Julie Jay: I'm clueless when it comes to dealing with a tantrum 

"I can see you’re frustrated,” one American dad calmly notes as his son kicks his shin.

“Tell me how can I help you?” another distinctly New York father desperately asks as his little girl flails around on the tarmac, fists clenched and screaming that she hates him.

I’ll be honest when I say I have failed miserably numerous times to be the gentle parent I want to be over the past few weeks. I blame the heat, my pregnancy, but the reality is it hard to always be gentle when dealing with small people whose moods, much like Elton John's pre-anger management, are unpredictable.

Recently circumstance has more than once thrust me into my most dreaded zone - confrontation (a zone I will go to extraneous lengths to avoid in all areas of my life). I have learned a lot about myself when trying to diffuse these little conflicts - primarily, that I am, at my core, very, very weak.

One particularly low moment of late has made me question whether my status as a reasonably nice parent will ever recover. It is a Sunday, and we have just returned from a bit of a whirlwind trip to Dublin. Ted and I hit the playground, despite Mammy’s subtle suggestions that we instead use the time to decompress after our marathon journey. Of course, the playground trip is a disaster, because Ted is only two, and he’s tired. Any parent in charge would have insisted on going home first to recalibrate, but, as aforementioned, I am weak.

So instead, here we are, Ted standing at the top of the big slide, in a blind fury at some slight that has been committed, apparently by me. A queue has formed behind him, but he's not for moving. For some inexplicable reason, he has started a one-man protest, and it takes me far too long to coax him out of it and descend the slide.

“I want ice cream,” he announces upon landing, and when I remind him that he has already had his daily ice-cream fix, I am again met with utter rage. Throwing himself to the ground, Ted cries out, leaving me feeling like I'm officially the worst mother in the world because I have meandered over to the playground minus snacks.

“Ted, do you want to go home and have a banana?” I ask. 

This seems to be the final straw, and my toddler is now positively irate. I can feel the other parents looking, and it pushes me over the edge.

“Ted,” I bend down low and speak in a firm voice that belies my annoyance. “Please come home now, this behaviour is embarrassing me.”

The second I say it, my heart sinks because I know it is not gentle, child-centred, or kind. Ted takes zero notice and continues as he was, frustrated and flailing and in terrible form. With no other choice, I pick him up and carry him home, with Ted objecting all the way and me reeling in guilt from having tried to shame him into submission.

The second we are home I place Ted on the couch and turn on his favourite cartoon, but still it doesn’t appease him. I sit him on my knee as he cries and kiss him, holding him close and saying nice things to him.

“I’m sorry Ted,” I say. “You never embarrass me, and Mammy shouldn’t have said that.”

Still, the tears come thick and fast and then, as quickly as it started, it stops.

“I want na-na,” Ted says, and at that moment I feel validated  - 'you see, I told you you just needed a banana!' - and also weirdly emotional. He is only a baby, after all. A baby who can’t always express what he wants to say because, let’s face it, can any of us? I promise myself to give this child whatever he wants - forever.

I go and procure the requested “na-na” and return to a Ted who has propped himself up on his favourite armchair and made himself comfortable.

I think of the American parents I have met over the last few weeks - and of course, the Irish parents too - and how they always seem measured in their responses and never go to a place of frustration. But on some level, I know too that parents are human, and surely there must come a time when these seemingly endlessly patient people also lose it when their child is kicking off on an airplane over the iPad running out of charge.

This would be the part where a better parent would probably come to some kind of epiphany, a lesson to take forth, but the truth is I am as clueless as ever when it comes to gentle parenting and what we are supposed to do when faced with a tantrum. The only lesson I think that can really be gleaned is to always, always carry snacks. And sometimes, two ice creams a day is a small price to pay for peace.