It's All About Me, Isn't It?

Birk threw herself on the floor last night and started a tantrum that lasted 45 minutes. What cruel force of parental nature did I inflict on her you might ask? I would not stop at the grocery store for her favorite ice cream.

This particular night, I gambled on dinner from our local burrito place (or shack, really, as it's been written up by the health department several times for many reasons). The game was, if there was a parking spot on the street in front, or even in range of the establishment, we would get burritos for dinner.

It wasn't my day, there was no easy access spot. I had a howling eight year old in the back seat, I had just completed part b of carpool and was returning home to John and his guitar lesson, which was taking place at the same time as dance.

As the aforementioned howling continued out of the car and into the house, I told John to turn on CNN so that Birk could see that the children of the world had bigger problems than not having the favorite flavor of ice cream in the freezer. But, then, it never really is about the flavor of ice cream when one throws themself on the floor and howls.

Speaking of howling, we've been introduced to satellite radio in our new compact car. It does help to have a good soundtrack as you go about your life in a compacted space with growing children who are used to talking loudly. There is quite an adjustment from sprawling out in the van to breathing down each other's necks.

This morning we were listening to a group called "Muse." John said, "It's o-k, Mom, you don't have to still listen to this when we get out of the car." I exploded in rolling on the floor laughter. What made him even think I was going to feel obligated to listen to Alternative Nation when I had the sweet spot of having the car to myself? Kid free?

From rolling on the floor howling to rolling on the floor laughing, it really is just all about me (or your you as me), isn't it? Oh, and chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.