Being a 3-year-old boy can be so tough sometimes.
Today Little O was eating his lunch when Baby X came along and tore off a bite of his sandwich. Oh, the humanity! There was no consoling Little O. A new sandwich would not be the same. His other sandwich was now defiled. What is a boy to do?
How about this?
It seems so obviously irrational, but he doesn't see it that way. It's just his way of handling things.
You know what, though? There are times when I'll get myself all upset about something and then I just let it fester. There are no possible solutions, and I don't want to talk about it. Over time that feeling of anger or sadness grows like a festering cancer on my happiness and in the end the only outcome is the continual feeding of my increasingly negative attitude.
I wonder if there's something to the whole tantrum thing. I think it might actually be better sometimes to just put myself in a corner to kick and scream and cry and yell and work all of that bile out of my soul until I've gotten myself into such a frenzy that I collapse with exhaustion and finish it off with a nice, long nap.
Maybe these tantrum-throwing kids are smarter than we think.
Maybe they're on to something.