Ooh, a sober entry, and SHHHPAF! El Peniso is gone. Sorry peeps, I’ve been busy. The O-Meter will be moved to a museum soon, since I don’t want you to have to wait for it to fall off my page.
And now a question: what up, middle-aged women? Does financial security and/or living a for twenty years longer than me mean that you are suddenly allowed to be up in my biz? Is it just the ones without children? Many middle-aged women in this town have children Frannie’s age, and they sure as Hell don’t have the energy or inclination to criticize me.
I have been kibbitzed-upon (it’s a phrase now) by lone middle-aged women three times this week, and I managed to keep my cool until the third time. I was standing in line at QFC and Mr. Husband and I were about to pay for a couple of quick snacks. Frannie picked up one of those ridiculous balloons that are the same size as she is and are always shaped like a cake or a frog or the giant head of John Travolta. Children cannot resist these, and they always cost like, twelve dollars.
The lady, who was wearing the same pink frosty lipstick that they all are right now, which makes me think it’s some kind of hip single middle-aged lady thing to do this summer, took the balloon’s anchoring clip out of Frannie’s hand and clipped it back to the rack, saying, “I really don’t think you should be playing with this balloon. I think you should put it back now,” very loudly and at us so we would know how ill-behaved our child is.
I walked to Frannie who was all of two feet away from me, and took her hand while giving the lady the fakest smile possible. I said, “We can handle her thanks,” in that way that is Parent for “if you take anything from my child or even talk to her I will shove this tin of Altoids up your nose.” I tugged Fenchie away from her and did not make eye contact again.
I heard the lady indignantly asking the checker as we walked away, “Was I being rude?” Yes, you were, actually.
Before I spawned and inflicted the world with my own worm-cuddling, hamster-bonking, restaurant-dancing snot machine, I hated every kid I saw. Oh great, I thought. Here comes another one. We are at a grocery store where every item containing even trace amounts of sugar is placed at three feet or lower, and the child is touching and moving everything around. Where is this child’s mother? Ah, in line, paying for groceries and not paying attention, and with giant bafs under her eyes to boot. The least that woman could do is take care of her appearance. I really thought like this.
Subtitled, Paybacks Are A Bitch
Now things are different. I have a child who has painted a mirror with her own excrement, and she is actually one of the good ones. No, I’m serious. Most of the time she doesn’t do stuff like that and even gives me hugs without prodding sometimes. But it has given me some perspective so that touching a balloon at a grocery store is no big deal.
I try to keep it in balance, however. Public high crimes include: interfering with other people, in restaurants or elsewhere. I know no one likes their seat kicked or to have noodles thrown in their hair. Yelling for no good reason is not cool. Frannie gets the death look and the pointing finger of doom. It turns out I was born to give the Mom Look.
Unacceptable behaviors also include: abusing a friend’s animals (and my own), and by this I mean poking, tormenting, and riding, not just kicking them or whatever. Breaking or eating things in stores without permission is also out.
This doesn’t mean this isn’t going to happen. God, I wish that was the case. But I will try my hardest to keep up my end of the deal. Which means you keep up yours: quit looking at me like that!
I am sorry I was such a brat before I got knocked up. I am sorry I bratted on about how superior childless people are, and how irritating children are. I forgot that someone used to listen to me scream at them and fixed me deluxe omelettes that I never ate or even looked at. I forgot that I had my butt wiped a million times and never said thank you. None of us were perfect children. I just didn’t realize what kind of hard work it was.
Leave me alone, middle-aged ladies. I am doing the best job I can.
Thank you for that perspective. Mine’s 11.5 months. I suspect the fun is just beginning for me.
Excuse my naivety but what exactly is a “baf” which occurs under people’s eyes?
Svarit: I accidentally typed “baf” instead of “bag” the other night, and someone was making fun of me. So now I make fun of myself.
I love the parenting tips! You seem like a really good mother.
I know I have temper sometimes, and I have to remember to side with my kid in situations like that. My fear, though, is that I may actually attack someone (physically) for crossing my child. My wife, too; she was really pissed off when she found out that a toddler had hit Mia and made her cry.
Save some of this stuff for the Blog-a-thon, Mrs. SJ.
thanks.
although i’ve never SAID anything, i’ve THOUGHT some doozies, this was a point well taken.
I am still leery of children that don’t belong to me or my friends. (Ours are 4 and 2.)
I have a serious beef with the anti-family movement (the childless shouldn’t have to support the child-prone) because, as you wrote, we were all kids once and so everyone has benefitted from family policies whether they admit it or not. Oh, wait, that wasn’t your point at all. Jumping off high horse now.
As for restaurants, here’s our deal: we call ahead. Do they have high chairs? Fine, we’re going. It’s a family-friendly establishment, we are welcome, we will make sure our children aren’t (all that) disruptive, and any patrons who still cast snivelly glares can pucker up. No highchairs? Okay, we’ll go somewhere else.
I really can’t believe the audacity of that woman, I mean, if she’s CONCERNED that Frenchie’s gonna kill herself with the balloon, I suppose it’d be ok to say something to you, but to her? With you RIGHT THERE???? NEVER!!!
I remember really hating children when I was a teenager, and even with my own, I don’t really like them now (unless they’re sleeping!), but even at my worst I would NEVER have said anything or done anything like that. For shame!
I’m impressed at your ability to not tell her off, though. I probably woulda told Frenchie to hit her in the face with that balloon! No, I would have done it myself! “BAP!! Mind your own fucking business, lady!”
You rock, SJ!
Oh, I wholeheartedly agree! With everything!
I hate it when that happens! And it happens a lot! Actually I also hate the MOMS who are giving their kid grief for just acting like a normal kid — the ones who apologize to me as if their kid had been annoying me by Touching Something In The Store when they are standing in line in front of me. WhatEVER. I take my kid to the store on purpose so he can entertain himself by playing with all the crap. We get out of the house, and I don’t have to actually buy anything unless he breaks it, which he never does.
I think I touched a nerve. here….
Helenjane: Please feel free to think until sparks come out of your ears. I do; I think it’s more civilized than meddling.
I am one of *those* childfree people who is mistakenly thought to hate ALL children. I don’t. I like well-parented children, but I have zero tolerance for out of control brats. There is a huge difference between the two. And I don’t feel like I am a freak or something because I chose not to reprooduce.
I do understand your point about how some childfree people go overboard. They absolutely do. I try hard to not be like that-I will only say something if a kid is doing something dangerous or physically hurting me or someone else. Other than that, I mind my own business, even if I am still annoyed.
That thing with the balloon was ridiculous. I don’t blame you for being pissed.
Jane: Child-free doesn’t equal child-hater, no sirree. Am referring to a specific movement, not non-breeders in general.
Amen to that, SJ!
My rugrat is only a year-and-a-half, so I’m sure I will get my share of strangers trying to parent for me. I am fearful of what I may do when that happens; the last time someone crossed my child, I was pushing the grocery cart he occupied over the crosswalk and into a grocery store when a Suburban nearly took out the cart. I did not hold my tongue as you did, and the woman driving had the audacity to roll down her window and tell me snottily that the least I could be was polite, at which point I screeched back at her, “POLITE?! You just about mowed my son down!”
Here’s a shocker: she, too, was middle-aged. There must be a club.
I’m not too keen on kids, middle aged ladies OR thinking, but whatever. It’s the frosted pink lipstick that slaps my goat around.
So, remember that story I told about my housemate that I made the mistake of getting involved with? The black Madonna and her 5 year old daughter, the anti-Christ? I did have one good moment with her in relation to her kid. The three of us (me, my housemate and her kid) got on a bus on Capitol Hill here in Seattle and there was only room to stand. So we’re standing up near the front bus and the kid says to this middle-aged woman who’s sitting in the seat next to the front door, “Excuse me, can I sit there? I really like to look out the window.”
And I remember thinking, “Hm. Not bad for a little demon seed feces-flinging spawn of the blackest pits of evil mother’s corrupted womb.”
But the woman sitting in that seat says, “No, I’m sitting here,” which I was like, whatever. Her prerogative. So the Demon Seed goes up the Housemate Succubus and goes, “Mommy, why won’t that lady let me sit there?”
And the HS goes, “Because she’s sitting there, sweetheart. It’s her seat.”
And that’s the end of that. Or so I think. And mostly I’m just glad the whole thing went by without the DS pissing on anyone.
But then this middle-aged bitch and the fucking bus driver start having this really loud conversation about how ill-behaved kids are these days. And they’re talking specifics. The driver has a granddaughter who’s apparently whiney and grabby. And the passenger is talking shit about “kids” in general and blah blah blah. And, much to my surprise, I’m actually getting kind of pissed off on the Demon Seed’s behalf. ‘Cause, partly, I really hated that kid
Yep! she was rude. Somehow, SJ, I bet you make a fine mom.
Woo, Josh. Quite a story. It sounds like you could write a whole book on the HS alone.
For the record, I am not trying to prove that I am a good mom. I have never met a 100% good mom. They don’t exist. My point is, like Monkey, I hate pink frosty lipsticked meddlers.
Josh: That is one of the best stories I have ever heard! Fawking BEAUTIFUL!!!
Pink frosty lipstick = EVIL!!
Well… I guess when you look at it that way…
But still. I am the ‘twenty-something-leaning-way-twards-thrity’ chick with no children.
And, as you admitted to feeling *before* you had kids, I just don’t like most of ’em.
Thing is, I really don’t think I’m superior. Because I KNOW I couldn’t be half the mom you seem to be from your entries here. ;)
Oh oh GOD, the GUILT.
I, too, was one of the “Christ, I can’t believe that woman letting her kid run around while she’s busy doing something else!” people right up until I had my daughter Rosie.
I mean, just the glaring IRONY in that sentence is nothing that would have occurred to me 17 months ago. Yeah, how dare she attempt to do juggle several tasks at once, any one of which would require the full attention of any normal human being. Shee. I just WRITHE with after-the-fact embarrassment that I ever presumed to criticise these people MENTALLY, never mind the occasional time I actually, like, SAID something.
Gah.
That woman was a bitch of the highest degree. The only time I ever talk to a misbehaving/screaming kid is if I SMILE at the clearly stressed mom or dad first and then hunker down to the kids level and say “Hey, are you giving your mom/dad a hard time?” in a jovial tone. I’ve never had a bad reaction to it, and most kids are so surprised at being addressed by a STRANGER when they’re in mid-screech that they forget to bellow.
I dunno. I don’t get many people actually overtly criticising my parenting or even making stern eye-contact, though I think that’sless to do with wonderful parenting on my part, and more to do with the fact that I’m a huge masculine looking woman with bleached hair and a jaw you could crack rocks on.
Omoshiroi: No worries.
Just: I still don’t like most other peoples’ children. It’s hard to like them, because they’re not your little animals.
I’ve never had a problem with kids. They yell sometimes, and they cry a lot, and sometimes they act inappropriately. Then I remember that they’ve only been on this planet for 3 or 4 years, and the first year of that was mostly crying and shitting, not learning manners. So many manners have been crammed into that kids head that when, every once in a while, they start getting riled up and behaving like, well, kids, it’s refreshing. Too many mothers try to turn their children into miniature adults and expect them to know rules & regulations before the cord is even cut. It’s a learn as you go, reinforcement sort of thing. Right? I don’t have kids. These are just my thoughts. I could be way off.
It especially irriates me when people give the stink eye to mothers with crying babies. Why do they do that? I don’t understand it.