Mean Mommy
Little princess had a friend over this weekend and I thought she was a polite, sweet girl. I took them shopping, to an English tea parlor for lunch ($40 and they didn't eat hardly any of it), grocery shopping, and to a pool party.
Little princess is doing the dishes last night (yes, princesses have chores) and she says to me that P0lite Girl thinks I'm mean.
"What! Why does she think I'm mean?"
"You yelled at her."
"Yelled at her when?"
"The pool party..."
Ok, I didn't raise my voice but the girl threw her towel in the pool after she got the 10 min. warning that we were leaving. I was a little miffed. I borrowed her a dry towel and told the girls how to wring her towel out so we could get it home. Then when we are getting into the car I realize she didn't bring her towel so we have to trapse back through the house to fetch it. But I didn't yell and I wasn't mad by the time we reached the house 5 min. later.
"The grocery store when you told her: 'Why is that candy in your hand? Are you buying it? Put it back.'
I said it in a joking voice and I had already told the girls about 15 times to stop touching everything.
"Well, now So-and-So doesn't want to come over because Polite Girl said you are mean and you yell. Thanks Mom."
Dang, and I thought I had gone out of my way to make the day special.
posted by The Teller | 5:44 AM
1 Comments:
You did the right thing. A friend of a friend has a 7 year old daughter. She brings said daughter to a Pizza joint where several of us were having dinner. Daughter has this little stuffed doll and she is throwing at people and the mother does nothing to stop this behavior. Grumpy Pants gets her hands on the doll and slips it under the table to me. Daughter gets upset that doll has gone missing. After about fifteen minutes, I give the doll to the mother. I get the evil eye from the daughter, since it's obvious that I was the doll-napper. Five years go by, I am one of the hosts for a July 4th party. Same mother brings now older daughter, twelve years old, to the party. They knock on the door, I open it, and the daughter is in front of me, what, a foot away, maybe? She's growling like a mad dog holding yet another rag doll of sorts. Then she starts beating me with it. The mother did nothing. Daughter called me mean, I called her a brat, they both left. I felt bad for a moment. You did the right thing.
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