The “Mean” Mommy or Other People’s Annoying Kids

March 13, 2006 by Black Belt Mama · Comments Off
Filed under: Things that get my gi all in a bunch

My husband informed me that I will be known as the "mean" mommy if I don’t watch it. To be perfectly honest, I don’t really care. My daughters know I love them and only want the best for them, which is why I watch them like hawks and am maybe slightly overprotective, or as others would call it, insanely overprotective. I proudly admit it. We live in a small housing community and there are limited options for playmates for my 4 year old. Her best friend moved hundreds of miles away a few months ago and so our playdate schedule has been relatively wide open. Add to the fact that I am still nursing Lil C and don’t really feel like making new friends who would inevitably have to see (or pretend not to see) an exposed me and you have a social disaster in the making for Big I.

On nice days, Big I will play outside while Daddy is washing the car or Mommy is planting flowers and will usually be joined by two little ~~future serial killers~~ girls whose guardians don’t exactly make it a habit of watching them closely or even at all. They are both two years older than Big I and one is particularly precocious which makes it partially understandable why her mother chooses to leave her outside without supervision. The latest activities outside include digging up other people’s yards (ripping out grass, gathering up mulch, taking decorative stones that are there for a purpose, etc.) in order to make what they call, "Outside Stew." When they are finished with said "outside stew," the older girls will inevitably dump it in someone else’s yard where an unsuspecting gardener will mow over top and probably take an eye out of someone standing nearby or himself.

So, while this stew gathering was taking place, I was standing outside with Lil C strapped in a baby wrap, watching like a hawk and telling Big I, "Only pick up pine cones; no pulling out grass; do NOT dig in the dirt; those stones are NOT yours," etc. etc. hoping that the other kids would catch on or that their parents would, oh, I don’t know, maybe NOTICE that their child is digging up someone else’s yard!?!? My problem with this is that I am ALWAYS the one saying, "no." I am always the ‘bad guy’ and I am sick and tired of other parents/guardians not caring if their child runs two blocks away near a busy road where anyone could stop a car and pick up a kid and be gone. So, while the other kids run free doing whatever they please, my Big I ends up standing at her perimeter that she may not cross longingly looking at the kids whose parents don’t care that they’re on the verge of being kidnapped, and I end up looking like the creep.

Because I don’t really care what the other parents/kids think about me, I will continue to be the way I am. But, this doesn’t keep my husband from telling me I’m like a 5-year old myself. The one child who we shall call ~~satan~~ Sandy always talks to adults like she’s the smartest person on the face of the Earth. I know, I know, it sounds like I’m back in junior high, but it’s ANNOYING and it’s my blog, so I’m going to complain about it. Yesterday, Sandy casually strolls over to me with Big I behind her and says, "I’m going to let Big I borrow these two toys." (Big I looks at me like, "What?") This was obviously the first she was hearing of this. These two toys are miniscule little animal figurines, a perfect choking hazard for my starting-to-get-around five month old. I very nicely tell Sandy that Big I doesn’t need to borrow her animals and before the statement is even finished, she cuts me off and says, "But I said she CAN borrow them." I take a deep breath, remembering that Lil C is strapped onto the front of me and calmly say to her smart butt, "I understand the concept of borrowing Sandy, but Big I is not going to borrow them. We don’t need to borrow them. She can play with you and them now instead." I firmly nod at Big I and she’s off to play. She could care less about borrowing these stupid animals.

As Mr. B stands there washing the car, I stroll over out of ear shot and say, "I can’t stand that kid," and he erupts in laughter. "You’re like a five year old," he says. Five year old or not, I know I have spared myself the return visit of Sandy to retrieve these small figurines, and for today. . . that’s all that really matters.