Home » Bowl Of Ice Cream Causes Mr. Cool to Crack

Bowl Of Ice Cream Causes Mr. Cool to Crack

I am not a raging maniac by any stretch but I am naturally impatient and uptight.  I’m pretty much a textbook, type A, somewhat hedonistic, perfectionist. . .with a big dose of passion and a decent amount of temper thrown in for good measure.

Of course there are worse things to be.  I’m not violent.  Or vindictive.  I’m not really a screamer.  And I do have a certain degree of empathy.

However, I work very hard on keeping myself in check.  I frequently remind myself not to get all worked up over minor details or set backs or perceived injustices I might be “enduring.”  I work diligently to see others’ points of view.  I’ve read that fucking Dale Carnegie book at least once a year for a decade.

It takes practice for me to be as kind and empathetic and gentle as I desire to be.  It’s not my natural state.

And becoming a parent undoubtedly makes all the joyous highs higher and the embarrassing lows lower.  Now, that I have a child, my behavior affects a small sweet impressionable soul. . .and it’s an EXAMPLE.  Everything is magnified.  Amplified.

So I’m working harder than ever – On myself.

It doesn’t feel like work any longer.   It’s surprisingly refreshing actually, to let go of some of the chaos that’s plagued me for years.  To simplify my wants.  To understand my own motivations and triggers.  To put others’ needs ahead of my own.

But I’m still working.  Still growing.  Still learning. . .Mac is making sure of that.  He has his own two-year old drama and chaos to work on.  And some days he needs more help than others.

And on the days when he needs more help, I lean on my Husband a good deal.

He’s a sweet and patient man.

Clearly, he’s put up with me for years.

I’ve always admired his calm demeanor and quiet patience.  It seems to come naturally to him.  He always feels like the eye in my continually churning storm.

And in terms of parenting, I always considered him the “better” parent.  I don’t believe I’m a bad parent by any stretch.  It’s just when things get a little intense between Mac and me, Chris is always at the ready to swoop in and thwart a catastrophic freak out.

Except last night. . .

HE.  LOST.  IT.

Mac awoke from his very short nap on the wrong side of the crib. . .Or galaxy. . .Or somewhere.  He was really cranky and temperamental.  Nothing was right.  Everything we did triggered tears or outrage.

He’s two and he was tired.  I get it.

But after about 4 hours, his drama was getting old.

We went upstairs to start our still somewhat rocky “new” bedtime routine.  He’s still adjusting although we’re doing much better and most nights he’ll willingly go to his crib at bedtime (or close enough).

But last evening he elected to throw himself on the floor in several fits of uncontrolled rage.  Chris and I smiled at one another cluelessly.  Ignore?  Comfort?  Distract?  What gives kid?

I unilaterally decided that since Chris still had to shower and so forth that I’d just plow through the usual routine as best as I could.  Figuring the familiarity of the routine might help Mac get a handle on his emotions and get him the sleep he desperately needed.

The first step in the routine often involves a special little snack. . .usually the frozen dairy variety.  But when I offered him a bite of ice cream sandwich, he completely freaked out.  You would have thought I was giving him a frozen freaking cockroach to eat.

Resisting my urge to mock the poor irrational kid mercilessly, I asked Chris to please get some ice cream in a bowl.  The past two or three nights we had been having ice cream in a bowl and I thought perhaps that’s what Mac expected instead of the sandwich.

Chris agreed without protest and returned with a bowl of ice cream.  But the bowl was plastic.  The kind I give Mac unrestricted control over all day long.  So naturally, Mac wanted to control the bowl of ice cream. . .which we don’t allow. . .

He threw himself on the floor in protest.

Now, some parents would have told the kid to pound sand at this point.  And I normally would agree.  However, at 37 weeks pregnant, I was willing to offer up a fucking pony if that’s what it was going to take to get him to sleep alone in his crib.  I just could not handle the idea of sleeping on his floor that evening.

So I asked Chris to please put the ice cream in a “regular” ice cream dish so that Mac would understand we were doing things just like we did every other evening (i.e., I would control the ice cream and feed it to him).

This prompted Chris to stand up and angrily declare “I can’t believe we’re pandering to this kid over a FUCKING bowl of ice cream!”

WHOA.

My sweet husband just dropped an F bomb.  In front of the kid?!

I’ll bet I’ve only ever heard Chris use that word 25 times in our nearly 15 years together.  And NEVER in front of our kid.

Chris angrily shot off a few other remarks at me while Mac stood between us with his wubby in his mouth, finally quiet.

We all needed a time out.  And this time, I heeded the warning, I tried to keep my mouth shut and not add to the drama.  

Things of course settled.  The ice cream was all but forgotten.  Mac went to sleep without protest.

I settled into bed, still in awe that my Husband, Mr. Cool, FINALLY cracked.  Slurping on  the now soupy ice cream, I decided it tasted a LOT better than the crow I’m used to eating after this sort of debacle.