Everyone always talks about the terrible two's. I'm wondering if anyone was ever going to let me in on the secret that terrible three's exist too.
I picked Adrian up from pre-school yesterday and was told by his teacher that he had a "great day!".
Apparently he decided to save the worst part of his day for me.
It started off innocently enough. He asked to go to Tim Horton's as he always does. After a bit of hesitation from me and after he implored pathetically "Pleeease Mumma" about 5 times his big blue eyes on mine...I totally gave in.
Mistake number one.
Off we walked down to the end of the plaza where the Tim Horton's is located (between which is a barber, a dry cleaning place, massage therapy, a variety store and an abandoned Swiss Chalet....just to give you an idea of how much of a walk it is, especially with 2 little ones).
I'm sure it's the only one in existence that does not have a drive through.
A drive-through would've made my life a helluva lot easier and would have completely avoided the hysterics that I now have the pleasure of letting you in on....
We arrived at a very busy Tim Horton's and in we trooped. Today Adrian decided he wanted a croissant and an old fashioned glazed timbit. I also purchased a plain timbit for my little guy. As I handed them their timbits, Adrian insisted he hold the paper bag with his croissant in it. He then quietly and politely asked for a chocolate milk. I said okay. Manners and good behaviour so far. Check.
Mistake number two.
As we got back in line for the chocolate milk he stated that he wanted to sit at the table to eat his snack and drink his chocolate milk. It was getting late and I knew John was going to be home from work soon and I had to get dinner ready, which is what I gently tried to tell my 3 year old.
Mistake number three.
He turned around, hit the garbage can door that was situated behind us and it began to swing wildly back and forth. His eyes filled with tears and he demanded loudly "NO, I want to stay HERE!"
After that display of behaviour I told him we were leaving without his chocolate milk.
This is when it gets gooood folks.
He screamed in a pitch so high I was convinced the dogs living in the nearest homes began to howl.
He was so angry that he clenched his fists (thus crushing his timbit) and started to vibrate. I'm not kidding.
I admit. I was a little bit scared of him.
Now, if it was just Adrian and me it would've been easy to simply pick him up and leave the place so as not to become a complete spectacle. (well as easy as it is to pick up a 40 pound 3 year old that's thrashing around like a fish out of water)
Too late for that. The stomping of the feet, swinging of the arms, writhing of the body and screaming continued as I attempted to maneuver him out the door with an almost 30 lb baby in my arms.
Okay, so I practically dragged him out. I was THAT Mom.
All the way back down the sidewalk of the plaza towards the truck (as I carried Finley in my arms so that he wasn't bulldozed by his unhinged brother....I'm in pretty good shape but my arms were feeling like they were about to become unhinged) he vacillating between ramming his head into my legs and then stopping dead in his tracks to advise me "I stopped crying Mumma...can we go get a chocolate milk now?"
Yeah right kid.
He continued his tirade, throwing his untouched croissant to the ground, mere crumbs of his timbit left in his clenched hand.
It was awesome. I had to hold back a bit of laughter...mostly nervous laughter because I didn't know what else to do. My hands were tied. I had to ride it out. There was actually a point in time where I was running with Finley in my arms just to keep Adrian from continually ramming into me.
Um. That's bad isn't it?
Finley, thank God for Finley, did not even make a peep the entire time.
I love that kid.
We eventually made it to the truck in one piece. Barely. Well, except the forsaken croissant and pulverized poor timbit. Nonetheless, Adrian seemed to have run out of steam. As I buckled him into his car seat he grabbed me close and mumbled tearfully into my jacket..."I love you Mumma".
Then he noticed the timbit in his hand crushed beyond recognition and therein began a whole other wave of tears.
Of-course, Finley, having had enough of the maniacal madness of his brother, started to cry.
Lord, have mercy on me. Please.
I wearily climbed into the truck, giving myself a big pat on the back for keeping it together fairly good thus far.
I put the key in the ignition and started up the truck. On the radio was Jennifer Lopez's On the Floor.
I love that song.
It was like a little sparkle of happiness in a cacophony of craziness.
I turned the volume way up hoping to drown out the chaos in the backseat imagining myself in a dance club so that I too could "Dance the night away, grab somebody, drink a little more."