Thanks, Sarah

Sarah McLachlan did something today for Paige I've never accomplished in her 34 months of existence - pull her out of a tantrum spiral.

We spent our morning at the Mazda dealership getting some routine maintenance done on the car. Because dealerships work at the pace of an editor off deadline on a Friday afternoon, we had to kill 90 minutes in the play area, which butted up against the back of the workspace for the front desk receptionist. After a solid 15 minutes of getting herself situated, finding a magazine to read and consuming a morning snack, the receptionist clicked on her radio and the mindless drivel of Rush Limbaugh spewed out of her speakers. I'd like to sarcastically thank her for not putting on headphones.

Mercifully, after Paige and I played with Strawberry Shortcakes, Tinkerbell and "naked baby" (don't ask) for an hour and a half, our car was returned to us as Paige decided this was the appropriate time to melt down. I coerced her into the car, battled her on buckling into her seat and off we went. Then, for the 20-minute ride home, I was bombarded with:

"MY BELLY HURTS!"
"MY FINGER HURTS!"
"NO GO HOME!"
"MY NEED A SNACK!"
"MY NEED WATER!"

And my all-time favorite, "I DON'T LIKE DADDY! I WANT MOMMY! NO LIKE DADDY!" Thanks for nothing, kid. I was up with you at 5:30 a.m. today, fed you breakfast, picked out your favorite princess sweatshirt to wear and you "no like daddy"?

As I weaved my way through traffic on 217S and onto 5S, I frantically searched for something on the radio to play for her. With a new phone, I haven't sold my soul to add all the Yo Gabba Gabba songs onto it for such a situation, so we were at the mercy of Portland radio. I kept pressing buttons while hearing, "No song! No like!" when the docile tones of Sarah McLachlan's "Angel" came through the factory-installed speakers. The screaming stopped. Dead. Cold. Stopped. Our Mazda5 effortlessly made its way off the highway in pure, unadulterated silence minus Sarah singing, "You're in the arms of an angel..."

Paige meekly muttered, "Me like this song, daddy," then fell silent again. For the record, in my head I kept thinking, "Ugh, daddy no like this song." But it didn't matter. Paige was quiet. Nothing was "hurting" on her anymore. And, at least it wasn't Rush Limbaugh.