A few minutes later and there I stood trying to balance gentle holds while dragging two screamers in what is supposed to be the quietest place. A fight over the stool, a rush to get out the doors, all leading to the increase in decibels of their voices.
I wanted to get them OUT, aware of only me and them.
But once we were out, the security officer who so sweetly smiled at the girls, hurried over to shut the doors behind us. The slow movement used to avoid pinched fingers not nearly fast enough for the quiet that is needed from two shriekers.
We breathed it out. My temper not flared. My cheeks not red-hot. A discussion of expectations, a successful reentry, and we checked out the books I hastily cast aside in the moment.
The most my children have ever misbehaved in public. The loudest my children have ever misbehaved in public. And me, desperate to get their limp bodies to a place they could safely be loud, desperate, but not embarrassed. Surprised I am already able to laugh about it.
|They look like non-tantrumers, yes?|
***** Linking up with Heather for Just Write. *****