Sometimes you know they're just pitching a tantrum over something fuzzy. Sometimes though, sometimes...
At 18 months, our little monster was in a craft store and encountered one of those large styrofoam balls. We're talking something about the size of a small bowling ball, but about 1/10th the weight. She dragged it out of the bin, dropped it on the floor, then kicked it into the wall. As I watched it so I wouldn't have to lose/pay for it (dads of toddlers will understand), I heard a tiny voice behind me shout, "GOAALLLL!!!!!" As I turned around, I noticed she even had her arms in the air.
Something like eight months later (i.e. this afternoon), Ellen walks around the day care center's corner with an obviously distraught Olivia in her arms. As Ellen straps her into the car seat, I'm treated to a class-A meltdown. We're talking about fists thrashing, a bright red face, and uulations that would make an Arab woman take notes. I'm surprised the windows are still in the car.
Me, in a resigned tone: "What did you have to take from her today?"
Ellen, in the same tone: "A ball."
As we drove home, a heartbreakingly sobbing Olivia simply had one word for us...
Olivia: "Soccerrrrrrr!!!!" *sob* ... *snort* "Soccerrrrrr!!!!!"
Me: "Was it a..?"
Guess what's on the shopping list for this weekend?