Become like little children...

Keith and I have our small stack of favorite movies that we watch whenever we can't figure out what else to watch (and conseuqently have watched each one them loads of times).  One of those movies is Ever After, the Cinderella story with Drew Barrymore.  There is a scene in this movie where the Prince knocks on the door and she opens it and calmly and sweetly proceeds to woo him.  After they leave it shows her house help crashed out on the stairs, huffing and puffing with all her "servant girl" attire scattered around them.  Effectively showing you the mad dash they went through to get her dressed up in time for the Prince to knock on the door.
This scene pops into my mind, oh, so much.
Not because I have to impress a Prince.  (I already have mine, and he was impressed at least once).
But because I can sooooo relate to those exhausted, stressed out, helpers who are left to clean up after her.
Take, for instance, Kristina.  She NEVER gets homework, never.  And one day she does.  She spent the whole time from school until bedtime, whining and crying, screaming and yelling, ranting and moaning, about this homework.  "This paragraph (a small paragraph) is too looong", "This question doesn't make sense."  "It is too hard." "You're not listening!!!" "I caaaaaaaaaaaan't."  For four long hours.  And, no, she can't take a break, she had to "GET THIS DONE!!!!!!!!"  Four VERY long hours.  And then suddenly, she puts a period on the last sentence (the prince comes) and she goes on her merry way, happy as a clam.  While I'm left on the stairs exhausted, panting, and with a huge headache, very grateful that she DOESN'T get homework every week.
Or there was the time Ryah was throwing a fit, the reason for which is as elusive as a santa sighting, in the Walmart parking lot.  Scream, scream, scream, scream.  Scream, Scream, Scream, Scream, SCREAM!!  Ryah, what is the matter?  Scream, scream, scream, scream. What happened?? Scream, scream, scream, scream.  I don't know what that means, Ryah.  Scream, scream, scream, scream.  You have to calm down so I can help you.  Scream, scream, scream.  I wanna calm down,  I WANNA CALM DOWN!!  Scream, scream, scream, scream. I WANNA CALM DOWN!!  Scream, scream, scream, scream. I WANNA CALM DOWN!!    Finally after 30 or 40 minutes of this she (for whatever reason) calms down, like turning off the faucet, and climbs in the car her same bubbly, talkative self, leaving me exhausted, dealing with passersby (who think I'm killing my child), breathless, and with a headache, wondering what in the world set that off.
These I could go on about these type of situations with only the girl (it seems to rotate through them), the place and the reason changing, for a baffling amount of time.   The scenarios are always the same.  They throw some kind of fit, I try to help them through it, they calm down and go off as if nothing has happened and I'm left to pick up the pieces.  Why, oh why, can't I just let it go like they do?