Diaries I Read:
When I was little, my temper tantrums were legendary. My mom tried everything to regain control over me, but when a temper tantrum hit, it was no use. I would cry and scream and kick and flail and generally work myself into such a frenzy that I was absolutely out of control.
Finally, my mom discovered one tactic that worked � she�d lock herself in the bathroom. This way, she could separate herself from me and my fit (and avoid killing me), and eventually I�d stop, either because I�d lost my audience or because I�d simply tired myself out.
Probably the best example of these tantrums occurred when I was about six years old. For my birthday, I had received a small, white stuffed cat that I named Vanilla. Vanilla was so white and so soft, and she quickly became my favorite stuffed animal.
One time, I was spending the night at a friend�s house and, of course, I brought Vanilla along with me. The next day, I left Vanilla on my friend�s bed while we did whatever six-year-olds do. It was raining, and the family�s big golden retriever came inside the house with big muddy paws. He got up on the bed and made a big muddy mess of everything, including Vanilla.
When I discovered my beautiful, white, soft Vanilla was covered in mud, I was horrified. I screamed and cried and carried on for what must have been hours. My mom came and picked me up, and I was still having a fit when we got home. I lay outside the bathroom door on my back, kicking and screaming, and at some point I decided to kick the closed bathroom door open. That didn�t quite go as I had planned: The door did not open; rather, my foot ricocheted off and my leg came flying back toward my face and I gave myself a black eye with my own knee. I had a black eye for days, and every time someone would look at me and say, �Ooooh, what happened?� my mom would very coolly reply that I had had a fit and done it to myself. That was embarrassing, even for a six-year-old.
The thing is, I remember this incident so clearly, it�s like it happened yesterday. It�s not the fact that I gave myself a black eye that makes the event stand out in my memory; it�s the strength of the emotions I was feeling. I was heartbroken. I was so incredibly frustrated and angry and powerless. I was crazy upset. I remember those feelings.
For some reason, this memory flashed across my mind the other day and I found myself sympathizing with my six-year-old self. Of course, I�m sure I was obnoxious and my mom wanted to beat me, but the emotions I was feeling, however silly they may seem, were real, and I just didn�t know what to do with those feelings. It must be hard for a little kid sometimes.
Anyway, as you can imagine, I�m MUCH more mature now. I have learned to deal with my feelings in a constructive fashion.
Last night, I received a box from Amazon.com containing two brand-new WW cookbooks. They were beautiful, crisp and clean, and I was very excited about spending some quality time with them. I took one upstairs and thumbed through it a bit while watching TV.
A little later, I was folding laundry on the bed, and Dixie was up there on the bed, as usual, gnawing on a rawhide bone. Or so I thought.
For some reason, I glanced over at her only to discover that she was not chewing on a bone but gnawing on the corner of MY BRAND-NEW, BEAUTIFUL, PERFECT book! I gasped, ripped it out of her jaws, and slammed the book down on the bed in front of her face (she�s lucky I didn�t smack her in the head with it). �NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!� I screamed.
I was so furious, I could barely contain myself. I screamed several more times (so much that my throat hurt for the rest of the evening). I nearly cried. I was shaking in anger. I just paced around the house, fuming and yelling.
I felt like that little six-year-old girl, heartbroken over her pretty, clean, favorite stuffed cat. I wanted to throw myself on the floor and kick and scream. Really, those feelings of utter frustration and anger rushed back into my body and I wanted to have a temper tantrum.
And believe me, I know it was silly. The book isn�t even ruined. Just the bottom corners of the pages are a little chewed up. It�s totally usable and not even that noticeable. But it was the fact that it was brand-new, in perfect condition, and I had been looking forward to enjoying my pretty little pristine cookbook at least for a few days before spilling tomato juice or oil on it.
So I guess not that much has changed. I was frighteningly close to reliving one of my childhood temper tantrums last night. A 29-year-old woman, screaming and carrying on over a stupid cookbook.
By the way, Vanilla never quite recovered from her episode with the dog. She ended up matted and grey and generally ugly-looking. But she was still my favorite stuffed animal for years and years. In fact, she�s in the top drawer of my nightstand at this very moment.
I think I�ll keep her around for a while. I may need another reminder one of these days.
Working at home - Wednesday, Nov. 17, 2004
Toronto - Tuesday, Nov. 16, 2004
On the way to Toronto... - Tuesday, Nov. 09, 2004
A Good Day - Monday, Nov. 08, 2004
Another letter - Thursday, Nov. 04, 2004