Melt down story ..... actually STORIES! As in plural, as in 5 kids = lots of melts downs and how could I pick just one? Especially when they all happened in a one hour time frame as we were getting ready for school one morning.
I should give a bit of a backdrop to my tale of the
Day Of The Meltdowns. We are a blended family. By that I mean my husband and I both have custody of our children from our previous marriages - so we have all 5 - all the time. Because of this we have 2 eldest children, 2 babies, and 1 middle child. We have young teens, pre-teens and gradeschoolers. And they are typical eldest, middle, & babies too with the typical traits. The eldest are independent, quiet and mature. The babies are whiners, fighters, and attention hounds. And the middle.. oh the moody middle, no one loves me, life is not worth living middle child.
On the
Day Of The Meltdowns - as we call it when we unfondly remember it, even our 2 eldest who are normally the ones we can count on to NOT have meltdowns had reached their breakdown points.
Early a.m. our eldest, 15 year old daughter leaves for school in the school car. Two minutes later my phone rings, all I can hear is shrieking, crying, hysterics. "Dad is going to KILL me~ waaaaaaaaaa". I panic - what is wrong? She had driven down the driveway too fast, slid the corner and got the car stuck in the mud. Which is really no big deal around here, we pull people out of our ditches on a regular basis. But on this day for some reason Daughter thought the world had come to an end! Her Dad drove down to pull her car out with strict orders from me to not make it any worse - which around here means "do not say ANYTHING to the teenager". From inside the house I could hear her still crying, yelling, freaking out - as she had to sit behind the wheel while he pulled the car with the chain and his pickup. I tried really hard not to laugh, but oh THE DRAMA! And I could see Lance out there trying not to yell at her and biting his lip. I think he has learned that a teenager on a rampage is nothing to mess with!
Meanwhile... inside the "brady bunch house of horrors" the BABIES are getting their bookbags and coats on. Only guess what? Neither one can FIND their bookbag. They have mysteriously disappeared into thin air ( Gnomes? ) So I start asking questions amidst the Sobs, the wimpers, the crying of the two babies in unison gets louder with each question. "Is it in your room?" NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, sniff, whimper. "Is it in the car?" NOOOOOOOOO, sniff, wail. "Did you leave it on the bus?" AWWWWWWWWNOOOOOOOOOOYIIIIII!!! That one was obviously NOT the possibility they wanted to hear. And then the topper to the tantrum..."Maybe you left it as school" The shrieking and crying at the thought that they could possibly have done that was deafening x 2. There was no consoling them, so I sent them outside to let Lance deal with it ( yes I know, I am a coward! )
Thinking I had dodged that bullet and all was calm inside I walked into my eldest son's room. He was putting his books into his bookbag. Suddenly he starts crying, wailing, bawling, throwing things. "What is wrong with you?" I asked ( you would think by now I would just STOP asking questions.) He didn't get his homework done, had forgotten about it, and now was DOOOOOOOOMED to fail in all life's future missions because of one math page that was only half done. How could he have done that? He was so MAD at himself for failing to be perfect. I slowly backed out of the room giving consolation as I snuck out. "You don't have to be perfect" "Your teacher will understand" "You can do it at recess....." SLAM - that was his door, in my face as I gave that last bit of wisdom. I don't think he appreciated it much?
So we are now 4 for 5 - with only the moody middle child left to go. Suddenly I remembered I had not seen him yet this morning. It was 5 minutes PAST when they normally get in Dad's truck and head to school and where was he? His room is downstairs and I only venture down there under dire conditions ( aka - do not enter unless you want to see your brand new house with rooms that look like bombs have gone off and nuclear dumping has occurred) He is always the last one ready, the last to run upstairs, grab whatever breakfast is left on the counter and head out to the door so I hadn't missed him yet with all the dramatics going on upstairs. I yelled down the steps..."Are you ready to go?" Again, a question... I will never learn it seems! No answer. I yell down again. "Are you up?". No answer. So I venture downstairs, feeling the doom closing in on me with each step. It is dark. It is quiet. This is NOT good. I knock on his door. He says "What?" in a VERY sleepy voice. Last question of the day coming up..... "Do you know what time it is?" At this point he looks at his clock and realizes he has overslept and has no time to shower, comb his hair, eat breakfast etc and he lets out a SCREAM of bloody murder as he rushes pass me out the door, into the bathroom, slamming that door, yelling at the top of his lungs. "WHY DIDN'T YOU WAKE ME UP?!!?!" Me? My fault? Oh yes, of course I should have came down and woke you up even though I was busy juggling the OTHER 4 meltdowns this morning and you always get yourself up and we are best to just leave you alone in the morning ( we have learned this lesson well! ) I retreat. I run. I hide in my office and listen for the glorious sound of my husband's truck doors closing and the truck driving down the driveway. They are gone for the day and I survived to fight another morning! I sit down in my chair to start my quiet day alone in my home with no yelling, no crying, no doors slamming. And there on the bench in my office in plain site are the two missing bookbags! Do I call Lance and have him turn around and come back? Break my peace and quiet, risk another tantrum (s), risk hearing the "We are late...waaaaa" , "I am late for work...waaaa"? No way!
Melt down? It was 5 for 5 that day. At least we had a perfect score!
Doesn't he look thrilled to be a Pilgrim? I had the pleasure of attending one of my son's Thanksgiving programs this week. I had forgotten the true story of the Mayflower and the settlers who came over on that ship. I don't think I would be thrilled to be a Pilgrim either! It was not a good voyage at all.
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