What happened?

Well, that was an adventure. Kathleen refused to enter the building this morning. I was standing in the doorway of the building closest to my parking space trying to coax her in while the Capitol Police officer doing the security screening for the day watched on indulgently. She wouldn't budge. I reasoned. I wheedled. I explained. I prayed the police officer would continue to be indulgent. I ordered. She stood in the foyer area holding her umbrella refusing to move. I gave her the ultimatum 'you can walk, or I can carry you' to which she invariably replied no. And so I carried her.

I carried her screaming and struggling through building #1. Other early morning commuters walked past on the way to their offices either silently commiserating or silently congratulating themselves that they don’t have kids. I carried her screaming and struggling through building #2, the state Capitol Building. People – more Capitol Police officers included – popped out of the woodwork to witness the commotion and, I must assume, to marvel at the incredible acoustics that only a vast space tiled in stone, granite, and marble can deliver. I carried her screaming and struggling through building #3, my building, past coworkers, and on to the elevator. I put her down . . . at which point she stopped screaming and struggling and put her arms out to be held.

I have no idea what triggered this avalanche. She was actually in a cooperative mood this morning – a rare event during the work week given that she's not a morning person – when I got her up. We had an enjoyable car ride in listening to a Sofia the First CD (again) and commenting on the rain. I didn’t even yell at the other drivers who were slowing me down. I was snowed under.

I gave her a few minutes at my desk to calm herself down. We had a nice, big drink of water. I held her in my lap and reassured her that I loved her no matter what but that I did not love the behavior. I wiped her nose. She looked at me, tears still staining her cheeks.

She was calm and centered, if tear-streaked and sweaty, by the time I carried her down to preschool. She held her blanket and settled down at the art center table to string colorful beads on to pipe cleaners with her friend, Mason. No fuss. No crying. No clinging. It was as if nothing had happened. The universe was back on the proper track. Nothing to see here. Move along. Move along.