Fighting fair

Ian and I went to Krispy Kreme last night for a treat after the SCA meeting. I had planned on a quick trip through the drive-thru but it was closed so we had to go in. No problem, we can work with this. We got Ian an apple juice and a chocolate sprinkled donut (his favorite) and a hot glazed for me (which I was unsure if I wanted but figured I would have the option). Ian happily sat and ate his donut.

Things were going well. We talked about the donut workers and the conveyor belts and the icing. I asked if he wanted a paper hat and he said, "hmm, no thanks." Fair enough. He finished his donut and we stood to watch the donuts scroll by. Things were going great.

Suddenly Ian started getting a little loud and spastic. It was late and he was getting tired and he had just eaten a donut. I get that. I told him we had to go and he said, "NO!" I told him we still had to go and he screamed, "NOOOOO!" Sigh.

So I picked him up, and he tried to squirm away. He was lunging for his apple juice and he weighs 43 pounds so I was barely able to keep him in my arms. I still had my donut to pick up and my purse and a stack of napkins. And the flailing screaming three year old. Good times.

He continued to fight me because he didn't want me to carry him "that high" (I had thrown him over my shoulder in a fireman's carry, perhaps as a bit of a 'screw you, screaming kid' act of defiance). By the time I got to the van, I screamed, "STOP IT!" but he was laughing wildly at that point so my protests fell on deaf ears.

I got the van door open and threw him into his seat, not so gingerly (man my arm was hurting). Oh and in the trip across the parking lot, he had managed to swing the donut box into my eye. Awesome. He was still laughing and spinning his arms all over. As soon as his butt hit the car seat he sprang right back up, doing his best plank impression. So I got in the van and stuck my knee in his chest to strap him in. Suddenly his shrieks of laughter turned to shrieks of rage.

There was a lot of "STOP IT, MOMMY!" and "OWIE!" and "DON'T STRAP ME IN!"

Once we got moving, I proceeded to regale him with all of my frustrations and annoyances. I shouldn't have to carry him out of the store like a baby. I shouldn't have to pin him into the car seat like a wild animal. I bought him a donut and he ate it. He doesn't get to whine over my donut. It's my (damn) donut and I'll eat it, or give it to the dogs or throw it away if I want because it's mine. I know he's tired and it's been a busy night but if he is going to act like a wild animal then we just will go home and not get donuts or go to stores or eat at restaurants because I can't take the risk that he will embarrass me or worse yet hurt me. My eye hurts from the donut box. My arm hurts from his flailing like a wild animal. And my feelings are hurt because Ian laughed at me when I told him I needed help.

We drove in silence for the rest of the trip home. But when we pulled into the driveway, there came this clear quiet voice from the back seat.

"I'm sorry for not listening, Mommy. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings." "Thank you, Ian. That means a lot."

As I got out of the car and came around to him in the back seat, he continued, "I didn't want to go home." Me: "You wanted to stay at the donut shop?" Ian: "Uh hunh. You pushed me. I didn't want to get in my seat because I wanted my chocolate milk from the cup hole [sic], but you didn't let me talk. You hurt my feelings too." Me: "Oh, buddy, I didn't realize you wanted your milk. I was busy being mad about my eye and my arm. Did it hurt your feelings when I fussed at you in the car?" Ian: "Uh hunh." Me: "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I yelled. I'm sorry I pushed you in your seat. Can I have a hug?" Ian: "Yeah!"

"Let's go play trains, Mommy."