Okay. So, last night was one of those nights.
Busy day at work, coming home to hungry kids wanting to eat early before going to Little League closing ceremonies and then getting everyone out the door and to the high school auditorium for 6:00 p.m.
Typically my patience runs out right around 7:00 p.m. It was a little early last night. The boys were running around like, well…boys. But not just any boys. Hyped up, wild, out of control, raised by wolves kind of boys. I don’t know if it’s because Summer has officially begun or because it has been pouring rain since they got out of school or what. But, whatever, I kind of lost it. They had found my last, frayed nerve and decided to bungee jump from it.
Then it happened . They got the “mother” tone. You know the one. That low, demonic, growl that comes through clenched teeth, accompanied by wild, unblinking eyes, flared nostrils and usually a pointing finger. It’s that threat we moms give our children, usually when in public. It’s much more effective than yelling and it usually works immediately . They know you mean business. Let me tell you, they each parked their rear ends in the first seat they could find, sat up straight, put their eyes forward and didn’t move. They knew I was watching from three rows back. I could smell their fear.
After a couple of minutes, I noticed my son’s teammate give him a jab in the arm and whisper to him. He looked over his shoulder to see if I was watching and gave me a little smirk and a nod, which I returned. I knew what he was going to say to him. Probably the same thing I would have said if my friend’s mom just went psycho…
Something like, “You poor bastard”.
I felt effective as a parent. Now I must go and pat myself on the back. Goodnight.