The Nuclear Option

Friday evening, Jude and I took John Patrick to the Mall at Green Hills to make another run at photographing him in Santa's lap. Our plan was to eat dinner afterward, at Panera, so we packed a small cooler to carry his food and milk.

Upon our arrival, we noticed that the line to visit Santa Claus wasn't too long. I stood in line to save our place, while Jude left to walk around the mall with John Patrick. Five or ten minutes later, I heard a child screaming and crying from somewhere behind me. Recognizing it was John Patrick, I turned around just in time to see Jude walking around the corner, toward me, carrying him. He was in full fit throwing mode, screaming like a wild man and squirming in Jude's arms. Jude informed me that when she wouldn't let him go down the "up escalator," he went ballistic.

Jude took my place in line, while I rode the escalator down, then up, with John Patrick. When we got back go the Santa Claus line, it hadn't moved an inch so we decided to go ahead and eat dinner. I went out to the parking lot and brought in the cooler and the booster seat, then found a table at Panera. When Jude brought John Patrick into the restaurant, he was throwing another fit, this time apparently because he hadn't wanted to leave the children's book section at David Kidd Booksellers.

As we tried to sit him down at the table in the restaurant, in his booster seat, John Patrick, still screaming and crying, stiffened his body so we couldn't bend him at the waist or knees to get him seated and strapped in. It was crazy. The worst part, of course, was when we saw a friend of ours sitting nearby. His three young daughters were sitting with him, quietly eating dinner. He smiled at us, sheepishly, as our son continued with the mother of all meltdowns.

Finally, we gave up. Jude took John Patrick outside the restaurant, back into the mall, while I packed everything up for the trip home. When I walked outside, John Patrick was still screaming bloody murder. His face was red, he was crying and really, really making a scene. I expected someone to call the police or the department of children's services at any minute.

We walked to the car. John Patrick continued to cry and refused to let me strap him in his car seat for the ride home. At last, I got him strapped in and Jude drove away. I looked over my shoulder to make sure mall security wasn't hot on our tail. As John Patrick continued to cry in the back seat, I looked at Jude and said, "well, we can always try to take him out in public next Christmas."