The next installment in the A**Hole in One series was submitted by my friend, S (she asked that I refer to her and her daughter by their initials), after a particularly trying afternoon pick up at daycare with her three year old daughter, N. Anyone who has ever tried carrying a sack of screaming, squirming piglets over their shoulder while wearing dress shoes in the middle of an ice slicked, snow burdened winter will appreciate the following anecdote.
N hates to leave daycare. Emphasis on the HATES. Yesterday was especially horrific. Here is how it went.
Me: (Arriving at her classroom door) Hi sweetie! It's time to go.
N: (Seriously pissed off face alternating with near tears face) Go get my brother first.
N: Please Mommy.
N: Can I have a few more minutes? (Now with teenage-level snottiness).
Me: OK. I'll be back in a few minutes, so finish up what you are playing with.
Ten minutes later I return with baby bundled in tow. N sees me at the door. She GLARES at me as if I've just stolen the last French fry off her plate.
What followed was 7 minutes of foot stomping and hair tossing, alternating with crying on the floor in the fetal position.
I finally get her out of the classroom by leaving. She walks out, taking the world’s smallest steps, and meets me at her cubby.
What happened next was 20 minutes of shouting, crying, flailing, refusal to get coat, boots and other winter apparel on. All the while throwing her body around in such a way that other happy, accommodating children cannot access their belongings. I should mention that her shouting usually includes "Ouch mommy! Stop Mommy! Don't hurt me!" (I don't need to mention that I'm not even touching her, right?)
I am now sweating and fuming. A sympathetic parent tries holding the door open to no avail as we are barely moving.In the end, we left with her over my shoulder (no boots, hat or mittens, coat unzipped) while I also balanced the baby in the infant carrier through the snow to the car.
For more information about how you can contribute to A**Hole in One, please click here. What's the good in enduring our own crappy experiences if we can't share them later with others in their similar times of affliction?