I baked a cake for the Teacher Appreciation lunch, and dropped it off in the teacher's lounge after taking Lennon to her playground. Then I decided to help my friend get everything set up, while Harrison played with her little boy. When we were done, I got the stroller ready, and asked Harrison if he was ready to go. He answered, by screaming like a girl on fire, and making his body go limp when I tried getting him to sit in his seat, or walk beside me, or let me carry him. And it was all downhill from there.
I feel like I should say that Harrison is normally not this kind of kid. He is mellow. He is obedient. He goes with the flow.
And today he decided to throw a middle finger at the Usual Harrison, and concoct the kind of tantrum that makes people wonder why spanking went out of style.
He kicked my shin. He ran out into the street. He threw his shoe at my face. He acted so terrible that a woman came out of the school and ask me how she could help. I must have looked pretty bad. I felt even worse.
She actually ended up driving me home, because she's a Saint. And Harrison screamed the whole way. When we got inside my house, and I had thanked Random Saint about thirty times over the sound of high-pitched two-year-old repressed anger, I put Harrison in his crib so I could regain a sense of composure. And the little turkey started climbing out, headfirst.
So deep breath, and I take him out, because Safety First, and we head for a time out, and after I sit him down, I finally I think to ask the kid, "Why are you so mad? What on earth could you possibly want?"
"Wall-E?" is the reply. And I just about die right there on the spot, because I realize I left his toy Wall-E in the teachers lounge.
And that's the story of why I hate Wall-E and toys and baking cakes for teachers and everything that is not my bed.