OK lady. I’ve kept the mocking tone and eyerolls to myself for some time now, but today you touched my kid. Consider it ON.
So, there’s this mom…
Her son is in my son’s summer school class. Cute kid. Adorable curls. Wide eyes. Now, i’ve walked near this woman a number of times, sat near her on the bench watiing for the class to show up. I’ve had a great deal of time to observe her–as she is anti-social–which i don’t hold against her, says the “why the fuck are you talking to me?” playground grump.
She is Russian, i believe, or a member of one of the myriad union states that developed after the break up of the Soviet Union. The language is definitely slavic, so, let’s call her Anastasia, because if i didn’t know any better i would swear she is lost member of the Romanov family (and if you don’t get that reference, well, too bad)
Anyway, she’s a helicopter mom. I get it. Everyone’s got their style. While playing on the giant play structure at the school, many of us are of the “well, just don’t fall off” mentality, and while we keep one bleary eye on the kid, and another on our coffee, we know that kids need to learn to fall, and share space, and try new things, even if some risk is involved. We also know our kids can walk it off.
Then there are moms who hover around the structure like the LAPD over by the crackhead fat burger (and the adjacent donut shop–just sayin) over by my house. Ok–being a member of the Russian royal family, perhaps lil Alexi (not his real name, since she has never spoken to me nor introduced her kid) is a hemopheliac without a Rasputin to cure his ailments. I get it. This is why i have chosen not to mock even though MYRIAD dialogues/monologues have wrestled in my head on a daily basis.
Nor have i chosen to attack her fashion sense, which strikes me about 15 years too young. Look–i am hardly one to critique fashion, as my wardrobe looks increasingly like pajamas, having decided i must have been a Bedouin or Morroccan trader in my past life. Tight and me are NOT friends. That and if you haven’t noticed, it’s HOT. So, I have kept my feelings about her mini skirts revealing 40 year old thighs and knees, shirts that tend to creep to reveal a not-so-svelte belly and hair that may be the exact reason the Russians invented the babushka. Seriously–conditioner. USE IT.
No, i’ve kept these inner hate-fests to myself, because she is the mom of a special needs kid, and in my book, *usually* off limits. But today, that changed
Now, as summer school is being held at my kid’s ( i really need a good nickname for him…) home school, we don’t get the bus this time around, so i have to schlep his pull-up laden arse to the school each day and wait at the lil playground for his primarily bussed class to get there. Often, i wait alone, but sometimes Anastasia and her prince join me. ANd by join, i mean sits on the bench furthest from me, and spends her time isuuing royal decrees in a language i think i am happy to not know.
Today, her lil prince and my lil cossack were riding bikes. My son makes a circuit of the playground so that he can go down this slight incline and scream like it’s a roller coaster. cute but deafening. Anyway, his majesty did some sort of prat fall off his bike and just lay there–not crying, not fussing. Just lay there like it was a tempurpedic mattress. And my son was approaching SLOWLY on his bike. Not aimed at the kid, but angled in such a way that he MAY have clipped the now riderless tricycle. (and honestly i knew he wouldn’t, because he has a tendency to turn away from stuff like that
last minute) NOW, Anastasia was not privy to my knowledge–i get that. But as he was not barreling down like David Carradine in Death Race 2000, i didn’t imagine it would be a problem. Until she reached down with her vulture like grasp and grabbed his arm to push him away, screeching “STOP! YOU VILL HOOORT HEEM!” and then proceeded to chew him out in Russian while she guarded her little prince from what was obviously a red guard soldier.
I stood up to interject myself (as i am obviously a communist) but Ben backed away and rode off in the other direction, unfazed. Well–sorta. He began to cut the corner and avoid this woman on his circuit, giving her what can only be called the pinko stink-eye.
See? this is why they stormed the palace, lady. That and the whole starving thing.
And of course, before i could release the words building in my maw, the teacher and class arrived and we all had to put away back packs and make polite conversation.
On our way out of the school, i noticed she was hoofin’ it pretty fast. Obviously afraid of the possible cossack raid that may have come her way if she had even LOOKED at me. ( which isn’t really true. I probably would have just given her the stink eye as well, and turned away from her in a rude fashion. It wouldn’t do to release my inner revolutionary on her in front of a bunch of kids. That, and i dislike confrontation with people whose English is spotty at best. I think we both know it would have been a waste of my time)
So, now that i feel completely justified in mocking her, i may do so on a regular basis. Thank you lady. In your own way you have become my Lenin–liberating my my proletariat tongue to lash out at your czarist tendencies. I’d start looking for Rasputin if i were you…