You can’t put Sour Skittles on a tuna sandwich
You can’t wash the cat in the toilet
You can’t spread butter with a stick
You can’t cut through the screen on your bedroom window just to beat your brother to the swing
Don’t handcuff the dog
That should get us through the next week or so. I hope
I couldn’t help it. He hurt my baby (okay, DMS is 5 yo, but still…).
He came into my yard, and he attacked my child. I heard DMS screaming and before I heard the entire story, I knew I was going to kill him. Not only did he attack my child but he brought his friends with him. Now, I don’t know how old he was or even if he had a rational explanation for what he did, I only reacted. The way any other sleep-deprived mother would. I went after him.
I found him at home. At least, I think that was him. I took DMS (the victim) and his older brother with me to do a witness identification. They led me right to him. Him and his posse. They were hanging out, buzzed, acting like they had been busy all day and had no time to assault my child. Whatever! I aimed and shot and then I watched as they writhed around, dying yet still trying to escape. There was no escape. I even invited the boys to come and watch. They wouldn’t, they were too scared. But now they know, Mommy gets things done.
And then, I’ll be damned if that kid (DMS) didn’t go to the other side of the yard and get stung again! I swear, I’m running out of wasp spray. And my relationship with the Buddha is in the crapper now too.
OK, here I am. Ready to lay it all out on the line. (For future reference…this is probably where the court transcripts will someday start.)
Am I a disgruntled mom? I can say that I am 100%, definitely, entirely, kind of, a little bit disgruntled…I think.
What is disgruntled? The definition I have of disgruntled is, “one who is angry or dissatisfied.” Based on that–yes- I am disgruntled. I should clarify though that I’m not “angry or dissatisfied” with being a mom or with my kids. That’s just my general state of being. I’ve never been one of those people who are naturally chipper and exuberant. I had rose colored glasses once; I traded them for a pack of cigarettes.
My being disgruntled has more to do with having a humorous disgust with things that happen in my life now. My younger, cooler self (YCS) would be horrified if she could look at what her life will be like. There are no more random, last minute cross-country road trips to catch Metallica in concert. No more Trans Ams with T-tops and kick-ass Pioneer stereos. No more trying to decide whether a shopping spree or rent should come out of this pay check. Nope, my life is full of responsibility now. I gave up fighting, I gave up cigarettes, I even gave up the f-word. Now I’m responsible for shaping impressionable young minds and enlightening them with the lessons that will allow them to be productive members of society. It isn’t easy. My YCS would never have thought that she’d one day have to actually tell someone, “you are not allowed to pee on your brother!”
Sometimes I wish I was like the warm, happy, approachable mothers I see all around me. The kind who join mommy support groups and trade recipes and scrapbooking tips. The fact is, I don’t fit in and I’m fine with that. I view the world from a slightly skewed perspective. But I know I’m not alone. There are other moms out there who don’t fit the mold. And if I had a drink, I’d raise a toast to you.