Temper Tantrums

Look at my sassy new haircut! I love it! The plan is to let the hair on top grow out before letting the sides go - that way, the longer hair will cover up the shaggy, over-the-ear awkward stage. But I really like this style and it crosses my mind to stay here instead of going for the long locks. Hm.

Can you see my earrings? They were a gift from one of my cousins: she made them for me, with doves for peace and ribbons for hope. I love them!

Photo bomb courtesy of my spunky husband. My teens' influences reach past me! :)

There’s an article making the rounds on Facebook this week about how to respond - or not - to those parent-mortifying temper tantrums thrown by toddlers in public places. If you want to check it out, here’s the link: http://themattwalshblog.com/2013/09/15/dear-parents-you-need-to-control-your-kids-sincerely-non-parents/

This naturally makes me think of my two oldest nieces. One is racing up on three, the other is just past her second birthday. Anna, the older one, is spicy. Zoe, the younger one, is sweet. I love them both enormously, and I find Anna’s spiciness endearing since many of her stories remind me of the ones I’ve heard about myself.

Being in their two’s, they both have great Target meltdown tales to tell. Anna’s took place in the entrance, full on kicking and screaming on the floor. The reason? I can’t remember - there might not have been one. But my smart, brave sister knew that engaging her in any way wouldn’t be productive, so she stood by, ensuring the safety of her beautiful-but-loud toddler, and enduring all the responses of the other customers. Hopefully there were a few encouraging, knowing smiles from other parents. 

Personally, as a non-parent, I find these screaming kids somewhat amusing. Although I want to shout and cheer for the mom who stands her ground and endures, I try to wink and smile. Since I can’t wink well, it might come off as a grimace, but hopefully a pleasant one.

Zoe’s Target story doesn’t involve a tantrum, but is equally loud and even more parent-stressing. Not that she’s always sweet. Love for her little sister can quickly turn to a quick and decisive shove or a WWF-style smooshing. This little monkey fell (jumped? who knows - toddlers are mind-blowingly fast) out of the cart and landed on her stomach, scaring herself and her looked-away-for-a-second parents. Needless to say, screaming ensued, along with judging strangers. EXACTLY what spectacular-but-traumatized parents need. 

Well, as I mentioned above, I was a particularly spicy toddler - and preschooler. In addition to my age, I was a redhead, and I’d spent a lot of time with my grandparents during the year after my mom died. I’d be willing to bet they overlooked a LOT of things during that time! Although I had my share of spankings.

My dad likes to tell about the time he figured me out. I was on the floor in full-on tantrum mode. Happily for him, this was in the privacy of our home. He called my bluff by getting up and leaving the room. Well, without an audience, I stopped, got up, followed him, and returned to the floor to continue my outrage.

I also did charming things like squeeze in between my dad and my new mom while they were hugging so I could push them apart. I’m sure I perfected the hug-and-shove and  toddler WWF moves on my younger sister... Anna’s mom. Poor thing, I think I was in my 20’s before I truly learned to be kind to her. So I’m already letting Anna and Zoe know that it’s tough being the older sister. :)

Now, 40 years later, you’d think I have grown out of temper tantrums. But aren’t we all one bad driver away from a (hopefully) private temper tantrum? I think afternoon siestas would do great things for our blood pressure and coping skills. But thanks to mountains of God’s grace and refining, I’ve come a long way. 

However, I still have moments in the car, and in my head, when that toddler in me kicks and screams. Cancer in particular has provided ample fodder. The worst thing: whatever gets between me and restoring normalcy. The WORST was last year, when I met with a plastic surgeon about reconstruction who told me to get my mastectomies now, go away for a year to get in shape and lose at least 40 pounds, and then come back and see him. Not the worst advice, but not delivered kindly, and definitely not what I was expecting or planning. (I found another, kinder, more proactive plastic surgeon, who gave me a hug after reluctantly telling me I had to prioritize this second round of chemo over adjusting my pre-implant tissue expanders.)

Other tantrum-inducing news: finding out I had to go back for more treatment (the whole cancer triad - surgery, radiation, and chemo) instead of putting my shiny new RN license to work in a hospital residency program. Waking up from surgery with a colostomy. Living with a colostomy and wonky expanders. And, just yesterday, finding out my oncologist wants me to wait a year or more to get my expanders adjusted, expanded, and (the best part) getting the expanders replaced with real implants. She has good reason, but I’m anxious to ditch the lopsided, double-cleavage-inducing, rock hard expanders for soft pillows of silicone. (I’m in a Facebook-based support group for mastectomy-to-implant ladies, and lately they’ve been talking a lot about exchanges: how soft they are, how they “fluff” and settle into a natural look... I can’t wait!)

It’s pretty obvious that all of my tantrums are about MY plans conflicting with what’s best for me, which is ultimately GOD’s plan. Harumph and hallelujah. And I’m serious about the hallelujah. After my initial response, and periodic whining sessions, I come remember the truth and embrace the wise, for-my-good plan. I know and fully trust that God has a good plan for each of our lives, and I’m happy to follow along. What unfolds has always been richer in the end than what I envisioned, so there’s every reason to believe that will continue to be true. Just like a toddler’s or teenager’s parent has more knowledge, wisdom, and insight, God as our loving father has a long-term, big-picture plan that exceeds our adult plans, however well-intentioned they might be.

In the meantime, I’m having lox on a bagel with cream cheese and capers. That treat always makes me happy. And I’m sure my Jewish doctor would approve. :)