THE BADDASS – My oldest daughter thinks I am a BADDASS. Why? Because I didn’t kill her when she was a child.
She called a few days ago to lay this new title on me. Her inspiration for my new title was a particularly trying trip to the grocery store with her own two-year-old daughter. My daughter, Veda, is increasingly aware of the similarities in her personality and that of her own daughter. The more she learns, the more she's impressed she's impressed with me. I'll take it. My daughter had such a strong propensity for dramatic flare that her grandfather nicknamed her “Little Shakespeare” by the time she turned two herself.
Veda shared her ordeal. This is the tale of “The Cookies”, and hearing her I had to laugh out loud. Picture this, busy grocery store in the middle of the afternoon, the "I'm a procrastinator, what's for dinner tonight" crowd in force. Here comes a pretty, but tired and somewhat frazzled single mom, just off a long shift and still in her hospital scrubs. Her big brown eyes show weariness and say . She is anxious to get through this grocery store as quickly, and quietly, as possible and on to the next obligation of the waning day. Her sweet two year old daughter sits in the front of the basket, bouncy blonde hair, dimples and bright saucy, blue eyes daring anyone to displease her (remember, she is her Mother's child). Make no mistake, this is an adorable child, face of an Angel. But here's the thing about grocery stores and children if you don't already know it, grocery stores turn children into terrorists. It's true. Really it is. Avoid mixing the two whenever possible. Cookie aisles are the worst. Veda looked down her list, the cookie aisle could not be avoided this trip. Her daughter loves cookies of course, again her mother's child. The cookie aisle was next.
My granddaughter is smart - and she has skills. Skills she was born with that cannot be explained. My granddaughter can sniff out a package of Oreo’s if it's buried in the ground. And my granddaughter really likes Oreo's. This child is also smart enough to know that if her mother was going to kill her, it wouldn't be in front of the "what's for dinner crowd." All children it seems are born knowing this. Mom starts the cart down the aisle. Child, even though they are behind her, her spine tingles and can sense the presence of OREO'S. She says she would like some cookies. It's before dinner, my daughter tried to reason with her child but in the end the answer was still no. Know this, you cannot reason with terrorists no matter their age or size. Now the child, realizing the potential for an attentive audience and maximized embarrassment for Mom, begins throwing herself dramatically side to side in the seat of the cart, head flopping, arms flailing. Giant tears, lots of drool, anguished pleas, even outstretched arms, “COOOOOKIES! Cooooookies!” jerk crash, jerk crash as her little feet kick against the cart. And sure enough, the sound of her anguished cries are distressing enough to draw the attention of every busy body within half a mile - in the grocery store that can be a lot of smart ass busy bodies. Some of the male store patrons slid my daughter a sympathetic eye, but the ladies, oh the ladies - not so sympathetic. When it comes to matters of well-behaved, or NOT well-behaved children, every woman knows what's best. And some women, if you don't know it already, some women WILL tell you what you're doing wrong with your child. My daughter tried again to reason. Up the volume and intensity of tantrum. Now my daughter decided just to ignore and go along her way. People were staring, eyes bugged and mouths agape, that's hard to ignore. Especially when you're tired, over worked and already frazzled.
In admittedly, not her best parenting moment, she caved. My daughter caved. She finally reached back, grabbed a bag of goddamn Oreo’s and ripped it open right there in the aisle. Ahhh, silence. It's hard to cry and carry on when your mouth is full of yummy chocolatey Oreo's. One woman, who had drawn nearer with a nasty eye of harsh and criticizing judgment, continued to stare, mouth agape. My daughter, pushed beyond reason, no more patience, and feeling backed into a corner, turned, faced the woman head-on with all the intensity of emotion that ebbs from you in a moment like this, and stared the woman down. Both women, eyes locked, mental slashing going on, stared at each other. 5 seconds, 10 seconds, 20 seconds, that's it, my daughters hip swings out her head jags to the side, and “yeah, I opened the package – you got a problem with that?!” spewed from her mouth. The older woman, hmphfed, flipped her hair and snorted as she finally sailed under the shade of her own nose. The only victor was my granddaughter (who by the way was quite content at this point).
Story over, trying to stop laughing because now were coming the serious questions. “How did you do it Mom? What did you do?” I was still laughing. Oh, alright, how did I do it? Honestly I can’t remember if I used any secret tricks. I was a single mom too - with FOUR children. When you're single, there’s no one to leave the kids with while you go shopping, you have to take them with you to this terrible place.
I do remember making a list of "Rules for Personal Conduct in Public Places" and posting it on the wall. And before we even got to the store, the kids were informed of what was going to go down and what wasn't. They were informed of the consequences for crossing said lines in advance. I've walked away from a full cart more than once to take an unruly surprised child home. I tried to do our shopping after dinner or after a meal on weekends so they were less vulnerable to the temptations. We also had a “you can only ask once rule” in our family, which carried over to road trip “are we there yet’s” as well as the grocery store. I guess they figured if they only get to ask once you better make sure it’s something you really, really want. Gave them something to think about for a bit anyway.
“Motherhood pushes you to every imaginable limit and beyond,” I told my daughter, “you’ll make some good choices and you'll make some bad choices. Oh and you'll feel guilty all the time for something, that’s part of the package too.” I know my daughter, she’ll shine mostly and some day, someday, her daughter will be calling her to tell her what a BADDASS she was!
She called a few days ago to lay this new title on me. Her inspiration for my new title was a particularly trying trip to the grocery store with her own two-year-old daughter. My daughter, Veda, is increasingly aware of the similarities in her personality and that of her own daughter. The more she learns, the more she's impressed she's impressed with me. I'll take it. My daughter had such a strong propensity for dramatic flare that her grandfather nicknamed her “Little Shakespeare” by the time she turned two herself.
Veda shared her ordeal. This is the tale of “The Cookies”, and hearing her I had to laugh out loud. Picture this, busy grocery store in the middle of the afternoon, the "I'm a procrastinator, what's for dinner tonight" crowd in force. Here comes a pretty, but tired and somewhat frazzled single mom, just off a long shift and still in her hospital scrubs. Her big brown eyes show weariness and say . She is anxious to get through this grocery store as quickly, and quietly, as possible and on to the next obligation of the waning day. Her sweet two year old daughter sits in the front of the basket, bouncy blonde hair, dimples and bright saucy, blue eyes daring anyone to displease her (remember, she is her Mother's child). Make no mistake, this is an adorable child, face of an Angel. But here's the thing about grocery stores and children if you don't already know it, grocery stores turn children into terrorists. It's true. Really it is. Avoid mixing the two whenever possible. Cookie aisles are the worst. Veda looked down her list, the cookie aisle could not be avoided this trip. Her daughter loves cookies of course, again her mother's child. The cookie aisle was next.
My granddaughter is smart - and she has skills. Skills she was born with that cannot be explained. My granddaughter can sniff out a package of Oreo’s if it's buried in the ground. And my granddaughter really likes Oreo's. This child is also smart enough to know that if her mother was going to kill her, it wouldn't be in front of the "what's for dinner crowd." All children it seems are born knowing this. Mom starts the cart down the aisle. Child, even though they are behind her, her spine tingles and can sense the presence of OREO'S. She says she would like some cookies. It's before dinner, my daughter tried to reason with her child but in the end the answer was still no. Know this, you cannot reason with terrorists no matter their age or size. Now the child, realizing the potential for an attentive audience and maximized embarrassment for Mom, begins throwing herself dramatically side to side in the seat of the cart, head flopping, arms flailing. Giant tears, lots of drool, anguished pleas, even outstretched arms, “COOOOOKIES! Cooooookies!” jerk crash, jerk crash as her little feet kick against the cart. And sure enough, the sound of her anguished cries are distressing enough to draw the attention of every busy body within half a mile - in the grocery store that can be a lot of smart ass busy bodies. Some of the male store patrons slid my daughter a sympathetic eye, but the ladies, oh the ladies - not so sympathetic. When it comes to matters of well-behaved, or NOT well-behaved children, every woman knows what's best. And some women, if you don't know it already, some women WILL tell you what you're doing wrong with your child. My daughter tried again to reason. Up the volume and intensity of tantrum. Now my daughter decided just to ignore and go along her way. People were staring, eyes bugged and mouths agape, that's hard to ignore. Especially when you're tired, over worked and already frazzled.
In admittedly, not her best parenting moment, she caved. My daughter caved. She finally reached back, grabbed a bag of goddamn Oreo’s and ripped it open right there in the aisle. Ahhh, silence. It's hard to cry and carry on when your mouth is full of yummy chocolatey Oreo's. One woman, who had drawn nearer with a nasty eye of harsh and criticizing judgment, continued to stare, mouth agape. My daughter, pushed beyond reason, no more patience, and feeling backed into a corner, turned, faced the woman head-on with all the intensity of emotion that ebbs from you in a moment like this, and stared the woman down. Both women, eyes locked, mental slashing going on, stared at each other. 5 seconds, 10 seconds, 20 seconds, that's it, my daughters hip swings out her head jags to the side, and “yeah, I opened the package – you got a problem with that?!” spewed from her mouth. The older woman, hmphfed, flipped her hair and snorted as she finally sailed under the shade of her own nose. The only victor was my granddaughter (who by the way was quite content at this point).
Story over, trying to stop laughing because now were coming the serious questions. “How did you do it Mom? What did you do?” I was still laughing. Oh, alright, how did I do it? Honestly I can’t remember if I used any secret tricks. I was a single mom too - with FOUR children. When you're single, there’s no one to leave the kids with while you go shopping, you have to take them with you to this terrible place.
I do remember making a list of "Rules for Personal Conduct in Public Places" and posting it on the wall. And before we even got to the store, the kids were informed of what was going to go down and what wasn't. They were informed of the consequences for crossing said lines in advance. I've walked away from a full cart more than once to take an unruly surprised child home. I tried to do our shopping after dinner or after a meal on weekends so they were less vulnerable to the temptations. We also had a “you can only ask once rule” in our family, which carried over to road trip “are we there yet’s” as well as the grocery store. I guess they figured if they only get to ask once you better make sure it’s something you really, really want. Gave them something to think about for a bit anyway.
“Motherhood pushes you to every imaginable limit and beyond,” I told my daughter, “you’ll make some good choices and you'll make some bad choices. Oh and you'll feel guilty all the time for something, that’s part of the package too.” I know my daughter, she’ll shine mostly and some day, someday, her daughter will be calling her to tell her what a BADDASS she was!
