There are lots of things I don’t have time for.
One of those things is The Public Meltdown.
Here’s what happened:
Some sadist put New York City in a broiler pan and cranked up the heat to 550 degrees.
I took my children out for ice cream and then to a park with a fountain to run through. Nice!
My children decided to try ‘surfing’ down a baby slide—Not Nice!
Within three seconds my daughter flew off the slide and did a face plant on the rubber playground mat. This was a strong indicator that it was time to go home and that no one, myself included, was thinking clearly. And also: ice, and also also: 550 degrees fahrenheit of outdoor fun X a minor accident=everybody-get-home-now-eff-this.
Well, my son strongly disagreed with his sister’s need for face ice, and elected to continue playing in the park while she continued to weep, to which I said “Uh-uh,” and oh, did the fun begin.
The meltdown was, in a word, volcanic.
And let me set the scene for a moment by describing my son, who is probably the most even tempered, loving, 5 year old mini-man in the entire world wide universe.
The meltdown went on for a good long while, finally culminating in a public showdown in front of a hotel, with a large crowd of tourists watching on, gape mouthed. But only because he was THREATENING TO HAVE ME ARRESTED!! Oh yeah. ARRESTED.
This is the part where he grabbed a metal structure and refused to budge.
Me: (sweaty, frazzled, wearing a dress that looked like an empty onion sack) Take your hands off that pee encrusted iron fence and come with us right now.
Him: (grips more tightly)
Me: I. Said. NOW.
Also in this scenario, the other two children are crying as well. All the children are crying. I am the only one not crying, but that is only because it is so hot that I have no moisture left in my tear ducts, otherwise I would be.
Him: NoandIdonthavetolistentoyouandImgoingbacktotheparkandIdon’tevenhaveto…(string of unintelligible words punctuated with sobs)
Me: Take. Your. Hands. Off. That. Fence. AND WALK.
Him: I WON’T
Me: If you don’t take your hands off that fence I am going to come over there and take your hands off the fence and then I am going to carry you home like a baby in my arms even though you are really heavy for me to carry and you are not technically a baby even though you will always be my baby!
Him: (grips even more tightly, white knuckles style)
At this point, the tourists begin to gather around. Perhaps the look on my face said “danger.” Perhaps they had just been through something similar. Perhaps they were reading a map and not paying attention. I don’t know. I couldn’t really tell. It’s not important.
Me: (removing his hands from the pee encrusted metal fence) I told you I was going to do this!
Him: I’M CALLING THE POLICE!! I’M GOING TO HAVE YOU ARRESTED!!!
Suddenly, all the tourists lean in to our conversation with worry on their faces.
Me: Oh really?! What are you going to TELL THE POLICE WHEN THEY GET HERE?!
The tourists lean in further.
Him: (in an embarrassed whisper) That you wouldn’t let me go to the park.
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