Get Off My Ass

I got yelled at the other day.

Seriously screamed at – as if I were kidnapping a celebrity or beating a puppy – yelled at. A passionate mother wearing a lightweight track suit (though obviously not a runner) and too much coconut sunblock bitched me out at a playground. She started expressing her concerns at an impressive decibel level – remarkably achieved without the aid of a megaphone. I stood listening, calmly. But my calm was not what track suit momma was expecting, and so she increased her volume to an ear-piercing wailing screech. She even tossed in some bonus arm waving, no doubt to ensure I was paying attention.
It was quite a show.
Now, let me back up a bit and set the scene for you: It started innocently enough – a visit with six of my kids to the park. It happens to be a park that sits between a very busy road and a large body of deep water. This may inspire you to ask the question “Are you CRAZY?” or perhaps more to the point: “Are you aware of the high level of insanity you function at on a nearly daily basis?” No worries kids. I am well-aware. My track suited coconut sunblock friends are around at every turn to remind me.
So there I am with my large tribe and I notice the smallest, the one-year-old (a.k.a. “The Tank”), get a hankering for the wide open spaces that exist beyond the play space. Like a little Magellan, he hikes up his striped overalls and toddles forth. I see him do this and do a few commando hand signals to several of my older children, indicating to them they are designated to watch the younger ones, as I lurk behind my youngest explorer. I do this because I like to see where his natural fear lies; it makes it easier for me to assess future risk. And I like to hop and sneak around the park like I’m super ninja mom. ‘Cause I am. Don’t judge me. If Tank barrel-asses into the middle of the street or swan dives into the lake, I know I am at “Orange Alert”. If he stops on his own, I then know just how long I can sit on my ass without getting up.
But, as he begins to approach the parking lot, little miss track suit runs toward him, and in a panicked voice asks him where his mother is. The boy doesn’t talk – but I do, and I say “I am right here.” She looks at me, horrified and asks, screaming, “THIS is OK with YOU???? Are you his REAL mother? Were you WATCHING him?” I thank her for her concern and let her know I would take over supervising my “real” son.
She then flew into rage monologue about how people should have a license to raise a child, blah blah blah…. and I was puzzled until I glanced over and saw she had only one child, safely napping in an infant car seat, watched over by a gaggle of Moms Group friends and I thought “Ahhh…. the mothers superior in all their infinite wisdom have come to the park with their babies, who by the way can not swing or slide yet, to simply sit in judgment. How nice for them.” I remember a time when I had time to do the same. Now, however my dance card is quite full with keeping six alive, which I have (so far) done.
Now, here is the thing. I appreciate this woman looking out for my sweet boy, I really do. God knows it is not out of the realm of possibility for me to be off my game and lose track of something – and it takes a village and all. But, once she saw that I was aware and I was simply doing it differently that she would – it would seem that then we are done. I thank her and she trusts in the process and we move the F on.
There is more than one way to do this people.
I may appear to be a little more relaxed with my kids than you – but that is really not yours to judge, is it? By now I realize most people parent very differently than I do. Most parents don’t tell their three-year-old girl to suck it up, or let their 14-year-old know where the condoms are kept, or clear the kitchen counters for a dance party [Editor’s note: That was one rockin’ dance party] – I get that I may not be your standard Mom – but I am the mom of my family and it does not need to look like your family. Or track suit girl’s family.
I see lots of parents dress their little ones in polo shirts and whale belts and I almost never bitch them out in public. I don’t even say things to parents who obviously coach their kids to lie about their age for discounted rates, though God knows I want to. The fact is that everyone parents differently and before you rage and yell at them, consider for a moment that their choice may be valid.
The other night as the locals sat and watched the fireworks display put on on by neighborhood kids, a mother of one asked a mother of four if she was going to have her kids help clean up the mess the next morning. The mother of four explained she usually just did it herself. The mother of one was clearly horrified. “They should. I think they should experience the responsibility as well as the fun.” The mother of four smiled and just said “I get what you are saying, but…” and just left it at that. When I rewrote the scenario in my head, as I am wont to do, the mother of four said “Oh, I will wake them at 6 to come clean up in what I like to call ‘the other side of fun’ – I also have them make their own birthday cakes and after Christmas I share all the receipts and they spend the rest of the year paying me back.”
Is the choice to have your kids clean up a good one? Absolutely. Is the choice to clean up for them a good one? Absolutely. I am sure all children involved will grow up to be fine people, nurtured by parents who love them. Choices may be different, but intentions are all the same. We all need space to parent in a way that is true to who we are.
We all do our best for our children. Trust in that a bit.
So, even if my kids are in a situation that freaks you out – I may not be getting off my ass. However, I kindly request that you do.