robinann

Well, I hate to admit it, but I am not above throwing a temper tantrum and tonite was it. Our youngest son and middle daughter are both chronologically adults; I say chronologically, because it’s hard to see it otherwise. Don’t get me wrong, they are both trying (as an adjective as well as the verb), but at their respective ages of 33 and 25, you would think they could get along.

Both of them have made some gravely erroneous judgment calls in their youth, which has lead each to the spot they are in today. Their father and I are trying to help them; but each one, in their own way, is envious of the other. Of course, they will not admit that it is envy; to them it is anger that each other is getting away with something they shouldn’t. The brother says the sister acts as though the world should revolve around her and screams and pouts if things don’t go her way. That is not exactly a news flash to anyone that knows her–I have always had to remind her that the world spun on its axis long before she came on the scene. The sister says the brother is getting special privileges that he doesn’t deserve because of the bad choices he made when he was younger. Again, not exactly a front cover on People magazine–I have told him on a number of occasions that the difficulties he has are the consequence of his past actions, even if they are a direct result of something he did now–because he wouldn’t be in the position to do what he did had he not been dealing with the earlier consequences.

The actions and their results are a private family matter, but in a generic manner, every family has similar pains. Bill Cosby voiced the opinion in his “Himself” routine that people who have only one child aren’t really a family. It wasn’t meant to be derogatory. As he explained, having only one child, you miss out on the “he did it”, “she did it” routines that pepper every family with more than one child in the home. This can also occur with cousins whose parents are close–as they are usually around one another almost as much as siblings, and there’s twice as many adults to feel proprietary toward! Any way you look at it, if there is more than one child around, there are bound to be some fireworks, and the children don’t have to be minors for it to happen.

Anyway, as is usual either shortly before or immediately after any holiday, things became heated. Unfortunately, when this happens, the spouse(s) become involved and everything goes to hell in a handbasket. The sad part is that the youngest daughter/baby of the family is the one with the level head on her shoulders and she happened to be present for the lighting of the fuse and tried, unsuccessfully,  to douse the fireworks before they began.  Once they started, though, it was too late. Apparently, they failed to recognize that this was becoming very old and intolerable to me, and since my husband continually fails to step up and help diffuse the situation, I had had enough. I stormed out of the house–no shoes, just socks; no jacket and a sleeveless shell–grabbing my purse, but leaving my phone behind. Our youngest followed after me, jumped into the car and attempted to calm me down enough so that she could go in the house and bring me the phone. Too late, I was beyond calming, being soothed, placated, or anything else you want to call it–so the second she stepped out of the car to get my phone, I closed the door and took off.

I stayed gone for about three hours. A word of caution, though, DO NOT leave the house in anger during early spring in Chicago with no shoes or jacket. You can’t exactly get out of the car and go into someplace to grab a bite or just to get warm, and running the car or driving around for that period of time can get pretty tedious, but the car needs to be running to run the heat! So I pulled over into a parking lot, shut off the car and started reading the owner’s manual to the car (Spontaneous indignation does not lend itself to gathering the necessary accessories/diversions when making a theatrical exit!). Once it started getting chilly and rubbing my upper arms for warmth was becoming bothersome, I remembered the quilt in the back of the car. This would normally be welcome, but there was some serious thought given to its retrieval. Have you ever seen a woman of, umm shall we say, matronly size, trying to climb across the front bucket seats, straddle the middle console with the shifter, stretch over the back seat, which has a full size child baby/booster seat, and reach for something in the back end of a small SUV? NOT a pretty sight. Now, why didn’t I just get out of the car, walk around the back and retrieve the quilt? Helloooo–NO SHOES and it’s early spring in Chicago, and I’m parked in what was quickly becoming a vacant parking lot in the late evening, not a good idea.

Needless to say, as with all temper tantrums, this accomplished nothing. The fireworks fizzled out for the participants, my husband continued watching his beloved television, and the other major character was at work, not having bothered to call and check to see if everything was ok. I still want to throttle all parties to the theatrics, and in their awareness, they are staying V  E  R  Y  far away from me at the moment. All I succeeded in doing was puffing up my eyes and blocking up my kidneys, so that tomorrow when I go to work, my eyes will look like Rocky at the end of his fight, and when I finish this blog and try to go to the bathroom, which I wasn’t able to do in the car, it will take forever for the pee to begin. You would think that after having all the kids we did, I would be able to practice what I preched, and not have a tantrum! Go figure!

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