Today’s full blown toddler meltdown is brought to you in part by our sponsor, aluminum foil.
I decided I was going to try and conquer my inner Martha Stewart and cook dinner for the first time in almost a week. Pectoral partner’s been handling most of the kitchen duties for the last week or so, giving me a much needed break.
I couldn’t decide whether I was going to make mashed potatoes or baked potatoes. So I began to prepare a baking sheet as if I was going to make baked potatoes. Grabbed a few potatoes, washed them and then for some reason decided to start peeling them. Guess we’re having mashed potatoes instead.
One potato decided to break free from the group, trying to make its escape. I was over the sink washing its sister when I hear a loud dull thud. I glance over and notice a solitary potato found its way to the floor. My toddler comes waddle running to see what happened. She was greeted politely by the potato.
She carefully walked over to the potato, investigating all its curves, dimples, eyes. Bending down, her eyes big, she looked up at me as if to say, “Is it safe?”
I nodded and she gazed back down at the deformed potato. Slowly she pointed her index finger attempting to touch it, she then rapidly pulled her finger back. This happened a few times before she gave one final glance of acceptance, then with her entire hand smacked it. It wobbled around the floor from the force, startling her. She jumped back with giggly fright.
Giggling, “It’s alright,” as I bent down to pick up the potato, now at the bottom of my feet. I held the potato firmly in my hand asking, “Do you want to touch it?”
Her mouth wide open, eyes the size of the moon, nodded excitedly; investigating the potato thoroughly as I held it close to her face. Bending over slightly, index finger stiff, she gave a little tap. Clapping, she looked up at me, smiling as big as she could before going about her business in the living room.
I finished peeling and cutting the remaining potatoes, put them in the pot, and started mixing together the salmon patties. Little miss overzealous sneakily waddles into the kitchen, exploring her surroundings. My hands covered in salmon and egg, I acknowledge her existence and continue about dinner.
I hear the faint whisper of metal sliding against the counter. I look over to see her standing tippy-toe, grabbing the round baking sheet. I continued to watch as she pulled it off, the pan crashing to the floor. Filled with excitement, she explored the shiny sheet that caught her attention.
Without hesitation, she was on all fours, grasping violently at the aluminum foil. Guttural howling and babbling as her hands crumpled every corner. Her ears on fire from the sound of crumpling foil, her hands creating Frankenstein.
“You having fun?” I said giggling while trying not to gag from the moist squishing of the salmon mixture.
Pausing briefly to sit on her butt, she nodded in agreement. Her hands sliding all over the foil, feet flurrying about, not letting the baking sheet stop her. Then the foil flew free, glistening in the kitchen light.
I wash my hands and walk over to her, towel over my shoulder, hand out. She smacked my hand away pouting, as if the world had ended. I bend over and crumple the aluminum foil in my hand, smiling, letting her know it’s okay. She sucked her bottom lip back in and she was back in the race; crumpling, sliding, screaming.
Suddenly the air becomes tense, and the sound of the aluminum foil ripping fills the kitchen. I looked over my shoulder to a terrifying sight. My daughter was sitting on the floor, hands holding two pieces of the same aluminum foil. Hey eyes fill with tears. Her bottom lip pokes out and her mouth widens. I braced for impact.
My husband comes walking around the corner asking what happened. She looked up at him, death gripping the aluminum foil, tears flowing from her face. He snickered and bent down to fix the problem. Next thing I know, he’s quoting from the movie Signs and my daughter has an aluminum foil hat.
I laughed and brushed it off, thinking all is right in my household. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Her hat suddenly came off her head, landing at the bottom of her feet. When she realized what happened, she let out the most horrific scream. I quickly look over, hot oil burning the hair off my arms; her arms flailing, feet stomping, screaming, face full of tears.
By God she was in full toddler meltdown because her new toy fell off her head. Rushing, we both try to fix the hat and put it back on to soothe the frantic beast. After a few minutes and some restraining, we got the aluminum hat back on her head, and peace filled the kitchen. That was until she waddle ran too fast and the hat found itself back on the floor.
Without hesitation she went full fish, screaming and smacking her tiny arms against her body. I bent over quickly to put the crumpled hat on my head to show her it still works. That the hat is okay. There’s nothing to worry about, “See you can still play with it.” Once more, peace filled the kitchen at the cost of burning food and my sanity.
I glance over to her removing the hat putting it on her face. I assumed that she wanted a mask. I asked, “Can I see?” She handed me the crumbled and torn hat, smiling the whole time. I reached in silverware drawer and took out a butter knife. Slowly tearing little eye holes for her to be able to see out of. She stood next to me watching intently.
I bent over to give her what I assumed she wanted, a mask. She investigated the eye holes, poking her fingers through each one methodically. She looked up at me, tucked her head down, and released the Children of the Corn meets Sinister death stare. I stood back, offended that this little two-legged being indirectly threatened me.
She carefully sat the failed mask on the kitchen floor and let out another death scream, running into my legs as if she was the Terminator. I braced myself against the wall, not knowing what to do. I grabbed the remnants of the mask and quickly made a shoe for her, she observed the entire time; screaming like a dying banshee. Finally finished, she stared at her new apparel item and smiled. Oh my God, I won. I finally won a tantrum battle.
She waddle slid her happy self out of the kitchen, and a lasting peace graced the land. As for my salmon patties, well, they were on the side of very blackened well done.