I hate to admit this. Alot. I am a chickenshit. I am. Go figure. I am shallow, immature, pretentious and a scaredy-cat. I hope my children never discover that their mother is the biggest wuss of all time. And this past weekend? I confirmed my status as a lilly-livered phony. I thought I'd gotten past 'high school' years ago. Turns out I was wrong. Turns out fear and self-esteem issues tend to rise up when you least expect them.

I got an invitation to a baby shower. The mommy-to-be actually attended my very first birthday party. And my second. And my third. Later, we attended junior high together. And high school. Our mothers were friends when THEY were in high school. I graduated from high school 19 years ago. NINETEEN. I have not laid eyes on this girl since. I have not laid eyes on the various other ladies she'd invited in at least that long, as well. When she went to the trouble of tracking me down and begging me to attend her shower, I should have made the effort to go. I wanted to make the effort. For about five minutes, I was really excited about being there. But, then my insecurities started to bubble up.

I was cute AND skinny in high school. Now? I could stand to lose a few pounds. I don't rock my jeans the way I did in high school. I think I've developed a double-ish chin. I haven't bothered to get highlights in my hair in almost a year. I didn't have a thing to wear and I didn't feel comfortable spending money on an outfit I would use simply to 'impress' and feel 'friend-worthy'. I thought I was so over the petty bullshit that made high school so hard in the first place. Yet, my fear of discovering that everyone else had flourished, leaving the cute skinny girl in the dust was more than I could bear.

High school was an incredibly difficult, painful and traumatizing experience for me. I'd felt ridiculed and rejected, criticized and critiqued. My only armour against it was to be the skinniest, wear the nicest clothes, drive the best car. It was all I had to insulate myself. It was something I could blame if a person didn't like me. It was much easier to allow myself to think, "She doesn't like me because she's jealous." Rather than admit that 'she' just outright hated my guts and I didn't know why. It was much less painful to blame it on the physical, than it would have been to say that a person didn't like me because they didn't like who I was as a person. Rejection is cruel.

Don't get me wrong, here. I was luckier than a lot of girls and I know it. Many of them didn't have the same resources to fall back on and had to look elsewhere for their armour. I hope they had some of the things I didn't have...like a special talent, charisma, likeability, focus, self-confidence. I had none of these. I was stupid enough to believe that if I wore the 'right' clothing and stayed skinny, people would like me. Instead, it gave them something else to pick on. Add to that my general inability to just keep my mouth closed and my opinions to myself, and it was a recipe for disaster. I had a talent for making things worse than they needed to be and being oblivious to how it happened. Ultimately, my deep emotional sensitivity left me crushed.

Suffice to say, there were a lot of legitimate reasons why I didn't particularly 'thrive' in high school and it did leave a wound that I thought would never heal. Fortunately, it did heal but it must have left a hell of a scar, one that I never even recognized was there. When it came to the baby shower, I got stage fright. Massive fear of rejection. I avoided the entire situation and possibly hurt some feelings in the process. How ridiculous is that? I'm seriously disappointed in myself and wondering when old feelings won't overwhelm me and paralyze me. How in the world could nearly 20 years NOT have erased it all from my memory? Made me stronger? Something?

Sunday, February 22, 2009


Crazy-Van-Lady Gives BlackHart The "Family Wave"



WARNING: THIS ENTRY CONTAINS, ON AVERAGE, MORE SWEAR WORDS THAN ANY OTHER ENTRY, TO DATE.

Hey, I'm not one to bitch about a swear word (obviously). You want to throw an F-bomb into an adult conversation, I'm not going to be the one judging you. There are a couple of caveats, however. One, swearing on an elementary school campus with an audience of 8 to 10 year olds is inexcusable. Two, to use an F-bomb in conjunction with what my mom-in-law calls "the family wave" in the pickup lane of said elementary school (also with an audience of 8-10 year olds) is wrong on so many levels, I don't even know where to start. Add in the fact that the waver/f-bomber is a fellow elementary school mom and 'wrong' doesn't even factor into the equation. This lady is EVIL.

Apparently, I never got the memo about the proper protocol for pickup lane procedures and, even worse, nobody even warned me that it existed. I don't know which rule I broke and I'm not entirely sure at what point I broke it. All I know for sure is that I was parked five cars back in the pickup lane, waiting for school to let out. I was flipping through a magazine and eating a breakfast bar when a friend of mine strolled by the car. She waved, said hello, and came over to chat. Five minutes or so went by and I heard the final bell ring and watched the kids pour out of the classrooms. The car in front of me moved forward. So did I.



Then the driver of the minivan behind me started shouting that I had cut her off. I'd only moved five feet in ten minutes, I'd stayed in line, how did I cut her off? This is perplexing to me, even a week later. I can only assume that she'd mistook me for someone else. Or she is a headcase and needs her meds refilled. In any case, I didn't respond. Ignoring her outburst, I thought, would make her less inclined to continue. It didn't. She started swearing. And pointing. At me. I was little afraid for my safety at that point. I wanted, desperately, to ask what rule I'd broken, but I wasn't about to ask a raving lunatic and risk getting punched in the nose.

I pulled my car up to the pickup benches and Sophie straggled over, dragging her backpack, looking tired. She opened up the door and it was then I heard the distinct string of obscenities directed at me from the minivan. Sophie hopped in and asked why somebody was saying the "F Word" to me. I shrugged. The three rows of benches beside the car were filled with waiting kids, all watching with rapt attention as van lady ripped me a new asshole. Finally, it just became too much. The van pulled up beside me and I lowered the window.
"You, ma'am, are completely out of line and should be ashamed of your behavior. This is an elementary school campus not a prison yard." (I'm paraphrasing here.)

The woman flipped me the bird, yelled "F*&% You!" then called me a female dog before driving away. I was incensed. I hopped out of the car and went to the nearest teacher, demanded to know who the woman was. Nobody had a clue. I went to the office, complained to the staff, still nobody had any idea who this person was. I even emailed the principal.

The moment I stepped out of the car, every parent in the pickup lane knew I was fairly upset. They had witnessed some, if not all, of the drama and as the PTC secretary, I'm sure they would have been horrified if I'd responded in kind to the crazy van-lady. I'm human, I would have loved nothing more than to send a couple of F-bombs right back in her direction but I had my children in the car and I had at least 30 other children watching crazy van-lady let loose. As far as I was concerned, the best response was to reply in a way that ensured any child who'd been present for crazy van-lady's performance knew that her behavior was not something to be emulated.

At the end of the day, I stand by my reaction. I don't want my children to believe it is simply 'okay' to swear and use obscene finger gestures just because the mood strikes them and they need a target. It is not.

Note to Crazy-Van-Lady: I'm very sorry that your personal life, upbringing and education have brought you to a place where publically spewing your toxic venom is considered acceptable. I'm very sorry that my children had to hear it. I'm very sorry the other children had to hear it. I'm beyond sorry that your own children had to hear it and then be driven home by you. I'm afraid that violent behavior must be the norm in your home and this saddens me, as well. I hope you find peace. I hope you find happiness. I hope you find kindness and love in your life.

I also hope the next time you behave so inappropriately that there is someone JUST LIKE YOU on the receiving end who pops you in the mouth. I will publically decry the physical violence, but I'll be applauding on the inside. Even the biggest bullies eventually get a taste of their own medicine, I just want to be witness to yours. Thanks for the drama and have a nice day!

Sticky Fingers...Scared Straight

I know preschoolers don't get the whole 'stealing' concept unless we teach it to them. Even after we teach them right from wrong, they occasionally forget. They also take our words literally, not understanding that there is really no difference between walking out of a store with a toy you haven't paid for and walking out of a store with a toy hidden in mommy's purse that you haven't paid for.



When Sophie was three, Kev and I took her on an errand to Target.  While we checked out camping supplies in Sporting Goods, Sophie sat contentedly in the shopping cart with a toy she'd gotten off a shelf.  We were so absorbed, we didn't see little Miss Sticky Fingers at work. After the shopping expedition, we wound up at TGI Fridays for a bite to eat and I reached into my purse for the crayons and paper I'd brought along (to help entertain Sophie-it's also a great excuse for me to doodle instead of inhaling appetizers) and pulled out the toy from Target. Little Miss Sticky Fingers apparently couldn't find a better place to hide the toy but in my purse and I'd unknowingly walked past a security guard with stolen merchandise on my person. Can you imagine getting busted for shoplifting a yellow, talking Teletubby? Honestly.

History has repeated itself....

Sophie, now nine, needed a new glove for softball and Kevin and I found ourselves standing in a sporting-goods department (once again) debating the merits of potential purchases (only this time it was the size and quality of lavender versus standard brown leather softball gloves, which is beside the point). After twenty minutes, Allie started to seriously melt down. Bored, she ran from bin to bin pulling out foam balls, wiffle balls, and tennis balls, then rolling them down the aisles. I took the balls away and returned them to the bins. She asked if we could purchase one. I reminded her that she'd just had a birthday and didn't need another ball. We finally got out of the store, sans ball, and went home...which is where things got really interesting.

I was standing in the kitchen when Allie passed by on her way out to the backyard. She was tossing a golf ball sized orange foam ball into the air and catching it as she walked. (Not bad for a four year old, great eye-hand coordination, don't you think?) I never would have noticed the ball had it not been the color of a traffic cone...clearly Allie needs to work on her subtlety. I knew I'd never seen that particular ball in our house before.

"Allie, is that ball one of yours?" I asked.

"Yep." She said and tossed it into the air.

"Where did you get it?"

"At the store." She didn't even look at me, just kept tossing it into the air, not a care in the world.

"You mean the store we went to with dad and sis' today?" I asked.

"Yep." She didn't miss a beat, didn't look up at me, just continued walking toward the back door.

"Did dad buy that for you?" I asked, thinking I'd missed something.

"No." She said.

"Who did?"

"Nobody."

"You walked out of the store with that ball without paying for it?" I asked, in the sternest voice I could muster.

"No," She replied, totally clueless as to what the problem was. "I put it in your blue bag from the other store."

She clearly had no concept of what she had done. In her mind, she hadn't stolen anything. She saw it, wanted it, stuck it my shopping bag and I'd walked out with it. No big deal. I really do NOT like being the vehicle for my children's preschool thievery, by the way. I hesitated for a split second, thinking about the best way to handle her shoplifting, and she disappeared into the backyard, no worse for wear, still oblivious that there was a problem. I knew we needed a big impact, a 'SCARED STRAIGHT' tactic, if you will. I called Kevin into the kitchen and told him what had happened. He called Allie back into the house and the game was on..

"Allie, where did you get that ball?" He asked.

"The store." She said. This time, though, she was looking a bit uncomfortable, suspicious at all the attention the little ball was getting.

"You put it in mom's bag without paying for it?" He asked.

"Yeeesssss." She said, slowly.

"That' stealing, Allison. It's wrong and you know that, don't you?
He waited for an answer but she didn't say anything.

"Okay. I'm going to have to call the kiddy police, Allie. I'm very sorry but you broke the law." He reached for the phone.
"Please don't do it! Daddy, I don't want to go to jail. Please don't call." she hollered.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Kevin began to speak into the phone.

"Hi, is this the kiddy police? Oh good. I have a little girl here, name's Allison, she stole from the store today." He followed this with a bunch of , "Yes. Uh-huh. Okay. See you soon." Then he hung up.

"Okay, Allie. Whenever you take something out of a store without paying for it, its stealing. It is breaking the law. Even if you hide it in mom's bag, its still stealing. Do you understood?"
She looked at him, tearfully and nodded her head in shame.
"What do you have to say about that?" He asked.

"I don't know," She looked at her feet. "Can I have a cookie?"

Just like Allie to change the subject halfway through a hot topic, hoping to distract us. Kevin, however, was totally prepared for this and walked out of the room to let me deal with the cookie situation.

"No. You just ate. You aren't having another cookie, Allie." I told her, "Besides, your dad was talking to you about stealing and-"I was interrupted by knock on our front door.
Allie jumped about a foot and I realized what Kevin was up to.

"Uh-oh, Allie. I think that's the kiddy police at the door!" I said.

"No!" she wailed. "I don't want them to take me to kiddy jail!" She flung her arms around me, and of course, I started feeling really terrible. I don't want to traumatize the kid, we needed to make this a big deal so she never forgot it and did it again.

"I'm sorry, Al." I walked her over to the front door, where her dad was standing, poking his head out and talking to nobody. Allie, however, wouldn't get close enough to the door to notice she was being tricked.

"Yes, officer. Yes, Allie's here. Oh, you want to take her to kiddy jail, now?"
"NOOOOOOO! MOM! DAD! Don't let them take me!!!" Allie was petrified.

Kevin took note of her hysteria and continued with the ruse.

"Yes, officer. Yes, I really do think that Allie learned her lesson. I don't think she'll ever steal anything again." He leaned around the door and said to Allie, "You won't ever steal again?"

She shook her head, vehemently.

"You're sorry?" He asked her.

She nodded her head up and down.

"Okay, thank you for letting this one slide, officer. She promises she won't ever steal again and I think she's telling the truth, so I agree with you, she doesn't need to go to jail this time. I'll let her know that next time you won't let her off the hook. Thanks, again. Bye." Kevin shut the door, but he didn't look over at us, he turned toward the wall so we couldn't see his expression. His shoulders shook, so I knew he was laughing silently which set me off and I bit my lip.

"I don't have to go to jail?" Allie asked, suspiciously, clearly scared silly.

"I think we must have gotten a really nice kiddy cop." I told her, "You got lucky."

She sighed and closed her eyes, still clutching my legs. Then she looked up at me.

"Then, can I have a cookie now?"

Back to the old drawing board....