Lately Samson is becoming much more demonstrative about his frustrations in life. He has Mama's quick temper in a body spiked with Y chromosomes and testosterone, without the vocabulary to adequately express himself verbally. No surprise then that what would seem to be a minor inconvenience to people over 30 can flare into a major protest with little warning. Today's tantrum report:
9am............. Getting ready to go anywhere with a small child is always a big production. One must make sure that all necessary gear for the outing has been packed (at the very least, diapers & wipes, a full sippy cup, & an emergency snack), the child is reasonably presentable (cleanish clothing, fresh diaper, hair free of rats' nests, and face free of food, dirt, and mucus), and that you build in enough extra time for dilly-dallying. Samson's preferred dilly-dally activity these days is pretending to drive the car. Every time we go into the front yard, whether we plan to leave or not, he wants to get into the car, stand in the driver's seat, and try out all the buttons, mirrors, and moving parts. Once he has had his fill of "driving," he also must be allowed to climb down out of the front seat and climb up into his carseat in back. He does not appreciate being rushed, thank you very much, and if one should make that error, one will experience what Mama did this morning: a rigid body, resisting all attempts to place it into the carseat for buckling, emitting mournful wails and displaying a very frowny face. Realizing that we were in no real hurry this time, Mama put him down so that his dignity could be restored. He then happily got into his big boy seat, Mama buckled him in, and we were off.
10:15am...... After enduring two trips in the car, sharing a berry yogurt smoothie and a complimentary snack bar (thanks, Whole Foods Kids Club!), and having been a very good sport shopping for 60 minutes through two different grocery stores (HEB for staples, then Whole Foods for the fancy health foods and that hard-to-get Jaime's salsa), Samson finally loses his cool. The sight of stacks of
Snapea Crisps cruelly displayed at floor level in the checkout lane turns him into a tearful, screaming banshee, kicking and contorting to escape the
Ergo carrier to get down there and claim his treasure. Never mind that we had four bags of the stuff in our basket (Mama knows it's your favorite snack, boy!), he had to have it RIGHT NOW. Bless the quick-witted checker who whipped out some scissors and opened one of our bags. Crisis resolved. Samson did not let the precious things out of his grasp until we had made it home and half the bag was in his belly.
3pm......... Like most kids, Samson wants to do things for himself (see also: carseat story from 9am). His recent obsession with the contents and cool breeze emanating from the refrigerator means that every occasion the fridge must be opened turns into a 5 minute exercise for Samson to inventory the salad dressings in the door, attempt to remove the rice milk, and then finally agreeing to push the door shut. Heaven forbid that Mama should need to quickly place an item into the fridge and attempt to save energy by immediately closing the door herself. This afternoon, this slight was met with a tearful outburst of grievance, complete with stomping, moaning, furrowed brow, and throwing of various objects within easy grasp. All efforts by the offender to provide comfort to the offended were refused. Thankfully, this time there was no shoving.
6:30pm..... Another favorite activity that Samson enjoys several times each day is a visit to the family shoe bin in the corner of the den. He loves to pick out shoes to put on, either his own or the much too large pairs belonging to Mama and Daddy. Trouble is that he often gets so excited to put on "big people" shoes that he doesn't take any time to line them up in the right order and facing the same direction. When the backwards facing shoe refuses to stay on his foot, Samson's blood begins to boil and a pitiful yowl rises. If you weren't in the room to witness the scene, you'd fear that a bloody and life-threatening injury had just been sustained. The yowling continues until (a) Samson figures out how to get the shoes going the same way, (b) Mama relents and fixes the shoes to stop that awful racket, or (c) the boy abandons the shoe project for his greater passion of cat menacing.
Oh, my Samson. It might be a long row to hoe for you in learning the virtue of patience. Listen to Daddy on this one, m-kay?