3 years old

  • Childhood Wishes

    I used to make wishes all the time as a child. Every time I saw the first star, blew away dandelion achenes or an eyelash, threw a penny into a fountain, broke a wishbone, or when the clock showed 11:11 (or 2:22, 3:33, 4:44…) I guess I was kind of a greedy wisher.

    After a certain point, I stopped making wishes – probably because so many of them didn’t come true. I don’t have size DD boobs, nor do I live in a candy castle with Keanu Reeves as my butler. Eventually I realized that the effort wasn’t worth the pain of disappointment.

    As I got older and exposed to new age thinking of manifesting destiny through positive thinking, I started trying that. I was told to visualize the things I wanted in life as already having happened. Not asking for something to be granted in the distant future by some abstract force, but instead envisioning my desires as being actualized in the present moment by my own psychic prowess. Yet even though I believe that we are masters of our experience of consciousness in this ever flowing universe of infinite space, time, and dimensions – I still don’t have a butt like Beyonce or a best selling book all about me, me, me (co-written by Keanu Reeves).

    Again I gave up. I figured there was not much I could do to interfere with the cosmos, and its grand plan for my purpose here on planet earth. I came to accept my failures, both in thought and in practice, as just part of the path.

    But as The Munch is starting to understand the concept of wishes, I can’t help but want to indoctrinate her with magic of belief.  Even if existence is just a cruel shadow of what we hope it could be, it is still nice to get caught up in the potential.

    So the Munch and I each picked a transformed dandelion, and puffed the seeds into the wind as we made our wishes.

    Munch: Mamma, what did you wish for?
    Toni: What did YOU wish for??
    Munch: I wished that I could be with you forever and ever.
    Toni: Awww. That is really sweet.
    Munch: What did you wish for Mamma?
    Toni: Ummm.  Honestly? I wished for success.
    Munch: Suxsex? What does that mean?
    Toni: Who knows Munch?
    Munch: That is a really silly wish. You should make another one.
    Toni: And what should I wish for?
    Munch: That you can stay with me forever and and ever.


  • I Went on Vacation!

    The Munch and I went on our first vacation together! It was my friend Gita’s birthday and she invited us for a girl’s adventure down to the Caribbean!! Nothing says debaucherous birthday fun like bringing your toddler along for the ride…am I right or what!?

    It turns out the majority of people who frequent secluded islands are people on their honeymoon…or babymoon. I actually had never heard of a babymoon and thought there was some peculiar plague of pregnant bitches. It seemed unusual and odd to have so many gestating women in one place. I guess couples like to get some time in the sun before their baby comes out and ruins their lives. Just kidding…. I mean enriches their previously meaningless existences!

    The only real drama was that The Munch got a little burnt on our first day out. My dogmatic environmental ideology backfired. Of course I had put the eco-organic-hippy-sunscreen on her because I didn’t want her body laden with toxic chemicals. Ironically, I put on the chemie shit because I didn’t want to use her precious whale semen infused brand – and of course didn’t get burnt at all. The Munch got a little pink because I was supposed to reapply her guava-pulp-iguana-spit-screen every 7 minutes as the crow flies west over the rosy-fingered dawn.

    It wasn’t that bad of burn, but I figured the next day I would get her one of those long sleeve “swimmie” shirts that all the other pasty white children were wearing. I got her the cutest one I could find, but knew without Cinderella or some twatt from Frozen plastered on it, she wasn’t going to be into it. The thought of covering up her fiercely adored “Hello Kitty” bikini with a non-Disney endorsed swimmie shirt was NOT making her happy.

    After a 2-hour negotiation (and a promise of cake) she finally acquiesced – BUT ONLY IF I WORE A SWIMMIE SHIRT TOO. After all, The Munch didn’t want to get jealous of me wearing my bikini. The only shirt I had that covered the MOST amount of skin that suited my child’s demands was my T-shirt from the plane, which I dutifully wore despite being grossed out with all the plane breath on it. In this Caribbean world where everyone was busy showing off their tan-Pilates-toned physiques, I looked like I had body dysmorphia with my Pink Floyd T-shirt on the pristine sandy beaches. But hey… our shoulders aren’t peeling!

    I noticed the other parents had their kids out of the ocean by 6 to have them at dinner, and then in bed by their normal bedtimes of 730/800. Obviously these parents don’t know about my serve your child supper in the shower innovation. It may not be the most hygienic process to feed your kid avocados and crackers amidst their bathing process, but at least we got to stay in the ocean and watch the sunset every night!

    The most magical night was our second day when Gita, Jade, Munch, and I all went to the beach for a dusk swim. While The Munch played in the sand, the three of us big girls swam in the sea and talked for 2 hours. We watched Munch collect seashells, make sandcastles, and talk to ladies on the beach who were wondering, “where the hell is your mommy?” But she was making friends! And we had the longest extended period of time where we didn’t have to play “I spy with my little eye…”

    My night was topped off with the very special treat of listening to the honeymooning couple in the room  next to me have gratuitously loud sex. I turned on every apparatus and technological gadget in the room to drown out her excessive moaning and the rapid slapping of skin. I get it! You are so in love! Can’t you just watch John Stewart like a normal couple?

    The flight back always sucks because the anticipation and adrenalin of the time away is a thing of the past, but The Munch had an amazing strategy to liven things up. She decided that during the very short window of time we had to get through customs and make our next plane was the perfect occasion to demand to draw and practice her hearts. Her request was so irrational and crazy I was at a loss as to how to negotiate with her. I gave up, and handed her stupid “Hello Kitty” pencils and “princess book.” The Munch then drew the entire way as we walked through security and the two miles to gate C.

    Considering she is three, The Munch is a pretty good travel companion. She was really into the idea of being “just one of the girls,” on a fun “girls adventure.” She’ll probably go back to preschool this week and say to her little classmates, “yeah, me and my friends were just hanging on the beach for the weekend – drinking coconut water and shit.”

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    June 2, 2014 • 1st time for everything, 3 years old, Adventures • Views: 3905

  • There is Just Too Much of Everything

    The adventures at Target continue. Target is just that rich. It is a destination of vast inspiration, observation, and philosophical reflection.

    I don’t often go shopping with my child. When you live in the country, there just aren’t that many options. I could take her to the hunting and game store to get some fleece? Or perhaps Agway for some seeds? If we are feeling really feisty we might make a trip to the farmers market for some maple syrup? But other than that, there isn’t much point in going to stores because when you do need something, you mostly have to go to these giant corporate mega stores.

    Which is how we ended up at Target.

    So the Munch and I have a deal. Every time we go to Target, she is allowed to pick out one toy… one toxic chemical laden off-gassing toy made in a factory with conditions I can’t even fathom. The horror. Why does it have to be this way??!! Hey Mattel… can’t you pay people a living wage AND only have them work 9 hours AND still make millions of dollars? I BET YOU CAN!

    As we were walking down the aisles looking at all the pink plastic potential possessions, The Munch started to get overwhelmed.

    Munch: Mamma, there is just too much stuff to choose from. There is too much of everything. I can’t make a decision.

    That is exactly it right? The prevailing problem of modernity. There is too much of everything. Too many options. It is paralyzing when we are bombarded with endless selections for everything. The other day, I got on my computer to look through Amazon for an iPhone case, and 4 hours went by before I finally picked one. I hate the one I got too – just because I know there is a better one out there. But if there were just 3 options, black, white, and grey, it would have been so much easier to live with my choice.

    When everything is so accessible and in such abundance it doesn’t make us happy. It makes us miserable. Maybe it was hard to be a Viking, and wear the same fur pelt every day, but maybe it was incredibly freeing not to have to think about it. Yeah maybe it was tiring eating gruel every day in old England, but is that any worse than standing with your thumb up your ass at the grocery store trying to pick out which brand of peanut butter? Our minds are limited, and can only absorb so much information and stimulus before they start to short circuit. If we are filling our heads with meaningless choices about what to buy, then how can we have the mental energy to think about what is really important?


  • Corpoarte Corruption and Influence on the Fragile Child Mind

    I used to think that I would be the most significant influence in my kid’s life. That she would look to me to learn how to exist in the world. I would serve as the model of the type of human she would strive to become. She would want to dress like me, have my same interests, and emulate my approach to how I deal with life. Little did I know that the most profound impact anyone would ever have on The Munch’s psyche – is a fucker named Walt Disney.

    I don’t even know how I got here. I never anticipated things would get this far. It started simply enough. The Munch was sick and feeling really clingy. She wanted to watch something and sit on my lap. I figured why not a movie from my childhood? Why not Cinderella?

    Why? Why? Why? I have been asking myself this same question ever since.

    The Munch is obsessed with all things Disney. There is some prissy ass princess punk bitch named Sophia the 1st who The Munch is SUPER into. She also cried for 3-hours the other day because she didn’t have a tail like the Little Mermaid. And don’t even get me started on Frozen. I know see my life as BF and AF (before and after Frozen).

    Guess what Disney? All your gender role indoctrination has proven to be a great success. Not only does my daughter want to be a princess when she grows up…. A FUCKING PRINCESS…. But she also wants to live in a castle and wear a crown. Yup. You win.

    But this weekend, things go seriously out of hand. I didn’t mean to do it. It was like life was happening to me, and I was a mere ghostly witness to my own actions. It’s not my fault. I am weak. I used to think I had mental strength – but I don’t. Hey FBI… you want a real interrogation technique to make prisoners break? Send them to Target with my 3-year old and have them try to negotiate why she shouldn’t get Cinderella Glass Slippers with high heels.

    This is how it all started. The Munch has seriously smelly feet. I never knew kids could have feet that reeked, but I guess when you run around and never change your socks because you HAVE to wear the purple stripey ones every goddamn day, things can get a little funky. So I brought Munch to Target to get some new shoes, because her current ones are so pungent I couldn’t touch them without the odor transferring to my hands.

    Munch: Mamma, can I get these Cinderella glass slippers?
    Toni: No way Dude, those have high heels.
    Munch: But Mamma, I really want them!! Please please please please please!
    Toni: Munch it makes no sense for a little girl to wear high heels.
    Munch: But Mom…. They are just like Cinderella’s. I really really really really really really really really really want them. Please Mamma. Please Mamma. Please Mamma. Please Mamma. Please Mamma. Please Mamma. Please Mamma.
    Toni: Dude… it is totally impractical. They are going to be too tippy to play in. Besides, they probably don’t have them in your size. (Lie)
    Munch: Yes the DO! Look Mamma!!! (She holds up a show that is exactly her size to her foot).
    Toni: (Sigh) Munch, I really don’t feel comfortable with this.
    Munch: Please Mamma. I promise you will feel comfortable if you please just get me these Cinderella high heel shoes.
    Toni: Fine. But you can only wear them in the house!

    So I got her these stupid plastic high heel shoes, and of course she wanted to wear them everywhere.

    Munch: Mamma. Let’s got to the basketball court with my high heel shoes on. And you can wear high heel shoes too Mamma!
    Toni: Dude, there is no way you are getting me to wear high heel shoes.
    Munch: Mamma you will look so beautiful in your sweat pants and high heel shoes!!!!
    Toni: Not going to happen girl. Besides, then I can’t jump or run.
    Munch: Why not?
    Toni: Because you can’t jump or run with high heel shoes. They are too tippy at the ankles. So why don’t you take yours off, I can put on you sneakers… then we both can jump and run at the basketball court.
    Munch: Oh that is okay. I will just walk then in my high heel shoes. And if my cousin Calvin wants me to run, I will say ‘No Calvin, I am wearing my high heels shoes and I am not going to jump or run anymore!’


    May 28, 2014 • 3 years old, Behavior, Family Drama, Parenting, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 2478

  • Thanks A Lot, Frozen

    When you are parent you want to give your child everything.  More than anything in the world, you want your kid to be happy – because they way less annoying that way.  But what happens when your little angel wants something you just can’t give them?

    I ran into this problem the other day after The Munch watched the movie “Frozen.”  If you are not aware of this charming film, there is a character named Elsa who has magical powers in her hands where she can turn everything to ice.  I mean, call me a stick in the mud, but that is kind of a lame magical power if you ask me.  Yet like all Disney cinema, “Frozen” has crack in it, and The Munch is obsessed – despite the fact that Elsa keeps brutalizing her sister Anna with these powers “accidentally.”

    Munch: Mamma I really want to have magical powers like Elsa.

    Toni: Oh.  Okay.

    Munch: But Mamma, where did Elsa get  her magical powers?

    Toni: I don’t know Munch.

    Munch: Mamma I really want magical powers like Elsa! Where did she get them???? I REALLY WANT TO BE LIKE ELSA!!!

    Toni: Munch, Elsa is a cartoon.

    Munch: (Sob) Mamma please!! You have to tell me!! My hands can’t to anything.  See. NOTHING! I really need magical powers!! WHERE DID ELSA GET THEM? PLEASE!! Wahhhhaaaaahhhhhhaaaa!!!

    Toni: Man I really don’t know?  I mean, I guess she practiced? She like tried really hard? Ummmm perseverance is everything?

    Munch: But who gave them to her??? Wahhhahhhaaa!!!!  Can you please give me magical powers??! Wahhhhaaahhhhhaaa

    Toni: Gosh Munch… I just don’t know.

    Munch: Well I could get magic sneakers that light up? Just like Hazel.  And then my shoes can light up and be magic….

    Toni:  That’s a good idea.

    Munch: But what about my hands!!?? Whahhhahhhahhhaaaaaaaa!

    Toni: I don’t know what to tell you Munch…

    Munch: Well can you give me a little sister named Anna?

    Toni: You want a sister?  I mean I already have you and you are more than enough for me.  Like seriously, you are more than enough.

    Munch: I need you to put a baby in your tummy right away so I can have a little sister named Anna.

    Toni: Dude, I am not sure I can make major family planning decisions because of a movie.


    Toni: Munch, even if I did put a baby in my tummy, it could be a boy! There is no guarantee that that I could put a girl in there.


    Then she buried her head in my lap and cried and cried at the unfairness of the world.


  • Broken Promises

    I have really malleable morals.  I assume that people are imperfect, and try not to let their faults ruin my faith in humanity.  It takes a whole lot to alienate me as a friend.  I think that lying, cheating, betraying, jealousy, pettiness, vindictiveness… are all part of human relationships – and we have to be forgiving in those moments when we experience them.  Of course everyone has their limit, but I am not going to abandon someone if they fool me once.  Maybe I am little like George Bush Jr. in that way.

    I have relatively low expectations because I think we are all flawed creatures who are doing the best we can amidst the commotion of our own dysfunction.  As long as someone is willing to sit down with me and analyze their motives of why they did what they did, I am pretty quick to forgive.  Yet within all my flexibility, there is one thing that I hold sacred – promises.

    If you make a fucking promise to me, you better keep that shit.

    The thing about promises is that you don’t have to make them.  You can easily say to someone “I can’t promise I will make it, but I will try.”  That way if you flake, you always made it known it were a possibility.  Yet when you promise to do something for someone, or be somewhere, you have to follow through.  Otherwise there is no reliability.

    Trust is an interesting phenomenon.  We like to think that we trust each other completely, but that is asking a lot of someone.  I may trust you with my secret about having a crush on Justin Bieber, but that doesn’t mean I trust you to tell me I have a poppy seed in my teeth.  The only true expectation I have of anyone is I want to be able to trust their promises, which is why I have committed to teaching The Munch the sanctity of them.

    The Munch and I spend a good portion of our day negotiating.  She wants something from me, like 20 chocolates, I say no, and we debate from there.   My logic is that she shouldn’t eat too much sugar; hers is that chocolate is fucking delicious.  We usually come to a conclusion when she has more reasonable request.

    Munch: Okay Mamma, how about two chocolates and I promise I wont ask for any more treats for the rest of the day…

    Toni: If you promise that is it, and you won’t ask for any more, you can have two chocolates.

    It then becomes my civic duty to hold Munch to her promise; because of course she is still learning of their severity.  So when she asks for more treats an hour later I have to remind her.

    Toni: Munch, you made a promise you wouldn’t ask for more, and it is really important to keep your promises.

    Munch: But I really want a lollipop.

    Toni: If you keep asking, Mamma is going to feel like she can’t trust you.  You made a promise Munch and you have to keep it.  It is really important that Mamma knows she can trust your promises.

    Sometimes she lets it drop there, and sometimes her insatiable need for lollipops overrides.  It is a process right?

    So last night I was putting The Munch to bed and she really wanted to watch The Mickey Mouse Club House, but I really wanted her to go to bed.  Our current bedtime ritual is that I tell her a story and then we have a cuddle.  But it was past 8 o’clock and there would be no time for watching her cartoon, and the story, and the cuddle.

    Toni: Munch, I really don’t think it is a good idea to watch something tonight.  It is too late.

    Munch: Please Mamma!!! Please!! I really really want to watch something! PLEASE! For a special occasion!!

    Toni: We just don’t have the time.  If you watch something then you get no story tonight.  You can’t have both.

    Munch: But we ALWAYS do story! I really want a story! Wahhhhhaaaahhhhhhhhaaaaa!

    Toni: You can’t have both.  You have to make a decision.  What is more important to you? Story? Or watching something?

    Munch: But I can’t make a decision! Wahhhhaaaaaahhhhhaaaa! I really can’t Mamma I just can’t!

    Toni: Well what is the solution?

    Munch: How about I watch a really short movie, and you tell me a really short story?

    Toni: Ummmmm… well that is a little like having your cake and eating it too…

    Munch: I like cake.  Can I have some?

    Toni: That is not what I meant.

    Munch: Mamma, I promise.  One short movie and when you turn it off I won’t whine.  Then one short story and I won’t ask for another.

    I could have made this a lesson about decisions and sacrifice, but I was too busy focusing on the promises.  I mean, you can only instill so many values on a Monday nights.

    So I let The Munch watch 10 minutes of Mickey Mouse, and even though she wanted to watch more, she listened and didn’t whine. Then we went upstairs, I told my short story, we had our cuddle, and I got up to leave.

    Munch: Mamma, can you tell me one more story?

    Toni: Munch, that is not fair.  You made a promise and it makes me really upset when you don’t take your promises seriously.

    Munch: Oh whoops. I forgot. Sorry Mamma.  I broke my promise but I put it back together.




  • There is NO WAY I am Letting You Win

    I don’t like losing.  If I am going to play a game, I am going to do it to the best of my ability… and maybe even beyond if I can figure out a way to cheat.  It isn’t just about competing with the other person – it is about demolishing them completely so my ego can rise like the phoenix and gloat over their pathetic failings while I lick the tears of defeat off their puny face.   Whoops.  Sorry, that was my auto correct.  I meant to say that all having fun is all that really matters.

    Even though my most recent opponent is my 3-year old child, that doesn’t mean that I am going to lose on purpose just to appease her.  You bet your sweet ass I am going to play “memory” like my life depended on it, even when my kid isn’t paying attention because she is momentarily eating her boogers.

    Okay listen; The Munch is honestly better at “memory” than me.  Of course she never spent a good decade of her life ripping bong hits like I did, so her memory is actually pretty good.  She tends to clean up in the beginning where I am turning the same card over and over again.


    If you can get on a roll at the end of the game, because there are fewer cards, you can get on a real success streak.  There are only 6 cards, and they have all been turned over before, so it is easy to figure out the matching pairs.  Which is what happens ever time I win.  So the Munch has to watch as I scoop up the last 3 or 4 pairs… which kind of infuriates her.

    Munch: No Mamma NO! I wanted to have the purple fishies!

    Toni: Well Munch, I remembered where they were, so I turned them over.

    Munch: But I really wanted them in my pile! Wahhhhahhhhhahhaaa!

    Toni: Dude, you can’t be a tyrant about these things.  It was my turn, I got a matchy-matchy, I went again, and I got another matchy-matchy with the purple fishies because I knew where they were.

    Munch: But it was my turn!

    Toni: No it wasn’t.  It was my turn.  When you get a matchy-matchy you go again right?  Well, so does Mamma.

    Munch: But that is not fair! Wahhhhahaaaa I really wanted the purple fishie and you shouldn’t have taken her.

    Toni: That is how you play the game.  Maybe next time you will get the purple fishie.  But I knew where it was, so I get it this time.

    Munch: Wahhhhhaaaaahhhh!!

    Toni: Listen, you can play by yourself if you want, and then you can have all the cards you want?

    Munch: I want to play with YOU! But you have all the cards I wanted.

    Toni: Well, you are going to have to accept that sometimes you are not going to get  all the cards you want.  But maybe next time you will okay?

    Munch: Okay. Lets play again.

    I can’t let my kid win just because she is 3!  My ego will not allow that! Damn auto correct again! I meant to say that it is better for her character to experience the disappointment of not winning, but still trying again.  In reality I am looking out for her future personality by not letting her win.  Failure is such a huge part of success, In order to have perseverance you have to be able to deal with frustration.  Besides, The Munch then beat me the next 3 times in a row.  Even though I got the purple fishie.  Sucker.


  • Letting Go of The Balloon

    Have you ever loved something so much that you totally destroyed it?  Even when we are full of passion for something that makes us uncontrollably happy, there will often exist this buried impulse to crush it.  There is this human compulsion to self-sabotage, just to know what the pain will feel like.

    Sometimes the idea of something is so seductive that we can’t handle the pressure of getting what we think we want.  It is as if wanting something is safer than actually having it.  Once a fantasy turns into reality, it becomes too real.  The flaws start to peak through the cracks, and the disappointment of how things actually are is worse than disrupting it yourself – at least if you are the one who fucks everything up you are still in control.

    I think that is why this story (or one like it) happens at least once, to every single child.

    It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and The Munch was given a balloon by her Auntie Emma.  She was totally delighted.  The whole drive home The Munch talked about the balloon, and watched it float around the car.  She couldn’t contain the magic it brought into her world.

    When we got home, I grabbed the balloon to bring it inside.  It didn’t have a string, so I had to hold onto it by its balloon penis.  I figured I would find a long ribbon or string once I got I my house….

    Munch: Mamma, can I hold the balloon?

    Toni: I don’t think it’s a good idea Munch.  If you let go, it will fly away.

    Munch: Please Mamma, please!! I really want to hold onto the balloon.

    Toni:  Okay, but just DON’T LET GO!

    Munch: I won’t.

    I grabbed the rest of the stuff from the car, and started to walk in, when I heard “OH NO!”

    I turned around, and sure enough, The Munch had let go of the balloon.  We watched it fly into the sky as she lamented with sorrow and regret.


    Toni: Munch! I told you not to let go!

    Munch: Wahhhhhahhhaahhhhhhhaaa!! MY BALLOON!!!!! NOOOOOO!!

    Okay… so it is NOT very cool to say, “I fucking told you so” when someone is crying – even when you can’t help it and want to rub how right you were in their face.

    The Munch was completely dejected.  She kept weeping with remorse, begging me for the impossible.

    Munch: Please Mamma. PLEASE!  Wahhhhaaaahhhhaa.  Can you please go find my balloon?  I really want it.

    Toni: There is no way I can find it.  It flew away.

    Munch: But where is it going? What is going to happen to it?

    Toni: It will keep flying in the sky until it deflates and falls down.  Hopefully it doesn’t kill a flock of birds in the process.

    Munch: Will it fall down in New Hampshire?

    Toni: Maybe.  Or maybe it will fly to Boston?  Or New York? It could fall anywhere.  I just don’t know.

    Munch: But I really want my balloon Mamma!

    Toni: Well, why did you let go of it?  I told you that it would fly away.

    Munch: I know – but I just had to let go.


  • What Tantrums Have Taught Me About Relationships

    Sometimes my kid freaks the fuck out.  It can be about anything really – from not wanting pizza that is flat, to being mad because I won’t let her wear the same dirty socks for the 5th day in a row.  The outbursts of dissent come like a tidal wave of chaos, and I don’t even have an umbrella.

    When someone starts screaming out of nowhere, your first reaction is to be like “holy fuck” and scream back.  As a parent, however, yelling at your kid is not the best way to teach them not to yell.  You have to be the mature one, even when your child is being a big stupid poopy head.

    One thing that I am sure of, is getting angry at an angry kid doesn’t help the situation.  Of course children have the capacity to make their parents as angry as the angry emoji face, so the challenge is disciplining while you are not yet infuriated, but only slightly annoyed.  When I am truly angry with The Munch, I think she feels unsafe, and that makes it hard for her to listen or calm down.  Instead, if talk to her in a stern voice, but feel emotionally stable myself, it is much more effective.

    I decided that I had to have a consistent strategy of how I dealt with tantrums.  I figured that if I approached The Munch the same way every time, it would help her see where my disciplining was going, and she would then know what to anticipate.

    These were the steps I set out to take:

    1)   Ask what is wrong and try to encourage her to talk about her feelings rather than kicking / stomping/ being a little shit. (If no then move to step two)

    2)   Ask her if she as an idea what the solution would be? If not, suggest a solution I think might work. (If she continued to be driven my her tiny rage then I moved onto step three)

    3)   Remove myself from her presence.  Explain that I am not an emotional punching bag, and when she is ready to talk, and not take her anger out on me, then come and find me.

    4)   She would then cry like preparing for her Oscar, but after maybe 3 minutes would come and find me.  This gave her time to process her feelings and would approach me ready to move on.  We would then cuddle, and talk about what happened.  How I felt, how she felt, and what could be done differently in the future.

    So these were my results… the first few times, we went all the way to step 4.  Then, after The Munch realized where I was heading, she would start working with me at step two.  Now, almost every time she has a freak out moment, she makes the effort to take a step back, communicate her feelings, and come up with a solution.

    I kind of feel like this should work with every relationship. When someone wants me to be there for them, I am there!  But I can’t be there if all they want to do is yell/ feel sorry for themselves/ be a dick.

    We all have moments where we want to wallow in our pity party, but that is not the best time to expect help from others.  That is the time when I should be alone to cry, look in the mirror, and then cry some more because something about seeing myself cry makes me cry harder.  I can do that on my own time.  But when I am ready to work with through my problem, or figure out a resolution, that is when I can bring someone else in to hold my hand… sorry, there is snot on there, but I ran out of tissues.

    “Ohhhhh… So I don’t have to flip out because there is only one peach in this basket… phew”