Another day. Another tantrum.

Today, we went to visit my mom and we didn't get there as early as usual. Big mistake. This is why I cannot be all laid back and clutching my coffee mug while padding around in my bathrobe in the a.m. Because even if I indulge in such activities for only four minutes, those are four minutes better spent getting dressed, getting kids dressed, straightening up, getting kids medicine, packing to leave, or actually, reminding kids, again, to get going.

Here's the other thing. My mother usually takes part in the 9:30 exercise session at her assisted living facility, and they start gathering residents in the memory neighborhood for the trip downstairs ten minutes earlier, and the clocks in that place are, reliably, ten minutes ahead of my car and my cell phone and therefore, the outside world. So, if we want to see my mom we've got to get there before nine o'clock, which means leaving before 8:30. And if I've clutched a coffee cup before then, forget it.

So that means visiting after exercise, sometime after 10:30. And since we stopped at my precious Target for baby shower treats along the way, it was after eleven o'clock by the time we arrived. Is this important? Yes. Because Rudy is almost two and a half years old, and her tantrums, though blessedly brief in duration so far, especially in comparison to her sister's at that age, happen daily. And they are more likely to occur, and more likely to be the raging DUMP EVERYTHING OUT and THROW EVERYTHING INCLUDING TINY GLASSES ON THE FLOOR sort, if Toot is tired, or hungry. You know, the way she would be if we were visiting my mother and it's lunchtime and she hasn't eaten and is dangerously close to naptime, too.

So. Before we left:

1. Rudy upended a worn package of pretzel goldfish crackers on the floor.

2. Rudy threw her glasses twice.

3. Rudy ran screaming down the hall and raced into the apartment of a resident I had never met until I peeled my weeping child off of her kitchenette floor.

4. I carried Rudy, literally kicking and screaming, under my arm and into the elevator.

5. I appeared so harried upon exiting the elevator that two staff members rushed to help me carry bags and coats and Rudy while she:

a. pulled my hair

b. tried grabbing my glasses

c. yanked my earrings, and

d. kept up a steady, sobbing, scream.

6. I made embarrassed and grateful eye contact with the woman who signed me out, the woman who got the door, and the woman who helped Marley get her coat on so that we could exit with the Roaring and Miserable Toddler more quickly.

By the time I was in my car, I was ready to collapse into a weepy puddle myself. Because that sort of situation is exhausting and disheartening enough, but we were there to see my mother, who has no idea who we even are, and most mothers my age usually get help or advice, even when it's unwanted or unwarranted, from their mothers when their kids have tantrums. So, great.

And then we stopped for gas because my light was on, and then we stopped for lunch because I knew at least Rudy needed it, and that meant Happy Meals, which I've been trying to avoid. So then I felt more discouraged about the way the day was going. But Marley did get an impromptu lesson on Marketing and Advertising when she asked why they call it a Happy Meal, so at least I'm paying attention to media literacy, right?

Here's the only real highlight, actually. While we were visiting and the residents were waiting in the common area for lunch to arrive, Marley and Rudy wandered over to where an elderly gentleman was working on an intricate dollhouse project. And another elderly lady was beside him, leaning on her cane. They both starting talking to the girls, which almost always happens because little kids are not the usual visitors. Most people visiting their parents with Alzheimer's don't have toddlers and preschoolers. Anyhow. Marley did, and always does, a great job making conversation with the other residents on my mom's floor. The woman asked Marley if Rudy was her sister. And then she asked if Rudy was the boss, or if Marley was. I heard Marley's quiet but assured reply: "Mommy is." So, at least there's that.

Here's a brief taste of Rudy losing it. Note the immediate irrational desire to throw things to the floor. This, by the way, is really more of a pre-tantrum, an almost 1 on a scale of 10. This is when you have to try and quiet the perfect storm before things spiral further. Rudy's beauty this morning was at least an 8.