Where are the Amazing Race cameras?

Michael and I just started watching The Amazing Race this past season and we love it. I don't know why we didn't watch it sooner. We love all the places the race goes, the cool challenges, and of course, the "reality" aspect - specifically, which teams get along and which don't. While watching the show, Michael and I would decide what we would do if we were on the show - who would do which road block, which detour activity would we choose, and how we would react in certain situations. We commented frequently on how people on the show can look like the biggest butts, but a lot of times it's only because they are in a high-stress situation, and that those kinds of situations can really bring out the worst in people. We would analyze whether or not we would bicker or make fools out of ourselves, and most times we would agree that we would actually get along and work well as a team.

HA!

With all of our travel this past week, we have had a real chance to prove this theory of whether or not we can get along in high-stress situations. Sadly, the answer has been "we cannot" - and in these situations where I'm raising my voice and letting the accusations fly, Michael has started asking "Where are the Amazing Race cameras?". It's a great tactic, because it always gets me laughing and I realize what a fool I'm being.

Oh that I could be patient and just let the chips fall where they may. Unfortunately, of all the wonderful genes and characteristics I inherited from my parents, the two worst ones are my father's quick temper and my mother's get-stressed-easily-and-freak-out nature. Combined, they can be quite lethal. And despite the many strides I have made to overcome these obstacles in my character since we were first married, they still like to rear their ugly heads more frequently than I would like to admit.

Case in point...
We're staying at my parents' house along with my elderly and aging grandfather, and my mom's step-sister, husband, and newly adopted 11-month-old baby girl. Shaelyn has been sick for the last several weeks and has also broken-through two more teeth, one of them a molar, so she already has not been in the best of moods. Combine that with a new environment, new faces, and a new time-zone, and she has been downright ornery. One evening when we were all sitting down to dinner, Shaelyn decides it's a good time to pitch a little bit of a fit. Now, I decide that if we can just get her in her high chair and get some food in front of her, she will calm down. Wrong decision! Shaelyn's fits of screaming and tears already have a stress-inducing effect on me, but when she does it in front of other people, especially people who don't know me or my daughter very well (ie: my mom's step-sister and her family), my blood pressure sky-rockets and my rational side completely abandons ship. So here we are with a screaming toddler and we are trying to shove her in the high chair my mom borrowed from a friend, and we don't know how to work it very well (me - still getting the hang of it, Michael - no clue). I tell Michael to go ahead and get her in the high chair. Michael tells me he doesn't know how to get the tray off, so I go over and show him real quick and get back to microwaving Shaelyn's Spaghetti-O's so they'll be ready to go as soon as she's all buckled in. We get the bib on her, which causes the fit to escalate from "somewhat manageable" to "completely out of control". I am still clinging to the idea that if she can just get the food in her mouth, she will realize how good it is and how hungry she is and calm down. So here I am, trying to hold down her flailing arms and shove a spoonful of Spaghetti-O's into her mouth that is open only so that she can scream at the top of her lungs. Of course you know the results. I'm starting to sweat from the stress of it all, and in the meantime, some very well-meaning people (my mother included) start offering advice : "Does she want some grapes instead?", "What if you took of her bib?", "Have you trying another kind of bib?", "I used to let you girls eat naked", etc. If you're not stressing out just reading this, then please tell me your secret!

Needless to say, my blood pressure reaches boiling point and I explode...
Me: "Everybody shut up!"
Then fuming, and turning to Michael: "Get her out of this high chair right now!"
Michael: "I don't know how to get the tray off."
Me: "I just showed you."
Michael (foolishly admitting out loud): "I wasn't paying attention."

I then proceed to yank the tray off the high chair with unnecessary force, and throw it on the ceramic tile floor with a loud crash, followed by several less dramatic crashes as the tray ricochets on the ground. Of course the noise and my craziness scare Shaelyn, and if it's possible, she starts screaming even more. I rip her bib off her, yank her out of the high chair, and proceed to storm out of the kitchen toward the stairs. After my dramastic exit (to use a new favorite word shared by my friend, Laura), I get to the bottom of the stairs and realize that I am holding a sobbing, Spaghetti-O's covered child who needs to be comforted and cleaned up. I also realize that I need to take her back into the kitchen to do so (the cleaning up, at least). And then I replay the previous events in my head, fully aware of who was there to witness the ordeal, and start to feel sheepish (well, that would be a HUGE understatement). I apologize to Shaelyn, wipe her tears, and head back in, apologizing to the crowd on my arrival. At this point I realize the irony of it all. In the moment, I was so frustrated at everyone else - the screaming baby, the well-meaning, advice-dispensing family members, the trying-to-help-but-appearing-completely-incompetent-to-me husband - and yet I was the one who looked like a butt, and I was the only one who made a fool of myself. (In the south, we call that acting ugly.)

After apologizing, the only thing I could think to say to Michael was, "So, where are the Amazing Race cameras?".