Hyper-drive.

Today I actually got off the bus two stops early because I was so mortified by the Captain’s kicking, bucking, ranting, screaming tantrum that I was happier to walk the extra distance than endure the uncomfortable glances from well-meaning Spaniards. Well, it was a combination of factors: (a) he was behaving satanically and (b) some helpful grandmother had a bag from a local toy company in her hand and naturally he was reaching for, and so she thought it would be cute to dangle it in front of his face and wag her finger saying, “no no no!” I wish I was so cruel as to taunt other people’s kids when they were acting up. Of course, if you thought I had trouble with the Momtourage before

So this is actually my second act of desperation in the last week on the subject of the Captain’s tantrums. Last Friday after weeks of visitors, sleepless nights, Dad at work for weeks on end, I finally lost it. Having spent two and a half hours chasing him at an aquarium, followed by 3 sessions of fighting his shoes on while he bucked in my lap and smacked me in the head, followed by 3 hours of chasing him around Dad's office event, followed by 2 glasses of red wine and a glass of champagne, it finally dawned on me...I am in over my head. I thought I might be when I started this blog, but I’m really now convinced of it. I have now come to understand that managing the Captain is akin to performing in the biathlon. Sure, I don't have to shoot at a target after running cross country to chase CK, but I feel there should be some points earned for finally catching him and then wrestling him into his stroller.

Incidentally, who the fuck came up with that kooky sport? I’m going to invent a sport where you have to chug two liters of scotch and then shoot at a moving target like a pickup truck or something…oh wait, I think such a sport might already exist in Alabama. What’s that called, a regular Saturday night?

So, as I was saying, my little Friday night act of desperation resembled any other Friday night act of desperation. No, I didn’t drunk dial anyone; but I did do some creative googling. Did you know that if you google hyper kids over one-and-a-half-million hits come up? Which is all very comforting in the abstract, but not terribly reassuring when you are the mediocre parent of a very hyper child. And so I did find some sites and poured over those parenting manuals that I so handily tossed to the back of a closet. No, after all that I don’t think he’s ADHD (more likely I was just PMS) and I would hate to label him even if he did present such signs, and furthermore I do think Ritalin is the devil's tool. However, I think I do understand why so many parents, teachers, doctors and strangers on the bus get tempted down that path.

Now of course the whole thing seemed worse because in addition to the Captain’s insanity on Friday my cousin and I were chit chatting about kids and he said that personal exposure to several nameless kids have made him less keen on the idea. Umm, you mean my kid? Guilty.