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ninanevermore.
.
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After all I've written of late about the troubles my 4 year old gives him teachers, you may wonder how I can live with such a child and stay sane. Easy: I don't. The child I live with is very sweet, endearing, and funny. I've never even met the kid he turns into when I drop him off at daycare.
When he was a toddler he has one or two of those normal toddler-style meltdowns that all parents dread, but I honestly can't remember the last time I had to deal with one myself. In the last two years, I've only heard one once that wasn't over the phone with his school, and it stopped as soon as I walked over to him. This tantrum, though, had a positive impact on the lives of several teenager who witnessed it: it crushed any romantic ideas that they may have had about parenting, and may have turned them off of the idea of sex (which is still the #1 cause of babies in the world today) all together.
The tantrum happened a few months ago, around the time the news broke that the authorities in Florida had finally closed the case of poor Adam Walsh, the 6-year-old boy who disappeared in a department store in 1981 and was later found murdered. I was in a Target department store that day when I noticed that my own son was not standing next to me, and the story of the Walsh boy immediately popped into my head. As I scanned the isles in my vicinity, I heard a blood-curdling scream from across the store.
Ah, I thought, that would be my son.
The scream was coming from a stationary location, so I knew no murdering fiend was leaving the store with my baby. It was a cry of rage, but not panic or pain. I quickly followed it. Then, suddenly it stopped, and so did I. It seems my little guy ran out of breath.
"Are you looking for your son?" a woman asked. "He's that way." She pointed toward women's lingerie, and I pointed my shopping cart in that direction.
As I turned the corner, I saw my son spread eagle on the floor, digging his fingers into the carpet to prevent anyone from picking him up. He was surrounded by 5 teenaged Target associates in khaki pants and red shirts. The teens all had the facial expressions and body stances you sometimes see on animal control officers as they try to wrangle, say, a rabid dog or perhaps an alligator that has wondered into suburbia. The difference was that animal control officers carry those poles with the loop on them for catching the dangerous animal and holding it at a distance, whereas these young adults were facing the prospect of catching my feral child with their bare hands. They looked like they did not expect to come out of the scuffle with all their limbs intact.
As my son sucked in a breath for a second round of screaming, I said his name. In a flash, he was off the floor and leaping into my arms.
"Mommy!" he scolded me, "You left me! Don't ever leave me!"
"I didn't leave you," I pointed out to him, "You wondered off. I was looking for you. I promise I wouldn't ever leave you on purpose."
I tried to loosen the grip of his arms around me so I could breathe a little easier, but he continued to cling to me with all his strength.
"He seems to recognize her," one of the teenagers, a girl, said, "I think it's okay to let her take him."
The other teens nodded and let go of the breaths they'd all been holding.
I smiled apologetically at them. "Sorry about this. I lost track of him."
"It's okay," said the girl, who still looked kind of pale and stressed, but also very, very relieved, "It happens."
As I turned to walk away with my son still stuck to me like a barnacle. I heard another one of the girls say softly to her peers, "I am so not ready for kids!"
"No kidding," one of the boys said, while other young voices chimed in with agreement.
"Nuh-uh."
"No way."
"I'm never having kids."
"Me, neither."
I like to think that this encounter with my son will have a positive impact on these young people. Perhaps one of the girls will stick to her resolve that she is not ready for sexual activity yet more than she would have otherwise. Or one of the boys, when a drunken sorority girl whispers into his ear, "Sorry, no glove, no love," will recall the red face of my screaming son and agree with her that it's just not worth the risk.
The best we can hope for in this world is to make a positive impact in the lives of those around us. My son is already doing his part.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
After all I've written of late about the troubles my 4 year old gives him teachers, you may wonder how I can live with such a child and stay sane. Easy: I don't. The child I live with is very sweet, endearing, and funny. I've never even met the kid he turns into when I drop him off at daycare.
When he was a toddler he has one or two of those normal toddler-style meltdowns that all parents dread, but I honestly can't remember the last time I had to deal with one myself. In the last two years, I've only heard one once that wasn't over the phone with his school, and it stopped as soon as I walked over to him. This tantrum, though, had a positive impact on the lives of several teenager who witnessed it: it crushed any romantic ideas that they may have had about parenting, and may have turned them off of the idea of sex (which is still the #1 cause of babies in the world today) all together.
The tantrum happened a few months ago, around the time the news broke that the authorities in Florida had finally closed the case of poor Adam Walsh, the 6-year-old boy who disappeared in a department store in 1981 and was later found murdered. I was in a Target department store that day when I noticed that my own son was not standing next to me, and the story of the Walsh boy immediately popped into my head. As I scanned the isles in my vicinity, I heard a blood-curdling scream from across the store.
Ah, I thought, that would be my son.
The scream was coming from a stationary location, so I knew no murdering fiend was leaving the store with my baby. It was a cry of rage, but not panic or pain. I quickly followed it. Then, suddenly it stopped, and so did I. It seems my little guy ran out of breath.
"Are you looking for your son?" a woman asked. "He's that way." She pointed toward women's lingerie, and I pointed my shopping cart in that direction.
As I turned the corner, I saw my son spread eagle on the floor, digging his fingers into the carpet to prevent anyone from picking him up. He was surrounded by 5 teenaged Target associates in khaki pants and red shirts. The teens all had the facial expressions and body stances you sometimes see on animal control officers as they try to wrangle, say, a rabid dog or perhaps an alligator that has wondered into suburbia. The difference was that animal control officers carry those poles with the loop on them for catching the dangerous animal and holding it at a distance, whereas these young adults were facing the prospect of catching my feral child with their bare hands. They looked like they did not expect to come out of the scuffle with all their limbs intact.
As my son sucked in a breath for a second round of screaming, I said his name. In a flash, he was off the floor and leaping into my arms.
"Mommy!" he scolded me, "You left me! Don't ever leave me!"
"I didn't leave you," I pointed out to him, "You wondered off. I was looking for you. I promise I wouldn't ever leave you on purpose."
I tried to loosen the grip of his arms around me so I could breathe a little easier, but he continued to cling to me with all his strength.
"He seems to recognize her," one of the teenagers, a girl, said, "I think it's okay to let her take him."
The other teens nodded and let go of the breaths they'd all been holding.
I smiled apologetically at them. "Sorry about this. I lost track of him."
"It's okay," said the girl, who still looked kind of pale and stressed, but also very, very relieved, "It happens."
As I turned to walk away with my son still stuck to me like a barnacle. I heard another one of the girls say softly to her peers, "I am so not ready for kids!"
"No kidding," one of the boys said, while other young voices chimed in with agreement.
"Nuh-uh."
"No way."
"I'm never having kids."
"Me, neither."
I like to think that this encounter with my son will have a positive impact on these young people. Perhaps one of the girls will stick to her resolve that she is not ready for sexual activity yet more than she would have otherwise. Or one of the boys, when a drunken sorority girl whispers into his ear, "Sorry, no glove, no love," will recall the red face of my screaming son and agree with her that it's just not worth the risk.
The best we can hope for in this world is to make a positive impact in the lives of those around us. My son is already doing his part.
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no subject
Date: 2009-03-23 05:46 pm (UTC)Like the pill, it might not be 100% effective at preventing conception, but it would be darn close.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-23 07:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-23 08:25 pm (UTC)Not only because you tell a great story and provide a fantastic public service to the local teenagers, but also because you experience exactly the same type of thing I do with my child in public. If only I'd had that lesson before I started stomping my foot and impatiently telling my husband "I'm ovulating!"
no subject
Date: 2009-03-23 08:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-24 12:53 am (UTC)Truer words were never spoken my friend! same to me.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-24 01:21 am (UTC)Maybe something more along the lines of The Brady Bunch.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-23 08:27 pm (UTC)We rarely went to the store as a threesome after that. They double teamed me and I switched back to a man to man defense.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-24 01:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-23 08:52 pm (UTC)It is effective. Maybe it works a little bit TOO well. Another method also works--I had the smallbear when the princessbride was 13. The princessbride remains childfree to this day.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-24 01:18 am (UTC)I hear the whole grandparent gig is a lot of fun, though. Hopefully she'll eventually forget her aversion and allow you to find out. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-03-24 04:24 am (UTC)After all, two year olds really do believe we know everything about everything, so that balanced out having teens that think we know nothing at all!
no subject
Date: 2009-03-23 09:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-23 09:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-24 02:43 pm (UTC)Tantrums are no fun. I had to leave Walmart once because of a tantrum my oldest threw. Another time Greg and I left her in an aisle to throw her fit and thereby gave her NO attention. She actually stopped pretty quickly.
*HUGS*
no subject
Date: 2009-03-24 03:01 pm (UTC)In this case, he was surrounded by a lot of strangers who were trying to pick him up and take him to Customer Service where someone would have made a "Lost Child" announcement over the PA, and he was having none of that. This tantrum worked because it kept the strangers from "getting" him.
On the up side, my son would be more difficult to kidnap than an average child. I guess that's a good thing. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-03-24 03:03 pm (UTC)And yeah, it would be hard to kidnap a child who's so...um...vocal and resists so much. *chuckle*
no subject
Date: 2009-03-25 12:00 am (UTC)