Judgement Day

Sometimes it feels like every day is judgement day when you're a mom....

When N was three, she started taking dance. B was an infant, and, for most of the first year at least, I would take her to class and sit in the waiting room, rocking B in his carrier, drinking coffee, and talking to other moms. I remember thinking , "Well this isn't bad. I can do this". This week, as I took N to dance, B and O were with me, as they always are unless Jimmy happens to get home from work early that day. This week, as I thought back to how it was that first year that N took dance, I realized that this was one of those occasions where a previous thought comes back to bite you in the...um, arm.

N goes to a great dance studio, that is just a little on the small side. There's not a lot of room in the waiting area. This is sometimes difficult for B and O, because while N is doing something that she loves just in the other room, they don't really get to do the things that they love. For example, jumping from chair to chair is not encouraged. Standing at the door watching the dancers and doing your own dance while screaming "Hi N!!" is not encouraged. Running and screaming in the waiting room-- not encouraged. Continually filling up and pouring out cups of water from the water cooler--also not encouraged. All of this is, of course, completely understandable, but as you can see, some of B and O's favorite activities are highly frowned upon. That does not, however, prevent them from participating in them anyway. Usually, though, we manage to keep the disruption to a minimum. This week, for some reason, we did not. B was restless. O was restless. I was tired from spending much of the previous day cleaning up syrup and peanut butter. Although I read to them, distracted them with toys, and took frequent breaks to the bar next door to let them run around outside, it was clearly not enough.

When we came in from outside toward the end of the class, B decided he was fascinated with the long vertical blinds in the picture window. I asked him nicely not to touch. He ignored me. I told him firmly not to touch. He ignored me. I did the best mean mommy voice I could, considering we were in a small waiting room surrounded by other people. He ignored me. Instead, he gave the blinds a yank. I didn't see or hear anything fall, though it's possible that something did fall and I missed it because, after all, I was also chasing O during this time. After a moment, when we had moved on to other things, an older woman who was there with her grand-daughter came over, started fidgeting with the blinds, and said, "Oh here, let me help you fix that".  Help me fix that? Hmmmm. While I appreciated the, um, helpfulness, I had to wonder... are you sure the word for this is helpful? Cause it just didn't feel all that helpful from my end. It felt like...something other than helpfulness. Several thoughts went through my mind, but I decided that maybe, like beauty, helpfulness is in the eye of the beholder, and I put a smile on my face that clearly said, "Whatever".

B eventually settled down and even shared his cars from home with another little boy. As N's class ended, I asked B to nicely ask for his car back since we were leaving soon. He did--very nicely- and the little boy looked at him and said ,"NO". B came back to me to report. "Mom, he said he's not giving it back.". "It's OK, B, " I told him. "Just ask him again nicely", I said a little louder this time, just in case his mom had missed the first exchange. And B walked calmly back to him, and said in his loudest three-year-old tough guy voice, "HEY! YOU GIVE ME MY CAR BACK RIGHT NOW!". "B, not like that". I told him. The little boy's mom glared at me. Maybe I'm supposed to make B apologize, I thought. That might be the right thing to do. But he did ask nicely the first time. I no longer knew what the right thing to do was. What I did know was that it was hot, crowded, my kids were out of control, we were all getting hungry, and I wanted to leave. More than anything. I also knew that trying to make B apologize for yelling at someone who just refused to give him back his own toy was not going to end well. So I just smiled. Whatever.

We finally escaped left with some shred of our dignity in tact, though I'm quite sure we were the talk of several dinner tables that night. I was feeling somewhat defeated as I took NBO to the grocery store to pick up a few things. O started grabbing everything out of the cart and throwing it. I put it in. He took it out. I told him to put it back. He ignored me and threw it. N would pick it up, unless B got it first, in which case it turned into a game of catch in the frozen food aisle. I would then tell B to put it back in the cart. He would ignore me. You get the picture.

We had been playing this game for fifteen minutes or so and I knew it was time to get out of there, when O threw a pint of Ben and Jerrys frozen broccoli onto the floor, and B grabbed it before N could. B ran to the opposite end of the aisle, and threw that ice cream broccoli back to us as hard as he could. Wow. What a great arm that child has. He's clearly picked something up from watching football with daddy.

I don't think the couple that turned the corner at that exact moment appreciated what a great arm B has, though. No, the ice cream broccoli didn't hit them. However, their disdain was pretty apparent. It was quite obvious that they were appalled by the scene they had stumbled upon: a toddler emptying the contents of our cart onto the floor, his three-year-old brother using the frozen food aisle as his personal football field, and their sister and now nearly deranged mother watching, laughing, and doing absolutely nothing about it.

OK--maybe it wasn't entirely appropriate for me to give B a high five and tell him what a great throw that was. Whatever.

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