Mid-Summer Meltdown

Happy Fatherhood Friday Everyone!

It's summertime, which means swimming, grilling out, and chilling at dad-blogs.com .

This week I'm reminded why I subtitled my blog "Fatherhood Uncensored", because I talk about the good, the bad, and utter meltdown tantrums.

An advantage of talking about the not-so-glorious side of fatherhood is empathy from those of you who have been/are there, as well as the obligatory snicker from Weasel Momma and others that, "This is funny because it didn't happen to me."

If you're able to laugh while reading my moments of anguish (which I, too, will later laugh at), then I've done my job. In the meantime, let me know where I can send your therapy bill.

Tuesday was one of those utter meltdown tantrum kind of days.

We'd finished dinner, cleaned up the mess (or at least the worst of it) while the boys chilled with an episode of WB's "The Batman", and then it was time to play.

The boys wanted to go outside, and so did I.

Mom-E had a busy day at work and needed a few moments of peace before joining us, so I gathered up the boys and the dog and we headed to the front yard.

Since we haven't walked the dog in months a little while, my ultimate plan was to go for a little stroll when Mom-E joined us. Little Brother (for some reason) loves to ride in his umbrella stroller, and Big Brother likes to ride his bike.

In the meantime, I'm walking around yard with the dog on his leash, playing with the boys.

Because they're typical young boys, we go through a variety of activities in a matter of minutes
before finally "settling" in to two completely different things that require me to be on opposite
sides of the yard simultaneously.

Activities that didn't make the cut included:
1. Soccer - We kicked the ball back and forth a grand total of about four times before "we" became bored with that.

2. Coloring the driveway with sidewalk chalk - This went by the way side when Little Brother dumped out the contents of the entire container.

3. Golf - We got out the plastic clubs, dumped a whole box of old plastic golf balls, and even set up a hole. Both boys had a club. I started to hit the ball when Big Brother screamed "No!", at which point I quickly realized we were no longer playing golf.

And so, the boys settled on:
1. Big Brother has a "Fred Flintsone-style" foot powered red car in which he loves to cruise around the driveway. He decided that his car was now the Batmobile, and it was time to fight some zombies.

2. Little Brother was intent on filling up a watering cannister, which involved wading into the flower beds.

3. Pupp-E was still desperate to go for a walk, and was feeling largely ignored.

After about 15 minutes, Big Brother Batman decided to go back into the house to see when Mom-E would be joining us.

He returned to announce that Mom-E was in "Mom-E and Dad-E's" room and needed "a few more minutes."

This is Mom-E's codespeak for "Mom-E is pregnant, tired after a long day at work, and either needs a nap or needs to go to bed early."

Big Brother had already shifted from his Batmobile to wanting to ride his bike. So, I decided to suggest that we go ahead and take Pupp-E for a walk ourselves.

AND THEN THE FUN BEGAN.

As I get Big Brother’s bike out from the garage, he instantly starts protesting screaming that “I’m not going to wear my helmet.”

“Oh yes you are, buddy, or we’re not going to be able to ride bikes.”

Unfortunately, Big Brother had already made up his mind that he wasn’t going to wear his helmet, and you’ll have better luck arguing with a brick wall than trying to change the mind of a tired, hungry 4 year-old.

Little Brother took the opportunity to take over driving the Batmobile. It was his only defense.

And then the full meltdown tantrum ensued. Somwhere in the midst of things I remember screams of “Dad-E, you’re not listening.” (his new code phrase for “Dad-E won’t do what I want him to do.”, “You bad Dad-E”, and “I’m not talking to you again.”

Next thing I know, Big Brother is running into the house screaming, “Mom-E’s, Dad-E’s being a BAD GUY!”, but not before he puts the garage door down.

And the next thing after that is the locking of the door into the house.

So here I am, left standing in the garage, holding Little Brother in one arm, and Pupp-E’s leash in the other, locked out of my own house, tired, pregnant Mom-E passed out in bed. And, of course, it’s only about a bazillion degrees in the garage.

Big Brother refuses to open the door. I’m left to decide whether I’m going to wake up Mom-E by doorbell or by phone.

Once I’m inside the house, there’s only one course of action. I rip out of his hand take Big Brother’s Transformer, which is placed in time-out on top of the microwave for the rest of the evening. (This is his very most favorite toy right now. Taking it away was pretty much akin to stabbing him in the heart with a dagger.)

Initially, this, of course, resulted in a worsening of our no-holds-barred screaming fit.

However, a few hours minutes of screaming in the tub later, sheer fatigue Calgon has taken away the tantrum.

Next thing I know, we’re reading bedtime stories and giggling uncontrollably. Oh, and there was that little heart-to-heart about never lock anybody in the garage again, EVER.

My mom told me I was going to get the child I “so richly deserved.” Here’s to wishing the same to Big Brother.

Have a good weekend,
Busy-Dad-E