So, turns out 3 1/2 is not the right age to take your kid to the toy store and let them pick out a birthday gift to give a friend. Who knew? Actually, I knew, so I devised a plan. I was going to buy a toy that we already had, one I thought the friend would enjoy. This way, there wouldn't be any screaming, fit-throwing, or crying because Olivia wanted the toy for herself, for we already had the toy on the shelf in our playroom. Brilliant, I know. I should put this stuff in a book and sell millions.
One problem, the toy store forgot to keep the toy in stock.
When Mike called saying he needed to work late tonight, I thought, we'll run up to Northpark, grab the toy and run back home to meet him for dinner. There is an entrance right by the toy store, perfect. I showed Olivia the toy I thought we should get for the gift. She agreed, perfect.
Everything was going according to my perfect plan until we got in the toy store, went back to the puzzle rounder and the puzzle wasn't there. I searched the puzzle rounder an extra three times, it still wasn't there. As I stood there perplexed, completely unable to have a conscious thought about what to do now, Olivia pokes me and says "I need to go to the bathroom."
You must know Olivia is really good at picking difficult times to say she needs to go to the bathroom, usually when there isn't one for a good 3 miles. Well, we rush out of the store, find a nice clean, mall bathroom, do our business and then go back to the toy store. I search and find a toy that seems suitable. We purchase it and we leave. Perfect. Olivia didn't ask for one toy. She didn't whine once. Thomas was happy as a lark in the stroller. I was SuperMommy.
Then we get home. Olivia pulls the toy out of the bag and asks if it is hers. I say no, that is for her friend who is having a birthday party tomorrow. She proceeds to fall on the floor screaming, throwing a fit, and crying. She is excused to her room, where she continues to throw an even bigger and louder fit. Man, life is hard when you are 3.
About 5 minutes later, she comes out and says (and I quote) "Can you read me a book, mommy? I think it will help me calm down."
In that moment I thought, maybe I am getting something right. Maybe she won't need therapy when this is all over. Maybe.
(I can't get blogger to let me upload a picture, or I would share some scrumptious adorableness with you. Hopefully soon.)