Somewhere in my mind I remember people telling me I would be such a good mom...a natural...so patient...lucky kids...blah, blah, blah. These kind people knew nothing! Nothing, I say.
Today at the Children's Hospital Bup was hooked up to a Holter Monitor to record his heart beat patterns over the next 24hrs. We got through the hook up with a lot of tears and a lot of "No! I don't like it!" He's now at home still complaining and wearing a funny vest that is reminiscent of funny underwear for Mormans or Orthodox Jews. (...and to all my Morman and Jewish friends...I mean that in the kindest way. YOU know what I mean!)
One can tell when too much time is spent at the Children's when the boys catch site of it's roof and start cheering in the car, "I see it! Chilchren's Hosbital! Yay!" It's homey to them.
Upon leaving, W gets mad because he can't play at the cafeteria play area...dashes off to it anyway...is threatened and admonished and angrily leaves with me as the offer of the aquarium appeases him for the moment.
At the parking office, while I am attempting to pay using the ticketing machines, Bup is beside me and W was too until he ran off towards the Udderly Art Cow and elevators, at which time I turned to yell at him to stop and come back when suddenly the sirens are going off and lights are flashing. No...not having a stroke. That comes later.
Whipping my head to look for Rhett there he is with his pudgy little paw on the freaking fire alarm!!!!
Not again. Yes, AGAIN!!! Because W pulled the alarm at the Children's Hospital Emerg Dpt about a year or so ago.
So, as I write this I barely care that my child is hooked up to electrodes for the tumors on his heart. I care more that he dared to do such a thing. I care more that the 4yr old runs off whenever he feels like it. I care more about the fireman who chatted with me and my 2 yr old for pulling the alarm.
And imagine the image we portrayed? W with his mohawk. Me with a shaved head and bloody nose piercing, tallish black boots and jeans 'n' hoodie and Bup with cords and wires hanging out of his shirt. Talk about a model family.
So, if you're out in public and see a mother who's slightly b!*tchy, yelling at her kids, or just letting them run willy nilly, "Not being watched" (as one grandmother told me at a local kids consignment store last week)....Please don't judge her. Maybe ask if you can help.
If you see that same mom next week, still b!*&chy with the kids now tethered to her waistband with wrist leashes or locked down in the stroller even though they are too frickin' tall for it while instilling dictatorship and corporal punishment...don't judge her either. Congratulate her on not letting them run willy nilly and actually watching them.
Now, while you finish reading this post, this freaky looking mom with her shaved head and pierced nose is off to consume a mason jar filled with sprite and coconut rum.
It's bed time in 1 hr.
Over and out.