Is there a Midol for kids?


I’m pretty sure I have a crazy hormonal 7 year old. I’m almost positive that his hormones fluctuate on a monthly basis like something akin to what women have to suffer from time to time. Actually, I think he experiences it more frequently beyond monthly; I think it’s weekly…oftentimes daily.

Here’s the set up: Caden’s baseball glove had broken on the wrist strap in back. Therefore, he proposed to me that we go look for a new glove before his game yesterday. I say, “Maybe, but I still think you can use it for awhile.” From his reaction to that little statement, you would have thought I said we should cut off his hand and feed it to crocodiles so he couldn’t play anymore. He throws his hands up to his face, collapses to his knees, and proceeds to implore to the high heavens with moaning and wailing that would wake the dead how his life would be over – OVER – if he did not get a new mitt before his game. I was ticked.

“Are you bleeding?” I demanded.

“Wh-what??” he sniffles through those massively calculated tears.

“Are you bleeding? Is there a needle stuck in your head? Did you fall on broken glass? Because I’m just wondering why you are throwing a fit over a broken MITT. Is this something you should cry about?”

“Mo-om! (I HATE when he uses that intonation) I HAVE to have a GOOD mitt to play BALL with! What am I supposed to DO?!?” (sob, sob, cry, cry a little more)

“I don’t know – how about catch it with your hands? Toughen your palms up a bit?” (he has no chance of illiciting any sympathy from me)

“Please, PLEASE can you take me to get a new mitt? PLEEEEAAAAASE???”

I looked down at my crumpled son on the floor, clucked my tongue (what in the heck? am I a chicken? but I really did do this), and walked away saying, “Stop crying and I’ll think about it.” Immediately, the waterworks ceased and he was a penitent little child, wiping the tear stains from off of his face and trying to give me a hug and apologize with his baleful eyes and woeful, “I’m sorry, Mom.” “I said I’d think  about it; don’t push me.” “Okay…I’ll guess I’ll just go in my room and clean.” Yeah, don’t think I don’t know that tactic: win her over by promising to do something you never do without massive threats being rained down upon you.

After about an hour and getting closer to his game time, I finally decided to pick up his mitt and check it out. Yep, it was pretty broken and he would need a new one. Sigh…okay, I guess we should go look for one. I yelled up the stairs for him to come down, told him we would go try and find a new mitt at TJ Maxx (that’s where I found the first one – great deal, never pay full price). You would have thought I just gave him the biggest Lego set in the world. “THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU, Mom!!”

Cut to TJ MAXX. Can’t find a single one that fits his hand well, they are all too small or way too big. I tell him we can run over to ShopKo really fast to check it out there but unless the glove was on sale, we wouldn’t be getting one. ShopKo didn’t have much in the way of selection either so I said, “Looks like we’re not getting one today.” And guess what happened? Oh my gosh, HERE came the waterworks, the hands up to the head, the contrived agony of a hopeless situation, and worst of all – the whining.

“NOOOOOOOO!! I NEED to GET one NOW! We have to go get one from ANOTHER store! I CAN’T play baseball WITHOUT one!!” (sob, sob)

This is where I introduce you to Mean Mommy, the part of me that comes out when my hormonal child {who can go from extreme highs to extreme lows in the matter of nanoseconds) begins to drive me absolutely insane. I clenched my fists, turned to my ridiculously affected child and said with all the steeliness and highest tone of THREAT in my voice I could muster, “Because of this little attitude you just pulled, buddy boy, you will NOT be getting any new mitt this year. You’ll have to learn how to play with a broken mitt until June and see how much you like THAT.” Needless to say, that sent him into another round of pleading, apologizing, sobbing, and I wasn’t having any of it. I just started walking away and said, “Let’s go. You need to go get in the car before I decide you’re not playing baseball at all tonight.”

Well, just my luck, there happened to be two elderly women in the next row over buying hordes of toys for probably greedy, spoiled grandkids who would add no good to our already mangled society fabric, and they decided to make a few comments just loud enough for me to overhear as I passed by.

“I’m so glad my daughter doesn’t treat her son like that. That poor little boy…”

“Some people need to learn patience and love instead of just flying off the handle with their children…”

For two seconds, I seriously considered turning around and telling them to go sit on a pin and spin (unfortunately, that is not what I was really thinking…but let’s not go there) and ask them why they thought it was their business to comment on the lives of others, the nosy busy-bodies. I’m sorry, but I STILL would have done the exact same thing, possibly with a megaphone attached to my throat, so that Caden wouldn’t grow up thinking that throwing a fit gets him whatever he wants. Nowadays, everybody watches. Nothing you do is anonymous or overlooked when it comes to rearing children. I do believe that kids who are in obvious harm’s way deserve protection. But when I am disciplining my child and teaching him a little about checking his attitude at the door, BACK OFF. I don’t need your two cents that isn’t worth a plugged nickel.

But perhaps you want to give me the $19.99 for the mitt?


One comment

  1. Rebecca · May 2, 2008

    Okay, can I tell you how happy I am that I found your blog? I love it!!!

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