The Horror Of Becoming "That Mom"

"That Mom"

You know the one.  "That mom" whose kids are crazy.  "That mom" who freaks out.  "That mom" who yells.  "That mom" with the snot nosed kids. 

"That mom" you used to look down on BEFORE you suddenly realized you had become.....THAT MOM.

I like to think I am a nice gal, not to judgy, down to earth, balanced.  It is a good thing though that the universe sent me my third child.  She is "that kid" and has helped me to realize that I too can be "that mom." 

Today my hubby took the four year old girl on a date and he took the stroller with him.  I went to go on a walk with the other three kids and went, "Uhhhhh, how am I going to do this with Crazy Girl?"  (Crazy Girl is the two year old.  She is like your regular two year old on steroids and speed.  Fun- but loud, temperamental, and quick.)

I put the baby in my Ergo (one of the best investments I have EVER made by the way) and big boy rode his scooter, which left the Crazy Girl. 

"Will you hold my hand while we walk to the bakery?"  I ask her. 

She backs away. 

For some reason Crazy Girl hates hand holding.  It stifles her creative spirit and makes life so boring there on the sidewalk where chances of getting hit by a vehicle are slim.  Who wants to hold mom's hand?  BBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I have an idea.  A crazy, shameful idea. 

A leash. 

Problem is I don't own a leash.  (Well, I own a dog leash but I am not THAT mom.  I am the other "that mom.") 

But I do have an old ring sling hanging in the closet. 

"Do you want to wear a pretty leash?"  I ask.

"YES,"  she says excitedly. 

So the ring sling gets wrapped around her waist and away we go. 

I revel in my own genius. 

Of course reveling in my genius never lasts long.  Soon it turns out that the "leash" is really a way for Crazy Girl to pull ME around.  She must have learned this from the dog. 

Freaking dog.  I hope I am raising the kids better than I am training him. 

So I walk in the bushes.  We pet a plastic flamingo (or duck, as she calls it).  We pick dangerous berries.  We throw dangerous berries. 

Finally, sweet relief, we arrive at the bakery.  The lady behind the counter actually says, "I like your little leash.  It looks very humane."  (I kind of like bakery girl.  Maybe we can be friends.)  I told her I never had to leash the other kids.  It is a Crazy Girl thing.

She (Crazy Girl) also screams in grocery stores, hits people, bosses anybody around, talks to strangers, pets weird huge dogs, bites preemptively (maybe she will be a Republican?), deplores underwear, socks, and shoes, and basically does all things that only other people's kids should be doing. 

I figure that other people see me with her and think, "She really should learn to discipline that child."
That is what I would have thought a few years ago if I saw somebody mothering their Crazy Girl the way I mother mine. 

But now I see that sometimes mom is tired, has a baby in her arms, or simply loves Crazy Girl and kinda sorta believes that this is just the way Crazy Girl is. 

Oh, I TRY to be a good mom and give her consequences and teach her good things.  But when you have your own Crazy Girl, you realize that sometimes they are just going to be a little crazy.  Sometimes they are just more fun to watch than yell at and you find more joy in their energy than in winning a battle with them.

So- if you too are "that mom," let's raise a bar of chocolate after bedtime and toast....

"To the "That Moms" of the world!  May your children's underwear be easy to find, your patience be strong, your hands be quick,  and may we share sympathetic glances from here to eternity!  "That Moms" of the universe---- UNITE!"

(PS, I actually don't have a problem with Republicans.  I know lots of them.  I don't care if Crazy Girl does in fact turn out to be a Republican.)