And the Mother of the Year Award Goes To....

Not me.

You may have seen me. Or, maybe you didn't see me.

Maybe you just heard me.

Or, if you didn't hear me, maybe you just heard the children.

It started innocently enough. I was just trying to take the boys to have lunch with N at school. N likes it when we visit, and I figure its a good idea to take B there as often as possible since he'll be going there next year. This way, he'll hopefully have an easier adjustment, Also, I figure if they're used to seeing him around, maybe they'll be less likely to kick him out the first time he puts a frog in his teachers desk.

We had a little talk on the way there. About appropriate behavior. About the importance of listening. About how the previous night's behavior at Panera, for example, would not, under any circumstances, be repeated. There would be no running. No screaming. No ignoring one's mother. And if there was running, or screaming, or ignoring one's mother, we would go home immediately.

We all agreed. In fact, they promised there would be no repeat of the previous night's behavior. It was all going well. Exceptionally well, in fact.

And then we got out of the car.

Immediately, there was running. And screaming. And ignoring one's mother.

In the parking lot.

Traitors.

When I finally caught them, I dragged them back to the car, put them in it, and informed them we were going home.

Mutiny ensued.

They're not used to this. Oh sure, they're used to me following through at home. But when we're out, my following through track record is a little less than stellar. We have groceries to get. Or dinner to pick up. Or a sibling's activity to attend. I realize when someone is behaving badly  that I should drop everything and get everyone back in the car and go home, but it's just not practical. Sometimes, we really, really need that six pack  gallon of milk that we came for.

But this time, there was no reason not to go home. N didn't know we were coming, and they were clearly testing me.

So we left. Well, at least we tried to leave. As soon as I put O in the car, he bolted into the front seat. I went around to buckle B's seat belt and then came back to get O. As I put O in his car seat, B unbuckled his seat belt and jumped into the front.

Repeat.

Several times.

At first, B was laughing. Then he was screaming. At me. His mother. Who eventually resorted to tying his coat around his body so that he couldn't reach his buckle. Then I drove off.

Only to find that he unbuckled his seat belt anyway.

I pulled over. I re-buckled.

I got back in the drivers seat.

He unbuckled.

I yelled. I threatened. I almost cried.

But I didn't.

I stopped. I buckled it again. I drove away.

He unbuckled it. We stopped again.

I told him, rather loudly, that I didn't care if he buckled it. In fact, he could leave it unbuckled if he wanted.

But the police would stop us and take him to jail.

Where they do not serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Or let you watch cartoons. And where they do not read you bed time stories before bed.

He stayed buckled after that.

I looked around to see if anyone had witnessed my episode of temporary insanity. I don't think they did, but just in case, I decided to stay in the car at pick up time today.

Wearing dark sunglasses. And a hat. With a book in front of my face.

I don't think I'm getting mother of the year for this one, but at least my four yr old is determined to stay out of jail.

That has to count for something, doesn't it?