All week Caroline and I planned to go to the movies this weekend to see Ramona and Beezus; the date and time were set for Sunday at 2pm. This morning Caroline was invited to go to church with Bailey's family. She was eager to go and had a good time, but due to a series of post-church errands Bailey's family had to take care of, Caroline didn't come home until 2pm.
At 2pm on the nose, Caroline rushed in the door screaming "let's go to the movies NOW." And I said, "it's too late, the movie is starting right now." "But we have time because they just show previews for the first 10 minutes" she said. To which I replied, "um, no...we'll be late and I hate being late to the movies."
And then the conversation, on Caroline's end, went a little something like this: "Please, please, please (with raised voice and desperate tears), please, please, PLEASE, PLEASE, please, please, PLEEEAAAASE (with more tears and hysteria)."
I finally said, "you have to stop saying please." I never thought I'd say those words! Anyway, I defended my argument; especially since she just wasted three minutes begging. Chances are three movie trailers played in that three minute time span, which means that the feature presentation was due to start before we'd even make it to the car. Willing to admit that the 2pm show wasn't happening, Caroline then asked if there was another movie time this afternoon. Indeed there was...at 4:35. I wasn't thrilled about a 4:35 movie time and suggested we go next Saturday instead.
The idea that we skip the movie today in favor of an earlier show next Saturday did not go over well. Not at all. In response to my suggestion, Caroline said "I don't want to play outside; I don't want to play with my friends; I'm never playing ever again."
And I rolled my eyes.
Mostly because it was over the top melodrama at its best but also because playing outside and our movie time dilemma are two entirely different things. Her statement was made purely out of frustration, which, hey, I've done the same, so I can't say that I blame her.
To make a long, teary story short, I gave in and we went to the 4:35 movie. It wasn't HER fault she wasn't home in time for the 2pm movie, anyway. I told Caroline that I shouldn't have said yes because her reaction was over-the-top, irrational and utterly ridiculous. And she knew it. My low drama tolerance level doesn't usually condone that type of irrational tearful behavior. But, her tears were real and not the least bit manufactured.
I really can't judge too much. Both my parents and Craig have a backlog of irrational, emotional, overly dramatic Alison outbursts that they're willing to use against me at any time. Hey, it happens to the best of us.
Hopefully an outburst of this nature won't happen again, but, considering Caroline's gender and the angst and bad hair days that are sure to come, I remain highly doubtful.
Anyway, we made it to the movie. But not before getting caught in a downpour in the Walmart parking lot. Our time at the theater was a little wet, but the movie was worth all the tears and rain soaked clothing.
I've always adored Beverly Cleary's Ramona books. When I was first pregnant with Caroline, I wanted a boy, but right before we went for the gender determining ultrasound, I suddenly changed my mind and decided I wanted a girl so that I could read her all my favorite childhood books. Obviously that gender decision was made long before I changed my mind based on a book loving whim, but I'm glad that I'm able to share Beezus and Ramona Quimby, Henry Huggins and Ellen Tibbits with Caroline.
By the end of the movie, as I sat there in a blissful state of childhood literary reminiscence, I had completely forgotten about the 2pm tears. A good book (or movie) can do that to you.
Or, maybe it was because casting Josh Duhamel as Uncle Hobart was the smartest, wisest, best decision ever. EVER.