I know you are just horrified. I mean how could I grab that sweet little boy’s arm and demand that he straighten up and take a damn picture in front of the giant Santa Claus, already. Surely if the poor abused child doesn’t want to take a picture he shouldn’t be made to, right? WRONG!! You insensitive ignorant asshole.
Oh I see your looks as I pass you with my brood in the grocery store, Target, and at the restaurant. Hell, you have even asked to be moved to another table when you saw us sit at the table next to you. Really that is fine. I would rather not look at your pinched grumpy ass while I enjoy my meal, either. And I guess you are free to have your judgment, but you may be sorry for any remark regarding my parenting I may hear in passing, because you may just find yourself riding home with a small ornery boy next to you. You think I am kidding just test me on the wrong day and see what happens.
Let me explain to you the events leading up to the Santa Claus picture meltdown. First there was the requirement that he eat one chicken tender. A chicken tender which he asked for and has eaten a million times before. Oh wait, before that there was the major angst of where was Daddy going to sit and why was he sitting on the left side and not the right, but when it was suggested that Daddy could sit on the right side instead of the left a meltdown ensued. After the chicken tender negotiation of 2010, there was the ice cream treaty of 2010. The terms were that one chicken tender be eaten, in order, to receive the ice cream that would bring peace to the table. Sadly, even though the treaty was passed and all terms agreed upon, one party didn’t follow through with their end of the deal while the other party had already handed over the rewards. Hey, if the American federal government never learns how can war weary parents be expected to?
While in the car there was much thrashing and whining, because when asked if this was the place with the snow we had to sheepishly say no. There was the nasty business of business to be taken care of, you know so there would be a roof over our heads and food for our bellies. Finally, we made it to the location that has had the children all excited since I made the announcement the minute before we left. Hey, I have learned and retained some things along the way. Another meltdown would occur because we, parents, dared to ask the children to please remove themselves from the middle of the street so they wouldn’t DIE!!!
Once we reached Fulton street I started with the picture taking. I mean the torture I put my children through. Then the grabbing of private areas quickly happened and bathrooms needed to be found or else pay the price of crying children in wet britches. After the longest trip to the bathroom in history, because of the lack of a changing tabl,e the girls and I come out to find that the
soap snow started to blow. There was the ceremony of chasing small children to capture these lovely memories, DAMMIT! (This whole memory business is a catch 22. The kids don’t want their picture taken. Well, Sam doesn’t. The girls are pretty cooperative. Yet when they are order and there is only 3 photos of said kid off to therapy to talk and pay thousands of dollars to learn that mom just didn’t care enough to capture said memories.) Then there was the common sense suggestion that maybe the children shouldn’t eat items that they don’t exactly know what they are. Next would be keeping an eye on children going this way and that. My eyes simply don’t move in those directions. As we decided it was time to go, we knew that we needed just one picture with the giant Santa. Here is where I must get between my husband and my son. I lovely say pick your battles, dear and lovely suggest that maybe Sam doesn’t want a picture of Santa giving birth to him. Massive, explosive meltdown from both parties and where you (people who just know that you would be much better parents than us and would NEVER in your life push your special snowflake to do anything they don’t want to do. YOUR children would be able to make all their own decisions. Yeah, let me know how that works out for ya.) enter to pass judgment as I pull my son by his arm and firmly talk in his ear that maybe he better adjust his attitude before mom goes off the deep end.
As we are all passing judgment here and pretending to know everything I have a bit of advice for you all-knowing-better-than-any-living-parent-but-have-never-raised-a-kid person. I suggest you stand back and let us, parents, do our job, because what seems to be our harsh puinshment today is your avoided home invasion/vandalism/nasty teenager encounter (okay, I will admit we can’t exactly eradicate all of these.) later. Instead quietly thank us with a small smile and go about your business, because while I restrain myself with my children YOU won’t be so lucky.
P.S. To the mother behind me in the N.O. Hamburgers line who told the cashier that I have 3 kids and can handle carrying all the cups myself, I say shut your trap. 1. I was going to carry all the cups myself. 2. I go out to eat so someone else can wait on me for a change and 3. While I know you were joking, I WAS. NOT. IN. THE. MOOD!
One very tired can’t wait for school to start SoutherMom of 3