Take Me To A Galaxy Far Far Away

A few years ago, Justin and I were at Fred Meyer shopping for a throw rug. A piercing scream caused us both to look across the aisle in the direction of the toy department. At first, all we could see was the bottom of a pair of shoes, moving violently up and down as the child wearing them kicked and flailed.

“Get up.”  

Two arms and a head flopped backwards onto the small shoes. “No.”

"I said.  Get.  Up.”

Repositioning himself onto his knees, the little boy used his hands to spin himself away from the voice.  He was now staring right at us.  “No. I won’t,”  he screamed.

Mom quickly came into view.  Stepping over him, she leaned down and pulled him off the ground.  Abandoning her fully loaded cart in the middle of the main aisle, she headed for the door.

He went limp.  "PUT ME DOWN!"

She threw him over her shoulder and kept going.  He clenched his fists in frustration.  "But I want a Star Wars guy!”  Long pause.  “I SAID… I … WANT… A …STAR…WARS… GUY."

Then - silence.  The doors shut behind them and they were gone.

Even though we didn't have kids at the time, Justin and I were not naïve enough to think that our future children would never act this way.  And although we had seen our share of meltdowns since their birth, neither had a tantrum rise to this level.  Until last week at the playground by our house. 

Now, much of this is our own fault because we decided to soak in the evening sun by taking the girls to the playground at 5:30 before they had eaten dinner.  Furthermore, we let them play for almost an hour.  They slid, swung, watched a little girl get stuck climbing a tree, ran around the soccer field – all of it.  But, then it was time to go. 

“Five more minutes,” Stella informed us, holding out her hand and spreading five little fingers as wide they would go.

“No Stella, it’s time for dinner.”  I replied. 

She reached for the rope toy with one hand, and put the pointer finger on her other hand right up to her cheek.  “One more time.”

“Fine.  One more time,” I said.  I turned and started carrying Claire down the hill towards the tennis courts and waited for Justin to follow.  Before I made it 50 feet, I heard the scream. 

The Fred Meyer scream. 

I turned around.  Justin had pulled Stella off the climbing toy, but her arms and legs were still extended as though she were hanging onto it.  He tried to pull her closer to him.  She threw her arms up over her head to try and escape.  He changed his grip and tried to hold her like a baby in his arms.  She screamed louder.  (Claire in turn smiled – as she often does when her sister is pissed.)

Justin wrapped Stella up as best he could and galloped down the hill yelling, “Giddy Up, Giddy Up, Giddy Up.”  He looked completely ridiculous.  But, I know what he was trying to do. 

To our amusement, Stella started yelling,“Giddy Down.  Giddy Down. Giddy Down.”  But, she wasn’t trying to be witty.  No. She was dead serious. 

I decided to run around the tennis court like an idiot, “Come get me Stella.  Come get Mama.” Again, Claire was quite entertained.  She took off after me – grinning from ear to ear - squealing with delight.  Hoping Stella would do the same, Justin put Stella down on the court.  She was not having it.  She threw herself on her back and cried.  I went over and picked her up.  This of course caused Claire to start crying because she wanted to keep playing chase. 

Perfect. 

Justin grabbed Claire while I ran off the court holding Stella in a plank position.  One hand supporting her chest, the other holding the waistband of her shorts – face down. 

As we got closer to the car, Justin noticed something in the ivy.  “Hey Stella, look at this.” 

I set her down.  Still wailing, she ran over to spot.  Crouching down, she grew totally silent.  And then, as though a magical spell had been cast over her, she reached into the ivy, produced a brand new tennis ball and SMILED. "Look mama, it’s a new ball.  I’m going to throw it for Gary when we get home, okay?”  And off she went, walking down the last little bit of path trying to put the ball in her pants pocket. 

Justin looked at me. I stared at him.

“Total Starwars guy,” he said. 

“Totally,”  I responded.