Then. Frances asked for the Kipper.
I know this scene; I've been in it many times. She doesn't give a hoot about Kipper. I think it's some kind of way to try to feel in control--she just wants me to do yet another thing for her--or to simply exert control over my actions, as well as the leaving (she didn't particularly want to go, though I know she'll have a lovely time when she's there). I've been fooled into running back and forth, just one more thing, thinking why not if it's going to make her happy, calm, quiet? But it's not Kipper she wants, and if I had gone to get Kipper she would have asked for something else, and a melt down was avoidable at this point anyway. So I said no, said I had given her her choices, that she was delaying and it was time to go.
She unbuckled her carseat (ah-ha! The downside of her being able to buckle and unbuckle her own seat...) and flung herself to the floor. I had to open the door and wrestle her, screeching, back into her seat, and then threaten the loss of tomorrow's TV time if she undid her carseat again. (Have I mentioned the power of the no more TV threat? Not long ago when I picked her up from a playdate, she unsurprisingly didn't want to go home, and she and the little boy ran off to hide/play/carry on as if I weren't there. I called out "I'm going to count to three and if you're not at the door putting on your shoes then there's no TV today or tomorrow," and there wasn't even a second of quiet before she said, "Gotta go, Leo!" and ran down the stairs.)