Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Some kind of crazy

This morning was "Muffins with Mom" at The Taz's school.  As we ate, she waved to every third person who passed by, saying hello, presenting the pastry that she chose like she just won first place in a blueberry muffin picking contest.  I kept urging her to eat so that she'd have half a chance at being focused for the day. When she does not eat, she gets into trouble. Take yesterday for instance when her teacher pulled me aside to inform me that The Taz told another teacher "You're not the boss of me."  After we got home and wrote two "Sorry I was disrespectful" letters, I unpacked her backpack to find only half of her lunch eaten.  So I begged; "please honey, eat your beautiful muffin."

Two tiny jugs of orange juice and half a muffin later, The Taz was headed to her class and the wee one and I made our trek home. With Bear Cub riding her bike, stopping every so often to pick weeds flowers, it is a leisurely stroll home that I cherish. It won't be long before she will join the ranks of her sister and these un-rushed moments will be a distant memory.

Just as we turn the corner onto our street, I saw a woman running down the middle of the road. She was in workout clothes, so I only thought she was a little nuts because there was a line of cars, two blocks long, behind her. She started shouting something about a white suburban. I went into panic mode thinking someone stole her car and her baby must be in it. But why was she yelling at me? I'm on foot with a 3 year old.  She got closer; her yelling was clearer. "Stop that White Suburban. My 18 year old son is driving it." Now I really think she's nuts.

Our house is on the main street into the development, which, if you ask me, was planned poorly with narrow streets. Add to that the traffic coming into the elementary school and the cars that do not park in the driveways, it can take a bit of time to weave yourself out to the major thoroughfare. I could see this woman's vehicle at the stop sign a block away and would have given her 80% odds that she would have caught up to him. I stood there, secretly hoping to see it happen.

My guess is that the boy must have seen his mother in the rear view mirror because the car turned off the main street and the woman crossed over to the sidewalk and slowed to a walk. I got the giggles at the whole scene.  Bear Cub asked me what was so funny, so we had a one-sided conversation about who must be crazier - the woman running down the middle of a busy street, or her son for taking the car, knowing full well his mother is a wild card.

I let my mind wonder on what the conversation would look like for that kid when he returned home. That's when I stopped laughing. Because I saw myself, sitting my 18 year old red-headed Tazmanian Princess down at the kitchen table, after chasing her on foot through a busy neighborhood, because she took the car without eating the blueberry muffin I made her for breakfast.  I would be telling her that I didn't care if her friends saw me looking like a stark raving lunatic, that I loved her enough to make sure she has what she needs for a successful day.  Then, after breakfast was over, instead of a "swear jar" we would each put a dollar into our very large, almost full, "therapy jar".

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