Meltdown moment

I have snot on my shirt, grape jelly in my hair and a big, fat, ferocious ache in my head.

All I wanted was grits, eggs, bacon and toast for dinner. All I got was a whiny, crying, screaming, flailing tantrum-pitching toddler.

Jeff is covering a golf tournament, and I've just had an exhausting week. When I picked Biscuit up from day care this evening, I realized I had a hankering for breakfast food for dinner. Biscuit and I went to a diner near our house, I ordered our food, then we colored on the paper placemat they brought him. I should've known something was up when Biscuit didn't want pancakes. He always wants pancakes when we go to diners.

He had a car in each hand (as usual), and he asked me to draw a picture of one of his cars. As most of his favorite things are, this car is red. So I drew a red outline. It's a character car, so he wanted me to add eyes and a mouth. Done.

But then I got creative. The car has flames down the side, so I grabbed the orange crayon and went to work. What was I thinking?!?

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! That NOT a firetruck! It's NOT a firetruck, Mom! It not have fire! Take it off! TAKE IT OFF!!!" Biscuit said as he started frantically rubbing the paper, trying to get the orange flame off the side of the car. It went downhill from there.

You know the 5 Stages of Grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance)? Well, they work for dealing with a tantrum, too.

Denial: "I'm going to pretend this isn't happening. It will last for a few seconds, then he'll stop."

Anger: "We'll be right back," I said to the waitress as I toted Biscuit out the door into the little courtyard right outside. A handful of people in the restaurant stared as I hauled him out. I guess they wanted to see what I was going to do. "Biscuit, stop crying right NOW! There is nothing wrong with you. We are going to sit here until you stop crying. There is no reason for you to be pitching a fit."

Bargaining: "Biscuit, do you want your chicken nuggets and fries? Do you want more of your chocolate milk? You can't get more fries and milk unless we go back inside, and we're not going back inside until you're done crying."

Depression: "Ugh!," I thought to myself. "This sucks. I just want to go home. Why did I bother trying to go out? I hate this golf tournament! Why can't Jeff be here?"

Acceptance: "I've ordered food. I can't just leave," I thought. "There's nothing I can do to make him stop. I'll go back in, and if he keeps going, I'll get our food to-go and just leave."

We got back inside to our corner booth. I was really glad I had chosen the booth in the corner. The man in the booth behind me turned around, and I'll tell you, my first thought was, "DO NOT SAY A WORD!" But the man said, "Did I hear you call him Griffin?" I said yes, and he said, "That's our grandson's name." Then he started talking to Biscuit. Turns out, their grandson, Griffin, will be 3 years old next month. Biscuit will be 3 in November. Under better circumstances, that would've been cause for an in-depth conversation. But tonight, something else was on the front-burner.

"Hey, Griffin. What's the problem, buddy? Are you upset?" the man asked Biscuit.

Have you ever seen a child so upset that he almost stutters trying to talk because of the crying?

"Um, I n-n-n-eeed a n-n-n-a-a-a-ap," Biscuit wailed.

"You need a nap?" the man said. "Well, you have to eat your supper before you can have a nap. Can you stop crying so you and Mama can eat your supper?"

"Um, n-n-n-noooooooooooo," Biscuit cried.

The man's wife leaned around and said, "Don't worry, honey. I've been there and done that. It will get better. I promise." I didn't know whether to cry or hug her or sigh with relief.

She said, "I wanted to buy him one of those cookies over there, but you never know whether to do something like that or not." By that point, I had given him a slice of my toast with jelly on it, and he seemed okay for a few minutes. But how nice was that lady for even having the thought to buy a cookie for some random kid she's never seen before?

I've always had a fear of Biscuit making a scene in a restaurant, and tonight was the reason why. I get flustered, I start sweating, my face turns red and I'm just a general mess. I wish I didn't care so much about what other people think, but people who don't have kids and people who don't remember what 2-year-olds are like can send some awful and judging looks your way during a meltdown moment. I feel like standing up and yelling, "He doesn't have a on/off switch. He is his own person with his own personality, his own will and his own ideas about how things should be."

Biscuit never calmed down. I asked our server for a box for Biscuit's food, then shoveled in as much of mine as I could. I spent $8 on two entrees that weren't remotely enjoyed.

I drove around for a while after we left the restaurant. I cranked up the radio and kept checking the rearview mirror until the little man was asleep. When he was so upset at the restaurant, he kept saying, "I need a nap, Mom. I cry 'cause I'm tired." He's heard us say that, and I guess he figured that's what was wrong.

Actually, I think he cried so hard that he made himself tired.

I hope our weekend it better than tonight was. Jeff will be covering a golf tournament from early morning to late evening, so it'll just be me and Biscuit. Fingers crossed.