short fuse

Yesterday I took the boys to the park. Andy played while Benji slept. Eventually Ben woke up hungry. I tried to feed him in a quiet corner of the playground, and tried to be discreet, but everywhere I went people followed me, and Ben didn't seem to want to eat under a blanket where it was hot and stuffy. So we had to sit in the car so I could properly nurse the little guy. To make it up to Andy, I offered to take him to Dairy Queen.

I guess Ben wasn't full yet, though, because he started griping. By the time we hit Elm Grove he was downright honked and began to yowl like a Siamese.

Andy cried, "Mommy! Benjamin's hungry!"

"I know, Andy," I said. "He's just going to have to deal with it for a few minutes until we get home."

At this, Benji started to make what I call the angry goat noise. (Big inhale, followed by a screech that turns into an enraged, quivering bleat.) Andy hates it when Benji cries, and sits in his car seat turning red, yanking on his own hair, kicking the seat and having a hissy fit of his own because he can't handle it. (Now he knows how we felt when he was a baby.)

I looked in the rear view mirror and Andy's hands were on his ears and his face was scarlet.

"Benjamin!" he cried. "Deal with it!"

I said, "Andy, he's a baby and he's hungry."

"But he's not dealing with it!"

Benji let out another howl.

"Benjamin! DEAL WITH IT!"

Howl.

"BENJAMIN! I SAID DEAL WITH IT! YOU'RE NOT DEALING WITH IT! DEAL WITH IT!"

Needless to say, Benjamin never dealt with it.

Andy didn't deal with it so well either.