My friend sent me an email copy of a note he received from a fellow parent regarding an “incident” that occurred at the preschool. It was so fubar that I laughed until I almost cried and in my mind I drafted a retort that would not only make the woman clutch her pearls but also seal my fate as an outcast in the community. It seems that over-reacting is the norm these days.
It reminded me of a time when Spawn was in daycare and I arrived to find him happily playing Legos while wearing a rather large bandage on his upper arm. As I said, he was contented as could be, building stuff with his little buddy so I quickly forgot about the bandage and scooped him up to go home.
His teacher caught me as I was signing him out to inform me that Spawn had been bitten by another child and that the bite had broken the skin. I appreciated her catching up to me because I’m sure I’d be wondering WTF was up at bath time. I wasn’t upset or surprised. Toddlers and Preschoolers bite. Not all of them but a good portion of little ones still have a difficult time communicating their frustration so they use their teeth instead of their words.
The next day I was approached by one of my favorite parents at pick up and she was a hot mess of regret. It was her daughter that played Jaws with my son. She was beside herself and expressing the kind of remorse and regret that I would expect if her daughter had killed my kid instead of just giving him a nip on the tricep. This melodrama intrigued me.
I immediately felt like hugging her. I’m huggy and so that’s always my first impulse when someone is distraught. I let her blab a bit, and she went on and on about how frustrated she is with her daughter and words words timeout words sorry words. She needed to spew and as my mind was wandering off, it dawned on me that I would also feel terrible if it had been my kid chonking flesh. That’s all it took. I hugged her and she shut up. This lady needed some support.
Every Christmas I hang an ornament on my tree from Grace. Grace is the name of the mini shark. I can see her adorable baby cheeks and chestnut ringlets. My mind flashes to images of Spawn and Grace giggling together over the sand table and snuggling in the book nook together.
The ornament reminds me to be patient with others and with myself. Kids lash out and so do their parents. No matter what age, as parents we have the choice to either react excessively or to use common sense and understanding in response to ANY kid to kid incident. Sometimes though, I can’t be patient. I have to hurl my snarky opinion at idiots who seem to be hopeless victims of fuss and tragedy when it comes to their children.
And so to the lady who felt it necessary to compose a long winded tattletale note to my friend and his wife insinuating the potential of their son to become the clock tower sniper because he “scratched” her son? You are doing it wrong. Your note wasn’t a supportive “it takes a village” attempt to help my friend. It was a butthurt report.
I pray you are reading this right now and you can un-bunch your panties and put a bandage on your mouth because if you don’t, you are just teaching your kid to be a whiny victim of life.
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