(no subject)

Tonight, my son threw tantrums because he was hungry, because he was tired, because he didn't want chicken or fish or rice or any other food we were reasonably willing to permit him, because I caught his shirt when he threw it at me, because I insisted that he must wear a diaper or pull up to bed, because I turned his pajamas right-side out, because I forbade him to jump off the edge of the bathtub (and, in fact, to climb up on the edge of our antique clawfoot tub in the first place), because, after he threw things at me and kicked me, I picked him up, put him on his bed and walked out of the room before I lost it with him, and finally, when I cooled off and returned to try and get him to stop screaming, he threw one, final, devastating tantrum because I was not able to turn him into a fish.

This is all of my failings as a mother: impatience, ill temper, and lack of magical transmogrifying abilities.