The Unholy

She arrives

Small Cecilia Madeline is a sweetheart.  She makes friends easily, and she reports that she has two "Ooh Lah Lahs" at school - Tyler and Sam. When describing what an "Ooh Lah Lah" is, she says Tyler and Sam "have cwushes on me." She gives hugs when we sees someone sad, and she shares willingly and often. She plays in adorable and endearing ways, pretending that her tiny dolls and animals are alive and speaking to one another. Sometimes she wears Halloween costumes in public, not on Halloween. She matches pitch and she likes "Rainbow Connection" and The Who's "Eminence Front" ("M&M's Front"). She's a darling.

But, like every other child since the Age of Reason, she gets cranky. She's hungry, she's tired, something annoys her, stars align, and a tantrum ensues.

It happens

Cecilia's tantrums are legendary. They are UNHOLY. If you could hear above the screams, you'd probably notice the approaching hoof beats of the Four Horses of the Apocalypse. I think she levitates, barely perceptively. I've never seen her head spin entirely around, but I'm sure it rotates at least 220 degrees.

There are many methods I've used for Tantrum Survival. One way was ignoring it. I wasn't wild about that way; Celie's tantrums are very hard to ignore (what with the head rotations and all), and without some intervention she tends to rev up rather than wind down. We experienced some early spring and late fall tantrums; in a few of those instances I said "Celie, it looks like you need to do some cooling off," and then I sat her on the steps in the garage, where it actually was cooler. This proved ineffective, mostly because I started to feel guilty that my daughter was in a garage, so I brought her back inside. Sometimes I just went to a basement room with no windows, sat facing the wall, and covered my head. I found this to be a useful coping mechanism for me, but it didn't do much for Celie.

Lately, for whatever reason, Cecilia has been extra tantrum-y. It could be a normal stage, it could be possession by a demon, or it could be Kindergarten nerves. In all likelihood it is a combination of at least two of those things. The good news is that these extra meltdowns have given me a chance to hone my survival skills. I think she and I are growing and learning together these days. I've determined what she needs during these tempests (other than a helmet).

She's 1

Last week we experienced a cabin tantrum; in a small space with lots of family around, removal from the location was of paramount importance. "Okay Celie," I said. "You are too loud to stay at the cabin. We will have to leave until you can calm down." While she yelled, "NO MOM, NO NO NO, I DON'T WANNA LEAVE," I placed her in the car. She buckled herself while still screaming (a delightful scene to witness), and off we went. "We can head back to the cabin after you've been calm for five minutes," I told her.

I drove. She screamed. I can report that the first circle of hell looks very much like rural Wisconsin. The tantrum snowballed until she finally yelled at the top of her lungs "I NEED A HUG!!!!"

I pulled over onto one of the dirt roads so I could get my girl out of the backseat. She clung to me fiercely and rested her blonde head on my shoulder. She hiccuped her way to calm and then we were still, with the corn and the sky and the dirt. I said, "listen to how quiet it is out here in the country. We can hear the bugs buzzing."

She's 2.5

"Yeah," she said. "It's WEALLY quiet."

She's 3

Then I recognized how precious that entire experience was. I was presented an opportunity to show my daughter that she is loved beyond measure, even when she is at her worst. The tougher the tantrum, the easier to understand what "unconditional" means. We've had a few more of these experiences lately, with the same scene playing out. I drive, she screams, we hug when the demon has been purged. And I try to remember, every time, to whisper in her ear, "I love you and nothing you ever do will make me stop."   

She's 5