After Party Meltdowns

Part of training children is dealing with APM. It can happen after a party, a special holiday or any overindulgence. I’ve seen it played out in all three of my kids and all 12 of our grandchildren. Child psychologists call it over stimulation.

I remember being in the back seat of our Ford family car and coming home from a glorious day at the circus. My sister and I were decked out in new matching dresses and new shoes we’d got just for the special outing and we started fighting over whose circus program was whose (even though they were identical).

The battle triggered a rash of admonishments from both of our parents in the front seat. Dad was first, “Girls, knock off the bickering or I’m gonna stop the car and take the programs away!” Mom chimed in, “I can’t believe you girls are fighting after all we’ve done for you today. Here we take you to the circus, you got brand new matching dresses and new shoes and we let you have hot dogs and Cokes and souvenirs and you’ve been fighting ever since we got in the car!” I recall feeling ashamed.

APM tends to go into remission as children mature, but the potential for its reoccurrence remains even into adulthood and it sneaks out in adults in subtle ways but it’s no more attractive than the episodes children display.

APM can start with just an, “is-that-all-there-is” feeling. It can emerge as a vacation winds down, as we drive in the driveway with a cranky knowing of what was put off in order to have the fun. It can appear in the form of the “full” feeling after a feast, or the frustration of receiving credit card statements in January reflecting the joy of holiday purchases. Acquisition is fun! Maintenance sucks and so do the bills that follow it.

After Party Meltdowns

Part of training children is dealing with APM. It can happen after a party, a special holiday or any overindulgence. I’ve seen it played out in all three of my kids and all 12 of our grandchildren. Child psychologists call it over stimulation.

I remember being in the back seat of our Ford family car and coming home from a glorious day at the circus. My sister and I were decked out in new matching dresses and new shoes we’d got just for the special outing and we started fighting over whose circus program was whose (even though they were identical).

The battle triggered a rash of admonishments from both of our parents in the front seat. Dad was first, “Girls, knock off the bickering or I’m gonna stop the car and take the programs away!” Mom chimed in, “I can’t believe you girls are fighting after all we’ve done for you today. Here we take you to the circus, you got brand new matching dresses and new shoes and we let you have hot dogs and Cokes and souvenirs and you’ve been fighting ever since we got in the car!” I recall feeling ashamed.

APM tends to go into remission as children mature, but the potential for its reoccurrence remains even into adulthood and it sneaks out in adults in subtle ways but it’s no more attractive than the episodes children display.

APM can start with just an, “is-that-all-there-is” feeling. It can emerge as a vacation winds down, as we drive in the driveway with a cranky knowing of what was put off in order to have the fun. It can appear in the form of the “full” feeling after a feast, or the frustration of receiving credit card statements in January reflecting the joy of holiday purchases. Acquisition is fun! Maintenance sucks and so do the bills that follow it.

Do it NOW

With graduations and weddings soon upon us, it occurred to me to write about the dreaded “Thank You Note.” I know we’re all grateful people and so are our kids, but somehow writing thank you notes can loom over us. One survey revealed that writing thank you notes was number seven on the top ten things we tend to put off doing. For me, it’s number three on my list of put-offs.

My best advice is to keep a good supply of Thank You Notes on hand. It’d be a good idea to put a few in a Zip-Lock bag along with some stamps in your purse for those times you end up having to wait, like in the dentist’s office, on a flight or while you wait at the beauty salon. (Just think how thankful you could be when at a standstill in a traffic jam!) I found that The Dollar Store has a wonderful supply of Thank You Notes for; you guessed it, a dollar!

When I was a little girl, my mom was relentless about making me send my grandparents thank you notes after Christmas and birthdays. Grandma Dot and Grandpa Buddy’s checks came faithfully on those occasions and every day until I’d finally sit down and write the card, mom was on my case. I remember hating those nagging words, “Have you written your thank you note yet?”

I asked my friend Marci who is an exemplar mother with two adorable adult children, “Did you hound your kids to write thank you notes after Christmas, birthdays and graduations?”

“Nope.”

“Really? You mean they just did it without being badgered?”

“Well, not exactly. I just said, ‘You wanna play with that toy, read that new book spend that money? Write your thank you notes first and then you can.’”

“You mean they had to write thank you notes BEFORE they got to have the gift?”

“Yep.”

One of my New Year’s Resolutions was to quit complaining and judging in 2014. But that was over three months ago and although I’ve cut way back, I’m not very proud of myself, especially because of what happened to me today. I had a wake-up call from CW (Crotchety Watch). It’s sort of a make-believe software program installed in my mind (upon request in prayer) on New Year’s Eve. It stands guard, monitoring my thoughts and although it doesn’t censor what comes out of my mouth, it sends a communiqué (and a small electric shock) which is supposed to train me to be aware of my thoughts and ultimately be nicer. Perhaps after today I should ask for the Deluxe Crotchety Watch which actually stops tetchy talk from leaving my lips.

I’m not sure what happened today, if it’s my age or that I’m just recovered from a mean virus or because the weather’s so unpredictable this time of year. BLEEP! Damn, CW just caught that complaint about the weather. (Maybe I shouldn’t have adjusted the sensitivity level feature since the mishap today.) Oy vey. Anyway, here’s what happened.

See there’s a bank I hate, BLEEP! but still have to go to because I have one last account I haven’t switched over to my new bank. (I’ve got too many checks left that I want to use.) I won’t tell you the name of the bank, but you’d know it if I did. Let’s just say it’s a bank in America. Anyway, I went into the place with a subconscious chip on my shoulder to deposit a check into my House Fairy Inc. checking account.

The teller was a very young, beautiful girl, but with limited skills in social communication. BLEEP! (That is NOT a judgment, that’s the truth, damn it!) BLEEP!