For Cinderella, it was the stroke of midnight when the pretty dress vanished and the ball ended. For Bobo, it is the strike of 7:45 when the double-dimpled grin disappears and a raging little monster emerges...
It was all going so well tonight. We had dinner together at Bennigan's -- both boys delightfully good-humored and hungry. We stood in a 20-minute line for Santa without incident. Bo didn't want to stand near Santa, but he relented to standing next to Mazy, who chatted Santa's ear off. We got a good picture of them for the scrapbook. Then they were so happy and well-behaved for the Christmas train that we let them take two rides.
Please note the time was 7:40.
"Hey Bo," I said. "Want to go find Daddy and Mazy Christmas presents while they get the van?" We'd been planning this all week and I really wanted him to have the chance to pick out presents for them all by himself. Giving is, after all, the best part of Christmas.
The end is near: Bo refused to hold my hand and instead ran away from me and hid behind a Christmas tree. Each time I walked toward him, he ran the other direction.
After giving him the evil eye several times, he wised up and actually offered me his hand to walk with me. I'm not altogether stupid: I took him to the closest store and started shopping.
He proudly marched around looking at things. He pointed to a pink pair of sneakers for Shawn, but I talked him out of it. He pulled a few t-shirts off a stack but couldn't find a dinosaur one so he put them back. Then he found a display of items that interested him and he immediately picked out one for Shawn and one for Mazy. Well these were totally over-priced trinkets, but he chose them and was happy with them. So I told him to take them to the register.
The end is VERY near: There were three teenagers in line ahead of us. Chatting and flirting with the register girl and taking a long time.
Knowing Bo's past history with cash registers (he HATES handing over his purchase.....) I started prepping him for what was to come. "Bo, you'll need to give the girl your presents so she can ring them up and then SHE WILL GIVE THEM RIGHT BACK TO YOU." I stressed this point several times.
THE END IS HERE: Our turn in line. Before I can even take the presents from him, Bo gets mad and throws them on the floor. And then throws himself on the floor and starts yelling at the top of his lungs.
I smiled at the clerk, who must be used to this because she didn't bat a fake eyelash, and paid for the overpriced trinkets while ignoring my obnoxious child. The clerk asked me how to pronounce my name and then told me it was "very cool." That improved my mood. Slightly.
She handed me the package, I bent down and picked up my screaming child and exited the store. Carrying Bo when he is mad is like carrying a bag of angry rocks that want to pummel you. I put my perfunctory "I'm sorry my child is a maniac" smile on my face and hauled him to the mall entrance.
Shawn was SUPPOSED to be there with the van so we could make a speedy getaway. But he and Mazy were nowhere in sight. After a rather angry cell phone call, which might have involved a few words not appropriate for young ears, I put Bo into time out by a large plant, which he proceeded to beat up. This poor plant looked like it has withstood many angry toddler tantrums. Its leaves were shredded and many were missing. I finally made him stand in the corner so he couldn't touch anything, but that only made his screams echo off the walls with the deafening pitch of a siren jammed into your ear.
Two little girls in fancy Christmas dresses walked by and looked at Bo with wide eyes of terror and I thought to myself, "We should have quit after the damn train ride...."
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