  Aidan's decided he's a rhinoceros. A little over a year ago, he decided he was a lion. It lasted months. I guess he adopted the persona as a protection against that age's difficult social situations. When he saw other children, he didn't know how to initiate play with them, so he'd just roar really loud and either they would yell back or run away. Either way, he'd engaged them in what he saw as play. I banned roaring for a whole year, and worked hard on teaching him to say, "hi, I'm Aidan! " It worked so well that he's still famous with the teachers for jumping into his classroom his first day of pre-school declaring loudly, "hi, I'm Aidan!
" I don't know if the rhinoceros' appearance in our lives indicates anything so deep. I'm tempted to think he's just enjoying being loud. Why can't he turn into a quiet butterfly or mouse for a year? In our house, with soft wood floors on a pier and beam foundation, the children have to "keep quiet feet," which is tricky for a rhinoceros. And I haven't even mentioned the loud, throat hurting sound these animals appear to make. I don't want to squash his great imagination, so for the time being, I'm requesting that he be a quiet rhinoceros.
My daughter had her own volume control issue yesterday when we met my parents-in-law for their two hour layover. The good news is Ellie did not have a tantrum. She did have what, a month or two ago, might have been the run-up to a tantrum, but she didn't lose control altogether.
For the first hour or so that we sat at the airport "patio grill" (read fenced off drunk tank) the kids were great. I don't know exactly why she lost it, but for the second hour she lost it and began crying. I sat her in my lap, facing me with legs straddling mine and tried to calm her down with singing and talking. When her little voice would begin to escalate into that panic scream, I blew into her face, causing her to stop and be quiet all of a sudden: long enough to look in my eyes and regain some control.
I say some because she just couldn't seem to get all her emotions back together. She'd still whimper and suck in short breaths, and then she'd lose what sense of security she'd found and begin crying all over again. Maybe she was sensing my own insecurities? I was not exactly up to my usual game, still sick, long day.
Plus, sitting with your young children in front of family at a restaurant is one of the most difficult situations for parents, and especially for me. I want so badly to prove to my relatives that the kids are perfect and can behave in any situation. And--honest, I swear--if no family is there, they do. But the presence of relatives seems to bring out the crazy kid element that spoils my best efforts. This same thing happened last week when my parents took us to the downtown Aquarium (terrible food, sad fish swimming in circles, never go back). I want everyone to adore Ellie as much as they do Aidan, but she's a trickier one for most people to get.
While Aidan is a social butterfly, she's slow to trust others, she's careful about which environments feel safe or unsafe. Gaining her affections is a very big compliment. Rather than indicating poor behavior or spoiled parenting, her crying episodes, which happily replace tantrums now, probably reflect my shortcomings as her mom. I need to work harder at approaching social situations in a way with which she can feel comfortable. And I need to care less what other people think. But don't we all! 
