A Mind Your Manners Meltdown

It went from so happy, to so very NOT.

How is it that something so small, so seemingly easy, can escalate into a meltdown performance worthy of an Oscar nomination?

Tonight’s Incident could have been avoided.  I know it.  If I had not insisted, The Tackler would’ve gotten to spend an hour playing at Barnes & Noble, not ten minutes.  And there was a part of me that screamed the entire time, “Let it go! Don’t push it.”

But I pushed.

Because The Tackler is 3.5.  And he’s smart. He is constantly testing his boundaries.  And then retesting. And then retesting again, searching for any loophole, any inconsistency to exploit so that he can file it away for future use.

We have a saying about The Tackler. “There doesn’t need to be pattern for a pattern to exist. He only requires precedent.”  Basically, if it has happened before, it will again.  The phrase “only once in a lifetime” does not compute in his world.

Which brings us to tonight’s issue.

Manners.

Or rather, lack of them.

The Tackler will say “please” and “thank you” often.  Even without prodding on multiple occasions.  He’ll hold the door open. Sometimes. He’ll say “excuse me” after letting loose a belch that would’ve made John Belushi proud. He has a nice arsenal of Good Manners that he can use, should he be in an obliging mood.

As long as it doesn’t involve saying “I’m sorry.”

These simple words are apparently so challenging, so beyond his skill set, that I would have better luck teaching him to ride a bike across a high wire while eating broccoli – when he can’t pedal yet and hates broccoli.

Tonight’s scenario began low on the “Things The Tackler Does that Call for an Apology” list. He “nudged” a much bigger boy out of his way (using his body) so his trains could continue around the track.

Me: “That wasn’t very nice. Tell the boy ‘excuse me’.”

Tackler: Ignored me and played with his trains.

Me: “Please tell the boy ‘excuse me.’  We don’t bump people out of the way like that. It’s very rude.”

Tackler: “No, I don’t want to.”

And the line in the sand was drawn.  We stared at each other, sizing up how far the other was willing to go over this fairly minor offense (falling on the list somewhere between chewing with mouth open and knocking his sister over).

I paused.  I knew where this was going, but if I backed down, he’d file that away as “Mommy has crappy follow through” and push even harder in the future.

Then he “nudged” the boy away from the turntable roundhouse portion. And gave me A Look.

A Look that said, “This is stupid. I wasn’t mean. I didn’t knock anyone over. I’m going to do what I damn well please.”

And I knew in that moment, this would play out to the bitter end, a Shakespearean tragedy littered with bodies.

Me: “You have to tell the boy excuse me if you’d like him to move.  You should tell him you’re sorry for bumping him out of the way.”

Tackler: Continued to play trains with a focus seldom seen outside of a bomb squad.

Me: “If you don’t use good manners and say you’re sorry, we’re going to have to leave.”

Tackler: Glanced up to gauge seriousness.  Continued playing with intensity.

Me: (stood up and started walking away) “Ok, time to leave.”

Tackler: He immediately snaps out of his train bubble.  “NONONONONO! I want to play with the trains! I don’t want to go!”

Me: I paused.  “Then tell the boy you’re sorry and we can stay.”

Tackler: (Pretends he hasn’t heard me.)

Me: (moved toward the door again) “If you don’t tell him you’re sorry, we’re leaving.”

Tackler: (Insert Meltdown HERE).

And repeat the scenario, about three times.

Each time we got as far as leaving the children’s section, and he’d promise to be good and talk to the boy.  And each time, he refused and dug in his heels as he returned to the train table.

By now, his nose was runny, his face red and blotchy, and we’d attracted the attention of everyone within hearing distance, who gave me The Look as they wondered what my child could possibly have done so evil, so horrible, I was insisting for an apology to the point of meltdown.

The final time I was nearly halfway to the exit when he caught up, screaming as though I was abandoning and torturing him simultaneously.  Then he hit/shoved me with his hands – that still held the Thomas trains.

And with that act, he went from a Manners correction into the Things You Don’t Do if You Ever Want to Come Here Again category.  This action equaled immediate eviction.  No “I’m sorry” was going to cut it now.

I held his hand as we left: him screaming, crying, and whining all at once.  Me glared at for daring to disturb the magic B&N peace.

At least he didn’t require being carried.  We’re at that stage in meltdowns, where if you leave and walk away, he will follow.  After gaining as much audience as possible.

Another battle of wills awaited in the car, as I did not want to set the precedent of forcing him into his new car seat (which loves).

That battle I won.  It took ten minutes, but he willingly sat in it and put his straps over the shoulders.

The manners battle was a draw. Neither of us won. We both lost out on fun time.

I still have that part that wonders if I should have let the whole thing go.

And then I think of precedent.

Hopefully next time, he’ll say “excuse me” instead of nudging someone.  Or say “I’m sorry” when needed.

Because I know he can.

It’s just a Battle of Wills.

And he has no clue who he’s dealing with.

Just ask my mother.

Advertisements

About Kelly K @ Dances with Chaos

Kelly K has learned the five steps to surviving of motherhood: 1) Don't get mad. Grab your camera. 2) Take a photograph. 3) Blog about it. 4) Laugh. 5) Repeat. She shares these tales at Dances with Chaos in order to preserve what tiny amount of sanity remains. You can also find her on her sister blog, Writing with Chaos (www.writingwithchaos.com) sharing memoir and engaging in her true love: fiction writing. It's cheaper than therapy.
This entry was posted in The Tackler and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

14 Responses to A Mind Your Manners Meltdown

  1. I wouldn’t have let that go either. Once I left a full grocery cart in the middle of the aisle filled with a few treats I had let her choose. She screamed at me the whole way home but it never happened again. Some things, even if they seem little at first just can’t be ignored…

    • Kelly K says:

      It’s nice to know that I’m not the only one who goes through this… It’s the fairly “minor” offense that makes me doubt myself. Mostly because I know this meltdown could have been avoided and it almost feels like it added fuel to the fire…

      I’m glad I stuck to my guns. Just not so much while it was going on.

  2. Jaime D says:

    That is a GOOD mommy moment. It feels terrible, but you will be rewarded later when it doesn’t happen again (or not to that extent at least :)). When you don’t have to deal with the same senario over and over, you win. Noelle has been there done that…luckly she isn’t too stubborn (i was terribly stubborn, so i assume she got her level head from her dad). She knows i mean business at this point. I am rewarded with a (mostly) obedient, if not sassy, near four year old. You go girl!
    FFJaime

  3. marinasleeps says:

    Fist pump for you. Sometimes the right thing seems a little murky until the next time without prompting you hear him say and do the right thing. Moms can be so easily pushed around. Go girl on standing your ground!

    • Kelly K says:

      My hope is if this pops up again, and he does balk, a simple reminder of what happened the previous time when I didn’t back down will be enough to get him to behave.

      Let’s hope.

  4. Oh the 3.5’s! I think you did absolutely the right thing. Before kids, I had no idea how much of parenting is made up of little moments and split second decisions. It was all so much easier to figure out before all I KNEW about parenting was dispelled by actually being a parent. I love your ending, by the way. “And he has no clue who he’s dealing with. Just ask my mother.”

    Amy

    • Kelly K says:

      It was all so much easier to figure out before all I KNEW about parenting was dispelled by actually being a parent.

      Amy – That is so true. It’s so easy when you aren’t the one going through it. That one was particularly difficult for me because normally I do everything I can to prevent the onset of a meltdown (avoiding the circumstances likely to cause it), and this one was one I knew would happen if I insisted on him minding his manners. I’m glad I did it. I know I did the right thing, but at the time I was filled with doubt.

      I want to compliment you on your decorum in responding to the more rude comments on your pressed piece. Your graciousness in the face of such things is inspirational. I will endeavor to be more like you, because the responses in my mind were not near as cordial.

      They’re probably Trolls anyway. 🙂

      Thank you for reading!

  5. Oh god…I just had that day. Why can’t they say “sorry”?? I don’t believe my 3 year old has ever uttered that word.

    • Kelly K says:

      I have no idea why prying the words “I’m sorry” from a toddler’s mouth are the equivalent of asking them to do my laundry, sweep and mop the floor, then and throw out all of their toys: i.e Impossible.

      My sympathies on having “that day.” Those are the days I doubt the sanity of ever procreating.

      Thanks for reading!

  6. Tara says:

    Oh lord is this familiar. Mine like to do this in the parking lot of chuck e cheese. They lie down on the asphalt. It’s hard to argue with a child who is essentially lying in the road.

    • Kelly K says:

      Oh my. Yes, the Possibility of Getting Run Over does make it a bit more difficult to do the Walk Away and They Will Follow bit. Luckily I have instilled much terror in my son about doing such a thing. His little sister, however, has no such reservations yet about drunkingly walking at top speed into traffic…

      I just can’t wait until my Lil Diva does these as well, because the temper on her… Oh boy..

  7. Pingback: Master of Many Meltdowns: Friday’s “What the frak?” Moments | Dances with Chaos

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s