First Rule of Mothering: Judge Not

March 26, 2010 by Rieshy

  1. Judge not, lest it comes back to bite you in the rear.
My Feel Good Friday memory* involves a slightly sour me sitting 10 years ago in an enormous (germ-filled) McDonald's playland.  There was a snotty little 5 yo girl that I spotted immediately; from her matching hair bows to her butter-won't-melt-in-my-mouth look, I despised the child on sight.  

Watching the little girl didn't change my opinion.  She was a sophisticated girl-bully.  The kind of child that seems to instinctively know how to terrorize friends into obeying her every command while simultaneously always appearing sweet to unknowing adults. 

I have to admit that it didn't help my view of said child that I was sitting there with an infant and an infant mother's lumpy figure while snotty-girl's mother sat in perfect barbie-doll fashion chatting with an equally stylish friend.  Nor did it help that both mothers were completely ignoring their children. 

Snotty-girl started blocking the entrance to a section of the playground and allowing only her "club" to use it.  Snotty-girl's mother was oblivious.  "Terrible mother," I thought... among other ungenerous things.  My mind went quickly to catalog the parenting faults of Barbie-mother.   I started enjoying myself for my obvious mothering superiority.  My children are not bullies.  Never have been. So there.... Barbie-mom.

Until.  Until Snotty-girl went running to her mother crying, "Mommy, that little girl said she would rip my tongue out and make me eat it!!!"

Half the heads in the restaurant whipped around.  No tongue-ripping child could be seen.  "What little girl," asked the Barbie-mom?  

"The one with blond hair and...", Snotty-girl proceeded to describe my sweet, petite, 32 pound, 4 year old, gentle daughter.  

"What!  Surely snotty-girl lies," I thought/hoped.  Barbie-mom, Snotty-girl and friends left the restaurant after a brief (and loud) discussion of how awful other children were, while I attempted cowardly invisibility.

My sweet, charming daughter reappeared from the depths of the play equipment a few minutes later.  "Uh, so...  Was that little girl with the big hair bows bothering you?"  

"What girl? oh, the mean one- the one that wouldn't let other kids play?  I told her I'd rip her tongue out and make her eat it, then she left everyone alone. It's o.k."  I sat, stunned by the sound of my perfect mother-bubble popping; off skipped sweet daughter.

No my children are not bullies..... they are just really, really, really, scary. 

*Some memories take longer to become funny than others.  This one took several years; but as the verbally creative child in question grew up to be perfectly calm, normal, and loving, the story has entered the family-lexicon of hilarious and unexpected events.  


Stepping On Cheerios said...

OK. This is on the THE BEST POSTS I've ever read! LOVE IT! I know the kinds of girls you are speaking of and I would take your daughter over snotty girl any day. Your daughter is very smart and obviously saw right through that little snotty girl. Your daughter will be the kind of girl that stands up for others when they can't do it themselves...cheers to her!

J.B. said...

This is one of the best posts, I agree with Stepping On C.

I remember a woman getting huffy when a child bit her child. Of course her child got a little older and became the biting-est kid. Judging does bite us back.

JoAnn said...

This is awesome. You are awesome, and your kid is awesome.

Susan Tipton said...

Stepping on C. Thanks! Some days I'd let you take my daughter... no, no I wouldn't:)

J.B.- Ooooh. Nothing causes more angst than a biting child.

JoAnne, my daughter is great. However-I don't think I'm awesome, but I do have an awesomely photographic memory when it comes to embarrassing memories.

Busymomsteph said...

yeah, I try really hard not to ever say.. oh my child would never... cause the truth is they probably already have. good for her for standing up for everyone mine are all like that, big defenders. there are not enough hours in the days or fibers left in my memories to catalog all of our embarrassing escapades!

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