Tides

Toddler meltdowns should surprise no one who has ever been at the beach long enough to watch the tide roll in. There you are in your low chair, butt nearly making a divot in the sand, heels digging into the dry sand, book in right hand to face away from the sun, slightly. Then there is a dampness to the foot-digging. The lull of the waves grows louder and distracts you from the page. People who once walked at a comfortable distance away from you are now practically tripping over your feet. The sandpipers are so close to you that they begin to distract you, too. Then you realize the beach bag spilling out your afternoon pursuits is about to be swamped by the next wave! What to pick up first -- the chair, the umbrella, the dry towel, the bag of stuff? Once you've moved back you realize it wasn't all that immenent anyway, but the mere threat was enough to get your heart pumping.

So it is with our four year olds. Day in and day out, the blood sugar plummets, the delights of the day become the fights of the early night. A child who whispered, "I love you, Daddy" at the beginning of the day is not red-faced and wide mouthed at the mention of dinner being nearly ready. Another child literally bounces around the room until the giggling becomes spilling my pile of laundry and its unfathomable consequence: no simulated airplane flying tonight (and ensuing 45 minute scream festival).

And the worst of it? It surprises me every single day. I've been in the beach chair, I know what is coming, and yet I seem to forget how the world -- and its almost every child -- rolls in on itself at the end of the day (thankfully our kids missed the memo that tidal changes are more than once a day).