Today is what I like to call a "Fiasco"

Fiasco city in the house today.

Our poor pumpkin pickout day was disastrous.

It started with my son going swimming in our toilet.

My husband was apparently letting him roam around unsupervised for a moment this morning while I was at work. And it only takes a moment.

My hubs called me and said when he found our son, he was almost shoulder deep in the toilet, splashing around like our bathroom was a water park.

So, I said, "Make sure you give him a bath."

And he said, "Oh, it's cool. I rinsed him off."

What? You what? So, I said, "No, we poop in that toilet. Therefore, he needs a bath. With soap."

He reluctantly agreed. My husband is one of the those people (or he could be the only one) who believe that "rinsing it off" with water is the same as using soap. Does water have antibacterial properties that I'm not aware of? No? I didn't think so.

After work, we were going to take our son to get a pumpkin. We took him last year to this same pumpkin patch, we took pictures, and wanted to start a tradition. We had a small window of opportunity before his nap. Did we make it? What do you think? Of course not. There was a football game on TV that had to be watched first.

So, by the time we headed out, it was past my son's naptime and he was fussy. A prime example of this fussiness is when we got in the car, he started hitting himself over the head with a pair of maracas. Hard, plastic maracas. Naturally, this hurt so he started to cry. And then he did it again. On purpose.

As we pulled into the parking lot of the pumpkin patch (it's not really a pumpkin patch - it is a bunch of pumpkins on the front lawn of a church - but it is decorated and is actually a pretty cute little faux-patch), he was screaming in the backseat from his self-inflicted maraca beating. Not a good start.

I carried our little fuss-budget over to the pumpkins where he wiggled and jiggled to get down and walk. The problem is that when I put him down, he started darted down the rows of pumpkins like Elmo or DJ Lance Rock was at the other end. It was dangerous! I was afraid he would fall and hit his head on the corners of the pumpkin risers or get stabbed with a pumpkin stem. I mean, he is only 14 months old. The poor boy falls down 89 times a day when he is just walking. Running at his top speed is not recommended. Plus, the patch was packed with all kinds of pumpkin pickers. It was a really busy place!

But, alas, everytime I picked him up, he screamed at the top of his lungs to get back down. People were staring. My husband was getting visibly agitated. I was trying to laugh it off.

After several minutes of fighting, kicking and screaming, my husband said. "Let's just go."

So, I said, "But we are taking pictures and I took a shower today."

So, he said, "We can come back another time."

And I said, "But, I may not get to take a shower on that day and my hair looks good for once."

He said, "We've gotta go."

And I said, "But I'm wearing like my only cute autumn outfit."

But, alas, my child's screaming took over. I picked him up and carried him horizontally, like I might carry a two by four, him thrashing around like a possessed Chucky doll, and we returned to the car.

Pumpkinless. Pictureless.

So, one of my greatest fears is that I will raise a child who throws temper tantrums when he doesn't get his way. And I know it will be my fault because it is always the parent's fault, but I don't know what I would have done to make him that way. Lately, my son has been whining a lot and throwing tantrums.

So, my question to you all is this: Is this just a characteristic of toddlers, or am I inadvertently turning my child into a Nancy (you know, that little snot on Little House on the Prairie? She was such a b*tch!)?