The Temper Tantrum

C'mon, admit it. Before you reproduced and became responsible for the behavior of another human being for 24 hours, 7 days a week for 18 years or more, you would look at screaming children in public and think, "when I have kids . . ." It's o.k., you can come clean. We've all done it. My personal favorite is, "if that was my kid, I'd . . . "


Then you became a parent. I have three children. In the 9 years that I've been a parent, I have witnessed tantrums caused by everything from a sleepy, cranky kid to a request to get into the car. I've discovered something about tantrums these past years. There are categories of temper tantrums, you see. It's kind of like hurricane classifications, with a surprising number of similarities. Hurricanes are classified into five categories, based on their wind speeds and potential to cause damage. Tantrums can also be similarly classified, based on volume, duration and potential to cause damage.

Category 1: Whimpering

Child starts to cry, saddened at your inability to purchase say, some cereal, in the grocery aisle. Volume of whimper is confined to the immediate area around your grocery cart, eliciting sympathetic looks from surrounding shoppers. Thanks to the 3 second attention span and the lollipop in your purse, by the time you turn the corner to the next aisle, child is consoled. Embarassment level is minimal. Parental response is frequently distraction.

Category 2: No!
The day comes when your child does not want to do something. I know, it sounds impossible, but your darling little child does not want to please their beloved mommy. You want them to sit down and be quiet, and they want to stand up and shout. Church is a great time for this to occur. Restaurants and movie theaters are also famous for these battles of will. Child is told to sit down and listen. Kid decides this is the time they have to go potty, wash hands, read a story, etc. When informed that this is not the time to do those things, the kid errupts into a miniature volcano, getting up, walking around, and asking you all those questions you wish they'd ask later . . . like in 10 years after you've had a chance to look up the answer. Volume level is loud enough to be heard by those in a 10 foot radius. You're embarassed and frantically try to hush the kid, who responds with a loud "no!" and dashes off. You catch the offender and leave the area, possibly to return when the kid has had a chance to calm down. Parental response might include a swat on the butt and/or time out.

My oldest son was terrified of the church nursery until he was 3. As a consequence, the only way we could attend was armed with a bag full of coloring books, toys, and other items of interest to hold his attention. These things lasted 10 minutes before the little explorer just had to start moving around. I've collected him from the center aisle, the pew in front of us, the pew in back of us, and the altar (he didn't want to leave without blowing out the candles.) One of my most vivid memories is when he called out "all done" at the end of a service. Our pastor was highly amused, and responded with "depart in peace".

Category 3: The full blown temper tantrum

You tell your child in a firm, reasonable tone that no matter how much they whine, you are NOT buying them the toy. Child falls to the ground, kicking and screaming, informing all the world what a bad mommy you are. (This never happens to my husband, incidentally.) The volume of your child's screaming can be heard at the opposite end of the store (big box, not boutique) and the looks coming your way by your fellow shoppers are filled with venom.

You realize that you don't need milk that badly, and decide to leave the store. The kid instantly becomes a dead weight, actually pulling away from you in an attempt to make his feelings known. In your journey to the car, you are kicked in the shins, knock over a display, and have sustained permanent injury to your eardrums. You could appreciate the kid's fabulous uppercut, but wish he'd restrict it to the boxing ring. Maybe karate lessons weren't such a good idea. You march through the parking lot, attempting to fish your keys out without losing your grip on the kid. (Personally I always threw them over my shoulder in order to leave one arm free. The kid, not the keys.) Upon reaching the car, you toss the child in (none too gently) and attempt to buckle the buckling, kicking, squirming mass of humanity into the car seat and get the heck out of there.

The screaming (now in an enclosed space) continues up until the kid falls asleep or you reach home, at which point you are the one screaming. You will never return to the store unless it's without the kid and you are wearing a wig and sunglasses. Parental response to this type of tantrum frequently includes a wooden spoon.


Important terms to know:
Tantrum Watch: Like hurricane watch, you are alert to the possiblity of a tantrum coming to your area within the next 36 minutes. You tune your mommy antenna to track where and when it will reach you.
Tantrum Warning: A tantrum is imminent. Leave the area immediately. I don't care if you have a cart full of groceries, leave.

The official hurricane season is from June 1 to November 30, but hurricanes can happen any time of the year. According to most child rearing experts, it's perfectly normal for toddlers to throw tantrums. Preschoolers are less likely to throw tantrums, but by the time they reach school age, children theoretically have better coping mechanisms. Well, that's all fine and dandy, but just how was I supposed to know that a request to follow me in Wal Mart would make my 6 year old fall to the ground, kicking and screaming? I mean, how was I supposed to know that he wasn't done looking at the lobsters yet?