I had 2 boys. I am well versed in the art of throwing a fit. I clearly remember the kicking on the ground, crying, jello body, the occasional hitting when I ignored their lovely display. The number of fits that I witnessed from those two keepers of my heart could be infinite.
Logan was a mellow fit thrower. I remember one time he and I sitting on the couch, he with his cup of juice and his blanket sitting as close as he could possibly get to me without sitting on my lap. He was watching some show on TV and I was waiting for the laundry to cycle through so I could switch the loads. I heard the buzzer go off which signaled to me that my relaxation on the couch with my cutest ever 2 year old was over for a while. I told him I needed to get up to switch the laundry and he calmly sais “no.” Simple. Quick. Like he had to give me permission to get up. I said I will be right back. “no” again came from that cute little mouth. Calm and decisive. “you’re silly.” I tell him, giggling at his ‘tude. “Mom, if you get up, I will broke your legs. Then you can never get up again.” Comes out of my baby boys mouth without any expression, or without missing one second from his show, as if he were thinking that all morning and now he had the opportunity to tell me. He was serious. I was hysterically laughing. I kiss-attacked him and we joked about his silliness and I then was given permission to leave my couchly prison with the stipulation that I was to return in no more than 5 minutes. That was pretty well the fits that Logan threw. Calm and thought through. I was spoiled with that one.
Then there was my Jessie Bear. He was the most tranquil and relaxed baby. I could lay him on the floor and he would play with the toys that were selected for him until he fell asleep. We was a go with the flow kind of baby. Which was really nice seeing as I had a busy-body 3 year old at this stage to chase after, too. Anderson did not learn the art of a fit until about 2 years old. He was my kicker, screamer, jello body boy. (You see, at 2 he had a great example of a 5 year old brother who had since been introduced to the grocery store fitter, the nursery fitter, the cousin/friend fitter and had taken to the effects of the fit.) Anderson’s most memorable fit was in the aisle of Walmart’s toy section. He had a thing for Backyardigans- a very cute show much involving music and dancing. We saw a toy of Pablo- one of the characters- on the shelf. “Mommy- Pablo!!” he said to me pointing his adorably chunky finger at the shelf that held his wanted treasure. “Cool.” I replied. We paused for a second and got the toy down or a closer look (mistake #1) He played with it while I searched for what I needed and then I told him we need to put Pablo back. (mistake #2) “No. Mine.” “No he needs to go back with his other Pablo friends.” I said as I pried it from his clenched hug hold. Begin fit. The screaming, the kicking, the arms reached out trying to get hold of his Pablo. It continued on. I tried to lovingly calm him down with the ‘shhh’ and hugging him the best I could without unbuckling him from the grocery cart and patting his back. But as we walked away from his Pablo, his head began tossing back and forth, then he intentionally threw his head into the handle of the grocery cart, as to intensify his crying. He did not realize that such an action would hurt as badly as it did. And I did not realize that such an action would swell up and bruise as quickly as it did. So there I was walking through Walmart with a screaming toddler who was now fashioning a huge, purple goose egg smack in the middle of his fore head. Everyone was staring and ripping through my very being with thoughts of what a horrible mother I was. I could see it in their eyes. Since that day, we avoid the toy aisle of every store that we go to.
Two, that is all. Just two polar opposite examples of fits that my boys threw.
Then I had Kenaley. Fit is such an understatement for the atrocity that my little princess displays upon disapproval of anything at all. Anything.
This. Girl. Can. FIT!!
And over anything. She doesn’t get a treat. She doesn’t get the treat she wanted. She doesn’t get the treat that she wanted fast enough. She doesn’t get a toy. She doesn’t get the toy that she wanted. She doesn’t get the toy that she wanted fast enough. She isn’t allowed to color on the walls with markers. She cannot sit on the dog. She cannot play with her brothers Lego creations. She cannot eat her brothers Lego creations. Olivia is interrupted. She cannot hold a full glass of water. She cannot hold a bottle of water without the lid on. Someone shut the baby gate. She can not dip her brother’s tooth brushes into the toilet and then suck the water off. I washed her face. I washed her hands. I put her bow back in her hair. Her shoe comes off. Someone took her toy. Someone took a toy that she may have been thinking of playing with at some point in her life. She cannot pull the keys off of my laptop. Someone disabled the remote and now it won’t do anything. I don’t let her hold my cell phone when I am talking on it. It is bedtime. Its dinner time. She needs her diaper changed. She gets buckled in her carseat. I look at her when she doesn’t want me to. THE PLANETS ARE NOT ALIGNED!!!!! ANNNNNYTHIIIIIIIIING!!!!!!!!!
PLUUUUUS…this is a fit like I have never experienced. Screaming would be welcomed in exchange for the ear piercing, spine curling screech that comes out of her tiny little mouth. You know that pitch that is so high that your ears seems to shut off for a minute, and you hear this echo of the pitch in the center of your brain. She can do that. Repeatedly. Over and over again, until you feel like ripping into your ears and going for the center of your brain where the echo is generating, and stomping on it with soccer cleats. That pitch. That’s the squeal that baby girl is capable of.
And jello body is such an understatement. Somehow she has the ability to make all her bones turn to mush, not only that but she can will the weight of said bones to go directly into her head, which she throws back and knocks off her balance. Feet that are attempted to be placed on the floor have a magnetic attraction to her chin; and the ability to stand, and for that matter even sit are completely gone. There have been several times that I really thought I was going to drop her because of her ability to contort her body just so.
On top of that, when she is really mad she does this supremely funny thing. She will squat on the floor in a crawling position. Scream- I mean squeal- so that you will look at her and then carefully lower her head until it is about 1 inch from the floor then bang her head on the ground, carefully. Gently. Then she wails like she has just been very badly hurt and the only thing that will make the pain go away is to get that thing that she was after in the first place. It makes me laugh every time that I see her do it. That makes her more mad.
So, like I said: I am well versed in the art of the fit. But, what Kenaley does is not a fit. I more so like to call it a princess internal nuclear explosion.
You should experience it sometime. You won’t believe your eyes. I expect that sometime between the hours of dawn and dusk we will be having them. Probably a few an hour.
Logan was a mellow fit thrower. I remember one time he and I sitting on the couch, he with his cup of juice and his blanket sitting as close as he could possibly get to me without sitting on my lap. He was watching some show on TV and I was waiting for the laundry to cycle through so I could switch the loads. I heard the buzzer go off which signaled to me that my relaxation on the couch with my cutest ever 2 year old was over for a while. I told him I needed to get up to switch the laundry and he calmly sais “no.” Simple. Quick. Like he had to give me permission to get up. I said I will be right back. “no” again came from that cute little mouth. Calm and decisive. “you’re silly.” I tell him, giggling at his ‘tude. “Mom, if you get up, I will broke your legs. Then you can never get up again.” Comes out of my baby boys mouth without any expression, or without missing one second from his show, as if he were thinking that all morning and now he had the opportunity to tell me. He was serious. I was hysterically laughing. I kiss-attacked him and we joked about his silliness and I then was given permission to leave my couchly prison with the stipulation that I was to return in no more than 5 minutes. That was pretty well the fits that Logan threw. Calm and thought through. I was spoiled with that one.
Then there was my Jessie Bear. He was the most tranquil and relaxed baby. I could lay him on the floor and he would play with the toys that were selected for him until he fell asleep. We was a go with the flow kind of baby. Which was really nice seeing as I had a busy-body 3 year old at this stage to chase after, too. Anderson did not learn the art of a fit until about 2 years old. He was my kicker, screamer, jello body boy. (You see, at 2 he had a great example of a 5 year old brother who had since been introduced to the grocery store fitter, the nursery fitter, the cousin/friend fitter and had taken to the effects of the fit.) Anderson’s most memorable fit was in the aisle of Walmart’s toy section. He had a thing for Backyardigans- a very cute show much involving music and dancing. We saw a toy of Pablo- one of the characters- on the shelf. “Mommy- Pablo!!” he said to me pointing his adorably chunky finger at the shelf that held his wanted treasure. “Cool.” I replied. We paused for a second and got the toy down or a closer look (mistake #1) He played with it while I searched for what I needed and then I told him we need to put Pablo back. (mistake #2) “No. Mine.” “No he needs to go back with his other Pablo friends.” I said as I pried it from his clenched hug hold. Begin fit. The screaming, the kicking, the arms reached out trying to get hold of his Pablo. It continued on. I tried to lovingly calm him down with the ‘shhh’ and hugging him the best I could without unbuckling him from the grocery cart and patting his back. But as we walked away from his Pablo, his head began tossing back and forth, then he intentionally threw his head into the handle of the grocery cart, as to intensify his crying. He did not realize that such an action would hurt as badly as it did. And I did not realize that such an action would swell up and bruise as quickly as it did. So there I was walking through Walmart with a screaming toddler who was now fashioning a huge, purple goose egg smack in the middle of his fore head. Everyone was staring and ripping through my very being with thoughts of what a horrible mother I was. I could see it in their eyes. Since that day, we avoid the toy aisle of every store that we go to.
Two, that is all. Just two polar opposite examples of fits that my boys threw.
Then I had Kenaley. Fit is such an understatement for the atrocity that my little princess displays upon disapproval of anything at all. Anything.
This. Girl. Can. FIT!!
And over anything. She doesn’t get a treat. She doesn’t get the treat she wanted. She doesn’t get the treat that she wanted fast enough. She doesn’t get a toy. She doesn’t get the toy that she wanted. She doesn’t get the toy that she wanted fast enough. She isn’t allowed to color on the walls with markers. She cannot sit on the dog. She cannot play with her brothers Lego creations. She cannot eat her brothers Lego creations. Olivia is interrupted. She cannot hold a full glass of water. She cannot hold a bottle of water without the lid on. Someone shut the baby gate. She can not dip her brother’s tooth brushes into the toilet and then suck the water off. I washed her face. I washed her hands. I put her bow back in her hair. Her shoe comes off. Someone took her toy. Someone took a toy that she may have been thinking of playing with at some point in her life. She cannot pull the keys off of my laptop. Someone disabled the remote and now it won’t do anything. I don’t let her hold my cell phone when I am talking on it. It is bedtime. Its dinner time. She needs her diaper changed. She gets buckled in her carseat. I look at her when she doesn’t want me to. THE PLANETS ARE NOT ALIGNED!!!!! ANNNNNYTHIIIIIIIIING!!!!!!!!!
PLUUUUUS…this is a fit like I have never experienced. Screaming would be welcomed in exchange for the ear piercing, spine curling screech that comes out of her tiny little mouth. You know that pitch that is so high that your ears seems to shut off for a minute, and you hear this echo of the pitch in the center of your brain. She can do that. Repeatedly. Over and over again, until you feel like ripping into your ears and going for the center of your brain where the echo is generating, and stomping on it with soccer cleats. That pitch. That’s the squeal that baby girl is capable of.
And jello body is such an understatement. Somehow she has the ability to make all her bones turn to mush, not only that but she can will the weight of said bones to go directly into her head, which she throws back and knocks off her balance. Feet that are attempted to be placed on the floor have a magnetic attraction to her chin; and the ability to stand, and for that matter even sit are completely gone. There have been several times that I really thought I was going to drop her because of her ability to contort her body just so.
On top of that, when she is really mad she does this supremely funny thing. She will squat on the floor in a crawling position. Scream- I mean squeal- so that you will look at her and then carefully lower her head until it is about 1 inch from the floor then bang her head on the ground, carefully. Gently. Then she wails like she has just been very badly hurt and the only thing that will make the pain go away is to get that thing that she was after in the first place. It makes me laugh every time that I see her do it. That makes her more mad.
So, like I said: I am well versed in the art of the fit. But, what Kenaley does is not a fit. I more so like to call it a princess internal nuclear explosion.
You should experience it sometime. You won’t believe your eyes. I expect that sometime between the hours of dawn and dusk we will be having them. Probably a few an hour.
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