Before the summer began I added a new chapter to the bad mother saga.
We know that I don’t swaddle.
I’m not available to my kids.
And I cuss.
Like a hell of a lot.
Let’s call this addition “Tacky.” I’m blaming this incident on pregnancy hormones because it makes me feel better.
Before I get into it I’d like to give you just a little back story. One of Savannah’s classmates since first grade, we’ll call her The Girl Who Shall Not Be Named, is rather, let’s say, snooty and manipulative. She has said and done some things to Savannah through the years that has made me not a fan. For instance, she likes to come between Savannah and her best friend.
I’m a protective mother.
OVER protective mother.
FIERCELY over protective mother.
You don’t like my kid? Then I don’t like you. Hmmm…I could stop the tacky story right there, couldn’t I? But, oh no. There’s more.
I was seeing Savannah off at school for her fifth grade trip last spring. I was big, pregnant, and miserable. The Girl Who Shall Not Be Named had heard that we were naming our new baby Pace. She looked at me and said rather sarcastically, “You’re naming your baby after the picante sauce?” She then looked at another girl and laughed.
I mimicked her laughed and matched her sarcasm with my best, responding, “Yeah, we just looove it so much.” Then I added rather pointedly, “No, we’re not naming our baby after a picante sauce,” and rolled my eyes. I glanced back at her and she was staring at me rather stunned. As if my head had just spun around and sprayed her with pea soup.
I immediately felt horrible and petty, and afraid that I had just given her more ammunition to try and ostracize my girl. When the time came for the bus to leave, there sat Savannah…alone. She gave me a wave and then smiled with excitement as the bus pulled out. When she returned four days later she reported that she had had a blast. I breathed a sigh of relief. Her mother’s tacky, immature behavior hadn’t damaged the trip she had been looking forward to all year.
I told Savannah about my run-in with The Girl Who Shall Not Be Named tonight at dinner. She laughed hysterically. I asked her, “Do you think it’s a blog post?”
“Oh yeah,” she giggled.
Can you tell me how a tacky, foul-mouthed, sometimes clueless mother can have such a sweet, laid back daughter?
When I stepped away for a moment while composing this post I came back to find this message,
“Hey mommy! Love ya! – S”
I love my girl.