To the Mom with the Screamer -- Oh, That's Me

Here's the post I wrote earlier today:

Dear Mom from this afternoon --

You were sitting in the lobby area before dance class with your screaming, crying, wailing daughter clinging to your lap, her face the color of rage. I was running late, so I missed seeing whatever brought on the trauma -- but it sounded like maybe it had something to do with her leggings.

I just wanted to tell you... what, I don't even know. But somehow I wanted to wave a magic wand and make it all stop. 

Not because she was bothering me, which she wasn't. Simply because I felt so terrible for you -- both of you -- that your Wednesday afternoon was melting down into madness.

I know that moment. The one where you're silently wrestling over the lesser of two evils: a) standing strong in the face of the fit because dammit you PAID for these dance classes and they ARE fun and she WILL go to class and enjoy it or b) tucking her under your arm and taking her fit-throwing self home because you're both just too exhausted to do anything else.

After more than six years of parenting, I'm no closer to knowing the right answer to that debate.

All I really want you to know is that I'm not judging you, that I stand in solidarity with you and that I hope you got a very early bedtime tonight.
Love, 
Me

* * *

But then I had one of those early evenings where everything is going along fine and then, suddenly, Pippi goes completely deaf to the particular pitch of my voice and she ignores every single thing I'm saying to her and loses one of her brand new gloves on the walk home and just grins while I dissolve into fist-clenching frustration.

So she ended up back in this familiar spot while I had a glass of wine and put the pizza in the oven.

And by the time I'm finally back at my computer to finish up this afternoon's post, all I can think is who the hell am I to be offering magic wand wishes to another mom?

Here's hoping that all of us have smoother days tomorrow.
.