Big E: Medaling in Best Tantrum
At noon today, Big E participated in his last soccer class.
Maybe even his last class of any organized activity ever for the rest of his life.
About 25 minutes into the 45 minute class, Big E walked over to me and declared he was tired. He sat down on the bleachers.
I don't deny the possibility that Big E is tired. We had a late night last night and if wine hangovers were contagious, Big E probably had a touch of it.
I asked him to say goodbye and we headed out of class. We made it halfway towards the building's exit when Big E changed his mind. Or should I say Sybil changed his mind.
WE'RE BACK!
My butt reunited with the bleachers and I watched in horror as my son laid out on the dirty Astroturf and committed to the best Weekend at Bernie's impression ever. He was a corpse. His coach could not get him to move. His friends jumped on him and threw stuff at him and still, dead body.
At this point, he became a disruption to the class. His coach asked Big E nicely a few times to return to his spot on the field.
Radio silence from my kid. This is not acceptable.
It's one thing for him to act like a total sh*t to me, but not to other adults. No way.
I strode over to Big E's limp body, leaned down and gave him a whispery, sugary ultimatum.
GET UP RIGHT NOW AND LISTEN TO YOUR COACH OR WE ARE LEAVING. THOSE ARE YOUR CHOICES.
Big E opened one eye, ever so slightly.
I'M TIRED. I WANT TO LAY HERE!
I gently asked him one more time, as my patience had all but evaporated, and I was trying desperately to hold it together in front of the other parents.
I WANT TO STAY AND LAY!
I snapped like a toothpick. I grabbed him, swung him over my shoulders like the Incredible Hulk. He began kicking, screaming, and hitting me. Little E followed like a deer in the headlights.
I pinned Big E into the car seat with my knee (while wearing a dress!!) and buckled him in.
On the explosive temper tantrum scale, I'd rate this as whatever comes after nuclear.
The entire way home he screamed to go back to soccer.
I LEARNED MY LESSON! I'LL LISTEN!
Oh, if only I had a penny for every time I heard that.
Currently he is sleeping off yet another a**hole hangover.
Maybe even his last class of any organized activity ever for the rest of his life.
About 25 minutes into the 45 minute class, Big E walked over to me and declared he was tired. He sat down on the bleachers.
I don't deny the possibility that Big E is tired. We had a late night last night and if wine hangovers were contagious, Big E probably had a touch of it.
I asked him to say goodbye and we headed out of class. We made it halfway towards the building's exit when Big E changed his mind. Or should I say Sybil changed his mind.
WE'RE BACK!
My butt reunited with the bleachers and I watched in horror as my son laid out on the dirty Astroturf and committed to the best Weekend at Bernie's impression ever. He was a corpse. His coach could not get him to move. His friends jumped on him and threw stuff at him and still, dead body.
At this point, he became a disruption to the class. His coach asked Big E nicely a few times to return to his spot on the field.
Radio silence from my kid. This is not acceptable.
It's one thing for him to act like a total sh*t to me, but not to other adults. No way.
I strode over to Big E's limp body, leaned down and gave him a whispery, sugary ultimatum.
GET UP RIGHT NOW AND LISTEN TO YOUR COACH OR WE ARE LEAVING. THOSE ARE YOUR CHOICES.
Big E opened one eye, ever so slightly.
I'M TIRED. I WANT TO LAY HERE!
I gently asked him one more time, as my patience had all but evaporated, and I was trying desperately to hold it together in front of the other parents.
I WANT TO STAY AND LAY!
I snapped like a toothpick. I grabbed him, swung him over my shoulders like the Incredible Hulk. He began kicking, screaming, and hitting me. Little E followed like a deer in the headlights.
I pinned Big E into the car seat with my knee (while wearing a dress!!) and buckled him in.
On the explosive temper tantrum scale, I'd rate this as whatever comes after nuclear.
The entire way home he screamed to go back to soccer.
I LEARNED MY LESSON! I'LL LISTEN!
Oh, if only I had a penny for every time I heard that.
Currently he is sleeping off yet another a**hole hangover.
Not even the allure of the end of season soccer medal ceremony could keep Big E's crazy in check. And this kid freaking loves medals!
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