Are You Frickin’ Kidding Me? Friday

11 02 2011

Today started REALLY rough.  A fight with SAG (and you were sure our marriage was perfect) followed by children, whine, whine, whining, followed by me parenting in a way that could land us on Super Nanny.

I was pissed at me.  I was pissed at the world.  And then we went to the community center for “Little Gymers.”  A large section of gym is open and filled with balls, hula-hoops, trikes, etc…  Most of the time the parents there are right on top of all the potential explosive situations as lots and lots of toddlers vie for a large-but-still-limited number of toys.  Sure, I did have my one really, really weird situation there, but that was a single incident in what has become a long string of active and fun Monday and Friday mornings.  Until today.  And so I write the following to the tall guy with the nice hair…

I am not sure why you think it is okay for your five-year-old daughter to take a trike from my 21-month-old son.  Could it be the fact that you are a big guy and have gotten through life taking things from smaller people?  Could it be that you are a completely passive human-being and so your five-year-old runs your house?  Guess what?  I actually do not care.

What I care about is that my son learns to be kind, willing to share, but not willing to be taken advantage of.  Soon enough he will learn the world is not fair.  Actually, he probably already knows that, knows it better than I do and way better than you, Mr. Tall-Good-Looking-White-Man-In-America.

So I will walk over to where you and your pushy little daughter are standing… okay, well now she is actually sitting on the trike my son was playing with.  I will calmly explain to her about taking turns, and how it works (at least when I am around).  I will be compassionate with her about her disappointment but I will be firm.  And after I let my son play with the trike for two more minutes, I will bring it to your daughter.

Yes, even though you moved away, and the gym is full of parents and kids, you were easy to find… she is the one crying,  probably because some other child or parent stood up for themselves.  When I give her the trike and neither she or you say thanks, I will look her in the eye and say,”You’re Welcome.”  Then I will stand up, look you in the eye, even if I have to tip my head way back, and say, “You’re Welcome.”  And yes, that last “Your Welcome” was louder than necessary and very, very snotty.

The truth is, I will stand up for my son, any day, every day, all day, regardless of what kind of morning I have had.  But I may skip the passive-aggressive, squeaky voiced “Your Welcomes.”  Then again, I may not.  Because I am frickin’ polite.




One response

11 02 2011

Well done! Brave but appropriate/necessary.

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