Thursday evening: a very public kid’s meltdown

It is Thursday night. I am tired, I had a long day at work. I hurry to pick up my son from the play center, I am late. Push scooter on one shoulder and laptop bag on the other. I’m being told off for being late ” I thought you’ll never come” .
I smile and tenderly kiss his cheek, telling him that I would never leave him all alone at the play center, and telling him how sorry I am to be late.

The staff is hushing us out. My son asks to push the button for the automatic gate. I tell my son: “Not tonight. I’m tired and my back hurts, I can’t carry you all the way up so you press the button” (it is out of reach for children). I press the button and … hell hath no fury like a tired child! My son throws himself on the floor screaming “you cheated my, you pressed the button”. I look at my watch nervously. It is 18.25, I know this is going to be a massive tantrum. I chose to ignore the signs. Big mistake – HUGE mistake. The play center staff close the door and say their good bye.

I am sitting on a park bench by my son. He is still screaming and kicking. I try to calmly explain to him that he can press the button tomorrow but we need to go home now. He stands up fiercely, looks at me and leaves in the opposite direction to home. I follow him – 10 steps away from him.
My son turns and shouts “don’t follow me”.
I reply in french ” tu as 4 ans tu ne peux pas partir tout seul comme ça”
“I’m not four, I am seventeen and I can go where I want”
The jogger passing us laughs at the view of this little boy with rosy cheeks and crocodile tears screaming that he is 17 years old.
I am not laughing – I decide to start speaking English as the tantrum is getting out of hands. I look at him calmly (my blood boils) “you’re not 17, you are 4 years old and you are going home NOW”

He runs away to the local tesco. I follow him closely. After 5 minutes of playing hide and seeks between the crisps and the vegetable section, I tackle him to the floor by the ready meal fridges. I am starring at the curry and the chicken tikka masala thinking “B****y button, F****G Button! Why did I press the button?!” My son is still kicking and fighting. A couple of people come to see if they could help me. I thank them, and say I think he is too far gone now… He will just have to go through the full tantrum. They talk to him… to no avail. He manages to kick his shoes out his foot. I loosen my grip to get the shoes back, my son runs away in the street.

So now I am running after a 4 years old boy in his socks screaming “don’t follow me, you cheated me. You cheated me you pressed the button!”. It is super cold and windy, I have one shoe in each hand, plus my laptop and his scooter an each shoulder. I am in the “zone”. Somehow I keep it cool but he is wearing me out. I grab him but he managed to escape and goes straight to the tesco again. The staff is not impressed. I am not impressed either. Sitting on the floor (again) – I am thinking :” I wish I could call someone to the rescue so I can just leave, go home and have a bath and a glass of wine”. My back still hurts. No sign of improvement. I let him go. Still only in his socks he run straoght through the door. I tackle him by a shop window. I sit down and tell him “we’ll stay here until you stop crying“. He carry on crying for a few minutes then his cry is a little less intense. I’ll start negotiations again. Talks about dinner, pasta. He looks at me and he say “I hurt maman, I hurt”.
“Do you need me to kiss you better?”

“Yes!” So I start kissing his arms and legs under his direction. A car stops, the driver ask me if he needs to call an ambulance… I smile and says “no, we’re all right. He is just having a mega tantrum”. At this very moment – I feel like the worst mum in the city. The man leaves politely and says he understands he has kids….

The tantrum stops finally. I look at my watch. It is 19.05 : 40 minutes of meltdown, I am exhausted. My son rides his push scooter, his cheeks flushed by the intensity of the tantrum. His eyes still full of tears. We walk quietly home. I open the doors of our home and sit down on the sofa in the dark. I hold my head between my hands. My son approaches quietly kisses my two cheeks and says “I am sorry maman“.