Where the hell do devil children come from?!



Ok so we were at Target this afternoon.  It was our last stop of a long day of shopping, dropping bikes off for tune ups and getting new bike helmets, and lots of miscellaneous shopping.  My kids were tired, Andrew and I were tired, but we dredged on through target, happy to be done and on our way home.  When in the next aisle…”EFF YOU MOM!” “NO!” we saw arms flailing, lots of tantrum pitching, utter ridiculousness from a 12ish year old boy who should know better.

Being the kind of person I am, I was 3 steps away from taking the kid by the ear and leading him to the toilet to give him a swirlee.  But I resisted.  And I bit my tongue.  kind of.  I didn’t know whether to feel bad for the mother, who honestly, was bringing some of it on herself by engaging this boy in his tantrum fit and giving into whatever said child is pitching a fit about.  But I also know what it’s like when your child gets out of hand and you are at your wits end and you’re in the checkout lane, everyone is staring and shaking their heads, your about to burst into tears and you just want to get the fuck out of dodge as quickly as possible.  But.  I resisted and instead I looked at my husband with raised eyebrows and said “awwwkward….”

Until…Brighton piped up and said “Mom, can I get a pack of gum?”  I said “no.”  Being an observant little man, he was taking notes of this kid in the other lane.  He tousled his hair, threw up his hands and said “BUT MOM! WE DON’T HAVE ANY AT H…..”


My eyes got about this big O_O (well, they got a lot bigger than that and my eyebrows jetted up in sharp points and I could swear I felt my eye teeth grow about 1/2 inch) and got a bit of a crazy look on my face and I said “Don’t you even think for a SECOND that will work on me.”  Brighton, looking defeated, sunk back into his little corner of the shopping cart and realized I wasn’t that kind of mom.  I turned to the young cashier checking us out, who was visibly uncomfortable with the exchange between mom and son behind her, and said “see how that works?”  To which she just smiled and shook her head.


So.  I am in no position to judge this mother.  We all have days.  Our kids are all snot bags at some point or another.   We all give in to get them to shut the hell up when we’re just too damn tired to argue.  That said, I can say this.  If this were my child, and if I was that mom, I would have A. not exchanged argument with this kid.  B. left my things there and left the building.  C. taken him to the bathroom and proceeded to wash his filthy little mouth out with soap. I have no problem with kids swearing necessarily.  I mean, I do it.  But if my son ever uttered the words FUCK YOU MOM…well, that won’t happen.  Because my children respect me.  At least Brighton does.  Now.  And I have worked too hard for too long to A. push their little ass out of something the size of a fucking quarter and B. spent countless nights awake when they were sick watching over them making sure they’re still breathing, crying because I love them so much, crying because I feel inadequate all-the-time, celebrating their milestones gleefully, spending more time doing things for them than for myself, etc etc etc.  You know.  Most parents do all these things.  I wonder what happened between the time that poor mother looked her beautiful baby boy in the face so lovingly and kissed his little knuckle dimpled hands and flailing arms and f-bombs at Target.   It honestly, breaks my heart.  For both of them.


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