One day last week, Kate and I were in the car driving home from daycare. For some unknown reason, she became obsessed with having her bag RIGHT NOW. I NEED my bag. Give me my bag. After trying to convince her nothing exciting was in her bag and offering many alternate options, it became clear that no substitute was acceptable. I'm driving down the road, in the precarious act of holding on to the steering wheel, leaning as far as I can into the back seat, and stretching my go-go-gadget arm to get Kate's bag. I put it on her lap, tantrum diverted, potential accident diverted as well.
A few miles down the road, I looked in the mirror and Kate was holding on to the little container that holds all of her ponytail holders. Actually, more like thousands and thousands of ponytail holders. It looks an awful lot like a pill-container, one of those day-by-day ones. So, she's playing with it and opening it and closing it over and over. Repeatedly, I remind Kate that she must keep the ponytail holders in there. Don't spill them Kate. Don't touch more than one at a time. Don't mix the colors together, it might make the OCD part of me freak out. I'm keeping an eye on her and she's doing really well. Inadvertently, I stopped paying attention.
When we got home, I opened the back door to get Kate. There she sat, EMPTY container in hand. Thousands of ponytail holders littered her, her seat, and every inch of my car. We will be finding these things for years, I kid you not. I looked at Kate with a really seriously look on my face. She looked up at me and said, "I'm sorry I broke your feelings Mom."