So it seems you can learn a lot from your kid on a snow day. It was bitterly cold today, too cold to play outside for more than a few minutes at a time. Bundled as tightly and as warmly as I could possibly get them, I took my children out to run around in the waist deep snow for about 15 minutes. Their laughter and shrieks were contagious if nothing else. Today I laughed hard and out loud. It was wonderful.
We came back inside, removed the layers of cold wet clothing and sat down for some lunch. I asked my 5 year old son some questions about school. Small talk. And then he said this about one of his friends, “Mommy Micah is mean to me.” I turned to him and asked how he was mean. “He tells jokes and tells me I am bad”, he said, with his big blue eyes full of sadness. My heart hurt immediately. This a part of parenting that I have not been looking forward to. The mean kids. The bullies. The kids who talk smack.
I told him next time Micah was mean to him that he should tell Micah to leave him alone, and walk away. I asked if he wanted me to talk to his teacher- the very thing I used to beg my Mom never to do when I was the object of a bully’s affection. “No Mommy, don’t tell her” he said, shaking his head back and forth. I rubbed his back, stroked his soft hair and told him how amazing he is. How many good friends he has and how the mean ones don’t matter. I said all the right things to him.
To myself? Ummmm yeah Micah, you little BITCH. Step off my good, sweet, innocent, loving child or I will straight up ruin your life. I had an instant mama bear urge to find Micah and choke his dumb ass into submission. It was an almost scary feeling of utter protection and necessity. I had to really calm myself down. And this visceral reaction, this immediate need to find and maim Micah was over him telling my kid he was “bad”. What the fuck am I going to do when some dumb teenage tart messes with my daughter? What if one of them gets into a real fight? I need to start my anxiety meds like now. And move somewhere with looser gun laws.
I never knew how strong that reaction would be. How the need to protect our children could be so guttural, so imbedded into us. I really want to slap Micah across his what I am sure is ugly face. To tell him if he messes with my kid again that I will find him and haunt his dreams forever. Do not make my baby feel bad, son. I’ll fuck you up for real. *Ahem*
I am a grown ass woman of almost 36 and these feelings are real. Maybe it’s my heightened state of FUCK YOU at the current stage of my life, but whatever. Watch your back, Micah. You’ve been warned.