You know the island where Max lands in "Where the Wild Things Are?"

Yeah, well. Welcome to Three Kid Circus Isle, Max. We're due for a wild rumpus, anyway. You'll recognize me - I'm the one with the frizzy red hair and clawed feet.

It seems that children with Large Attitudes are setting the pace around here. It's all id, all the time around here. Just this morning brought a tantrum from my son when I dashed his hopes by telling him that "No, it's not Christmas."

All week he's wanted me to take him to Costco (!) to buy him 'something special' - apparently he wants some plastic animals in a tube. Now, in that the child has 9000 plastic animals, and I have no need to go to Costco (!!) I have enjoyed several whining tantrums about my cruel, heartless stance on this, and other matters near and dear to his heart.

I made the mistake of telling him that with the recent bounty of new toys, we are not going to be buying new playthings until the holidays (of which there are many scattered throughout the year.) Gah! Now I spend painful minutes showing him exactly how long it will be before another gifting occasion arises.

O Spoiled Child! O Heartless Mother! O!

This morning, I displayed (according to the hubs) a startling lack of sympathy for the woeful plight of my son, for whom I will not rearrange the calendar. I have superpowers, you see, but I'm not using them. Dude, I was just waking up, and I had a kid whining in my face. I was still horizontal. And it was the same tantrum as always. I believe I told him to go play, or go lay on the floor in his room and cry, whatever.

Two minutes later, he was singing some little ditty about the letter K and how he loves it so. I feel that this is a favorable sign that I have not scarred him for life with my six-am callousness.

Hah! My youngest just squealed around the corner, and yelled "Tu Boca! La Cabeza! Blah blah blah blah blaaaaaaah! Corre Dora, corre!"

Okay then.

That's it. I'm taking my B vitamins right now. As it stands, we are on the eve of me wagging my finger around with my other fist on my hip, giving everyone hell. The hubs is playing golf in the morning tomorrow (my idea) which always seems to coincide with those special times when I am an emotional spastic. (Hi, honey!) I'm already gritting my teeth and giving myself a chill-pill.

It seems that whenever we reach a fever pitch, and I'm about to go all Krakatoa on their whiny-hineys, the kids have a safety-stop mechanism that instantly makes them adorable. Like my son's spontaneous song this morning, they shift gears with an ease that makes my head spin.

As they get older, it is harder to remember the calming superpowers that were second nature when they were infants. I sometimes lose sight of the hurt, hearing only the anger and beligerance. Rather than taking the time to gather a ranting child onto my lap, I find myself imperiously ordering them to change their tone or I will not listen. I *know* that at six, my daughter is still learning to communicate, but I do expect a certain level of politeness from her.

And yet, my mommy-heart knows that sometimes I need to just hold her close and hear her. Let her vent out her frustrations, without trivializing them, while I stroke her hair and pat her back. Just like when she was a baby, and lay in my arms for that last, venting cry of the day, before relaxing into sleep.

In reflection, it seems that all my finger wagging and fist shaking is being mirrored by my children. We're venters, alright. But they always find a way to pull me into snuggle mode, and they kiss me and tell me they love me, even when I'm a ranting, frizzy-haired, clawfooted beast, because it seems that no matter what's happened, a few loves are the right answer.

When the dust settles and the spitty-kisses dry, and we go back to singing our little ditties while we putter around the house, it becomes very apparent.

These acorns landed right under this tree.