She Strikes Again...
"I have a sneaking suspicion that this will not be the last encounter
with Mama Bear. Be warned, mothers of playground punks..." (Attack of the
Mama Bear) The world was warned just over three months ago. I tried
desperately to send out the red-alert that Mama Bear was on the prowl. Not
everyone listened. I'm sorry to report that there has been another attack.
Multiple victims.
There is something about Chick-fil-a. (I can almost hear the
collective groan.) You would think the restaurant has an open bar. It would, of
course, be complete with a bartender who exclaims, "My
pleasure!", as he serves you a martini to compliment your
6-count nuggets. I mean, families flock to that place every day (minus Sundays,
of course....when you mysteriously crave it the most). The drive-through lines
snake around the building and the inside teems with young and old, waiting to
get their hands on that darn chicken. (Seriously, WHY. IS. IT. SO. GOOD?) The
most chaotic of all, however, is the play-scape. After the nuggets have been
gobbled up, it is tradition for any red-blooded American child to be
released into the tube-slides and tunnels. They morph into wild, rabid
apes. Unfortunately for them, there is a beast lurking. And she is
far, far more terrifying.
The attack occurred on a chilly November night. I was holding down the fort while Grant worked late. I promised Barrett I would take him for "nuggets and playground". I, preemptively, patted myself on the back for figuring out a way to avoid being at home during the "dreaded dinner hour" (Repeat After Me). We bundled up and headed out. You rarely see a tragedy coming. If you did, you'd likely stay home, throw together a PB&J and call it a night.
The "nugget" portion of the evening was uneventful. Barrett ate like I'd forgotten to feed him all week (darn chicken) and then gave me a hug and informed me that he was "so cute". We had a good laugh and made our way outside. There was a group of wild apes chasing each other across the playground without any parents in sight. They saw Barrett run up and screamed, "baby-alert!". The Mama Bear senses came alive. One boy was furiously swinging himself around and around a pole. As my cub ran past, the boy flew into Barrett and knocked him down. And I was up.
"Hey. If you can't control yourself while you spin around, you need to stop. You knocked over my son."
The playground went silent. All eyes were on me. Without any parents to run to, their defenses were weakened. The boy stood motionless for a good thirty seconds. The first scent of fear was in the air. Minutes went by and I watched as Barrett narrowly avoided bigger bodies thundering past. He desperately tried to involve himself, but he was invisible to the apes. And then it happened again. The same kid swinging himself around the same pole. Down went my little one; crying harder this time.
"Buddy. Wait, don't run. YOU. I am not even playing. You hurt him so I suggest you stop the swinging." (When the term, "Not even playing", is uttered by any mom, it is best to take one giant step back.)
In moments the Swinger was gone. He had returned to the safety of his clan inside and I had officially marked the territory mine. Not long after, a female ape collided with Barrett, but I saw her recoil in fear as I picked up my son. There was no battle here. She knew.
The biggest adversary was a boy of about six. I'd seen him, earlier, quietly eating inside with his nice little family. He seemed normal enough...until he stepped outside. All of a sudden, this ape was on top of tables screaming, ripping up napkins and tossing them over the fence into the parking lot, scaling the play-scape, and jabbering like a mad-man. I was ready. He grabbed a napkin and ran to Barrett and rubbed it in his face.
"Hey! Don't touch him!"
This one was ballsy enough to answer back. "Why? Is he weird?"
"No. You're weird for wanting to touch someone you don't even know." And there it was. Mama Bear was driven to smack-talk...on a 6-year old kid. This couldn't end well. The alpha-male retreated inside, but I had the uneasy feeling it wasn't over. He wasn't going down without a fight.
No sooner had I grabbed my phone to call the husband and tell him about this kid, and he was back. It happened quickly. He threw a napkin on the ground and Barrett ran to pick it up and head for the trashcan. (Ever the first-born, OCD tendencies.) The boy charged Barrett and pushed him to the ground. Red. It's all I saw. This one was no accident. I came-to inches from the boy, demanding a good reason for pushing a two-year old down. He was immobilized as I spewed my anger and my child wailed. I picked up a sobbing Barrett and at that moment, the offender's mom was outside. She sweetly asked her son what part he'd played in the unfolding drama. He couldn't utter a single word and that was enough for me. The playground punk slunk to her side and I assured her Barrett was OK.
I didn't need to inform Lunatic's mom that her child had some serious Jekyll & Hyde issues. You know, I'm convinced every single kid does, mine included. They're insane creatures--kids. The only difference is that I was the sole parent out on the playground that night. And if you leave your kid alone to act a fool at my kid's behalf, that's the kiss of death. This Mama Bear is watching...
The attack occurred on a chilly November night. I was holding down the fort while Grant worked late. I promised Barrett I would take him for "nuggets and playground". I, preemptively, patted myself on the back for figuring out a way to avoid being at home during the "dreaded dinner hour" (Repeat After Me). We bundled up and headed out. You rarely see a tragedy coming. If you did, you'd likely stay home, throw together a PB&J and call it a night.
The "nugget" portion of the evening was uneventful. Barrett ate like I'd forgotten to feed him all week (darn chicken) and then gave me a hug and informed me that he was "so cute". We had a good laugh and made our way outside. There was a group of wild apes chasing each other across the playground without any parents in sight. They saw Barrett run up and screamed, "baby-alert!". The Mama Bear senses came alive. One boy was furiously swinging himself around and around a pole. As my cub ran past, the boy flew into Barrett and knocked him down. And I was up.
"Hey. If you can't control yourself while you spin around, you need to stop. You knocked over my son."
The playground went silent. All eyes were on me. Without any parents to run to, their defenses were weakened. The boy stood motionless for a good thirty seconds. The first scent of fear was in the air. Minutes went by and I watched as Barrett narrowly avoided bigger bodies thundering past. He desperately tried to involve himself, but he was invisible to the apes. And then it happened again. The same kid swinging himself around the same pole. Down went my little one; crying harder this time.
"Buddy. Wait, don't run. YOU. I am not even playing. You hurt him so I suggest you stop the swinging." (When the term, "Not even playing", is uttered by any mom, it is best to take one giant step back.)
In moments the Swinger was gone. He had returned to the safety of his clan inside and I had officially marked the territory mine. Not long after, a female ape collided with Barrett, but I saw her recoil in fear as I picked up my son. There was no battle here. She knew.
The biggest adversary was a boy of about six. I'd seen him, earlier, quietly eating inside with his nice little family. He seemed normal enough...until he stepped outside. All of a sudden, this ape was on top of tables screaming, ripping up napkins and tossing them over the fence into the parking lot, scaling the play-scape, and jabbering like a mad-man. I was ready. He grabbed a napkin and ran to Barrett and rubbed it in his face.
"Hey! Don't touch him!"
This one was ballsy enough to answer back. "Why? Is he weird?"
"No. You're weird for wanting to touch someone you don't even know." And there it was. Mama Bear was driven to smack-talk...on a 6-year old kid. This couldn't end well. The alpha-male retreated inside, but I had the uneasy feeling it wasn't over. He wasn't going down without a fight.
No sooner had I grabbed my phone to call the husband and tell him about this kid, and he was back. It happened quickly. He threw a napkin on the ground and Barrett ran to pick it up and head for the trashcan. (Ever the first-born, OCD tendencies.) The boy charged Barrett and pushed him to the ground. Red. It's all I saw. This one was no accident. I came-to inches from the boy, demanding a good reason for pushing a two-year old down. He was immobilized as I spewed my anger and my child wailed. I picked up a sobbing Barrett and at that moment, the offender's mom was outside. She sweetly asked her son what part he'd played in the unfolding drama. He couldn't utter a single word and that was enough for me. The playground punk slunk to her side and I assured her Barrett was OK.
I didn't need to inform Lunatic's mom that her child had some serious Jekyll & Hyde issues. You know, I'm convinced every single kid does, mine included. They're insane creatures--kids. The only difference is that I was the sole parent out on the playground that night. And if you leave your kid alone to act a fool at my kid's behalf, that's the kiss of death. This Mama Bear is watching...
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