Not knowing what to do, they'd glance over at me apologetically. All I could do was shrug my shoulders and chuckle to let them know they were okay and that I had at least some sort of handle on the situation.

He eventually calmed down completely, and even forgave me enough to curl up in my lap just as the meeting was starting. Whew. One down.

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Bedtime brought on Meltdown #2. It wasn't the fact that he had to go to bed that sent him over the edge, but rather the routine drink of water just before he was tucked in. Just after I gave him his cup in the kitchen, something in him snapped, and he nearly chucked the still filled cup back at me. Of course it spilled all over the floor, and of course he started crying because it did. It was just water, easy to clean up, so I did and asked if he wanted to try again. He did, so I refilled his cup. But he was mad and refused it. "Fine," I said, "no water." And I carted him off to his bedroom for family prayer.

That I wouldn't play his silly "yes-I-do-no-I-don't" games only made him more angry. He threw a violent fit all through prayers, and because I, too, was now at my wit's end, I tucked him in matter-of-factly and just left the room, closing the door behind my child, whose screams at this point made him sound just this side of possessed.

Blake and I tried a few times to make amends. Judging by his calls for water, Caleb was still thirsty, so every once in a while we'd bring him his cup to see if he was ready to calmly cooperate. He never did (and I realized later that it was probably because he wanted milk, even though he was asking for water). After a few futile attempts, we gave up and just let him cry, which he did. For another half an hour. Sheesh.

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Four might be the magical age when irrational tantrums supposedly stop, but Garrett is not yet immune. He, too, threw a spectacular (and very public) fit on Sunday. It started on the bus ride home from church, a few blocks from our stop (why oh why do they decide to melt down just before I have to haul them off the bus?). He suddenly decided he wanted his blanket; I told him he'd have to wait until we got home. That did not suit him, and thus the whining commenced. Which in turn evolved to cries and screams, and which in turn upset Caleb.

And so I had to drag two screaming boys through my neighborhood, past the judgmentally raised eyebrows of my neighbors, into my building, up the stairs, and into their bedroom, where both of them were put straight to bed.

And then I put myself straight to bed. Explosive meltdowns are exhausting!