All kids have them at some point. Meltdowns that is. For some reason, though, it seems like of all the kids I know mine is the only one I seeing have tantrums. And it is always so embarrassing. Well, recently, she had the mother of all meltdowns.
It started when we were invited to a play date at the house of a friend she had made at school. I hate play dates in general. It is really because I also have to drag along the one year old and so I get to spend the whole time chasing him around a strange house (usually not baby proofed) while trying to make polite conversation. He is also going through a phase where he likes to put his hand down my shirt which usually ends up exposing a good part of my boobs to people.
When we arrived at this house I knew we were in trouble. At this point Miss B was in a great mood and eager to play. We walked in the front door and this house was immaculate. Like, I wouldn't have know this woman had kids had there not been pictures on the wall. I'm still not convinced that they actually live in this house, or at the very least that they have a secret room I was not shown where that actually spend their time, because there is no way a house with a four year old could be that clean.
And the kid's room looked like it belonged in a magazine or on a showroom floor. Her name was engraved on everything and the sheets matched the curtains and it was clean. Like CLEAN.
So for the next three hours the girls played great. They are "best friends." The problems came when it was time to go. Like I said, we had been there three hours and I was starting to feel intrusive. I kept having images of her husband whispering to her as I chased Dimples around "when are they going to leave?" I gave the standard 5 minute warning and then told her it was time to go (like two minutes later, but whatever she can't tell time yet).
She flipped out. She started screaming "no! no! no! I don't want to leave!" I had to chase her around their unnaturally tidy house with dimples under my arm like a sack of potatoes at which point she crawled under the bed in their guest room. (another shot for Better Homes and Gardens). I grabbed her ankle and had to literally drag her to the front door. The husband graciously offered to carry dimples for me. I had no choice but to hand my son over to a man I'd only known a few hours while I used all the strength I could muster to force my 43 pounds 4 year old into the car. When I shut the door, she started screaming - like high pitched no words shrieking - at the top of her lungs. I went back to get dimples, and to further my humiliation, they decided to walk to my car with me to tell Miss B bye. Honestly it was probably something like watching a freak show for them. It's really bad, but you just can't look away. When we reached the car, Miss B had taken off her clothes (later she explained to me that she had gotten hot).
I couldn't stop apologizing. I was so embarrassed. So mad I couldn't even talk to her on the drive home. Needless to say I will never hear from these people again.