The last tantrum

{I want to take a morning nap, but I thought the blog would help take my mind off this sharp little pain under my right shoulder blade that's just developed.  My rational side says, "it's probably from holding your arm a little wonky.".  My hysterical side says, "it's your lungs, damn it!  Call the advice nurse!"  And so I changed position and picked up the laptop.}

I'll admit it.  I used to be a champion tantrum thrower when I was small.  And boy oh boy did I get results (or so I was told by the family witnesses)!  How else is the youngest  of 5 supposed to get help or attention?  All those busy people bustling around the house; calling friends, having friends over, sewing, cooking, listening to 45's, primping that big hair, going square dancing. It's a big list and I felt like I was way at the bottom.  Isn't that what children usually think?

When I couldn't take it any longer, when I'd had it up to all of my 42" (just a guess), I ran to the junction of where hallway, living room and dining room met and threw myself (in a dramatic fashion) onto the floor and began to kick and scream like I had a chance at an Oscar.  The occupants grew still, looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders and sighed (also a guess).  Either sister Susie or Karen would pick me up and try to console me and then see if they could solve this (epic) issue.

Then . . . one horrible day  (that I DO remember) . . . before either sister could scoop me up,  I heard my mother in a quiet tone, "Don't touch her, don't talk to her, walk away and find something to do.".
"But she won't stop crying.  She'll make herself sick."
"No she won't."
Mother was right.  That was my last tantrum.

How about that!  My back feels better.  Guess I can postpone my I-hate-being-sick tantrum.
Oops!  There it is  bleh