Kids are the best at pointing fingers at guilty adults while managing to come out on top, totally unscathed. They ask the right questions, the ones that propriety forbids other adults from asking. Most of these forthright questions pop out in the open among ears of hearing bystanders. Questions like: Why does your stomach jiggle? Why do I have to where tighty-whities? Why is she smoking? Why do you always drink diet Coke? You’re reading Twilight again?!
As a side-note, they also get away with things like picking their noses in public, head-butting their parents rear-ends, passing gas, and any number of fowl things. What these questions and comments have in common, is that instead of the child getting an odd look from a stranger, it is the parent, the mom, who get’s the burning ocular stares penetrating into the back of her irresponsible head.
One somewhat blustery fall afternoon, while leaving the store with Isaac, I lost the battle of the sweater. Isaac wouldn’t put it on and I was in a hurry to get home for the other two boy’s after school arrival. So, I figured I’d just walk really fast to the car and maybe he’d learn that mommy does have her reasons for sweater usage. I still had mine on because I never insist upon stripping down every time I enter a store like the Immodest 3 do. As I walked out the door, an older lady walked by and with those same accusing eyes that I usually get from my parental “irresponsibility,” she began burning, starting on my left cheek, crossing over my ear lobe, and then to the back of my head from where I could nose the scent of burning hair. With a nasty voice she then said, very sarcastically to me “well, I see that at least you have a sweater on!” So shocked that the usual proper responsive profanity failed me, I managed “what?!” while she scurried into the store to, no doubt, buy her perfect grandchild a pouffy down feather coat. Ugh!! Some people’s grandmothers! Sure, had it been anywhere near freezing, I would have done something more drastic, but in her book I should have shoved my three year olds arms, however violently it might be, into his sweater just to prove I really cared? Sheesh!
Well, this rant actually started with the intention of expressing some well deserved guilt neatly served by my overly honest children. The last question concerning reading Twilight again, was the one that sent a wave of chagrin and a need to admit my weakness. I knew that they knew I liked the series and the new movie. I didn’t count on them realizing how truly obsessed I was. I tried to keep it somewhat under wraps as to how many times I’d seen the movie. They’re observant little guys and I did not fool them in the least. Upon finally getting the film and watching it at home, Douglas pointed out during one of the many times I’d told him to be quiet while I watched, “What? You’ve seen this a ton of times!” The feeling I had could be compared to how Jack felt in Mr. Mom when he realized Alex, his 7 year old son, had been watching a soap opera with him.
Alex: Is it Kevin’s baby?
Jack: I’m not sure.
Alex: Kevin’s a skunk.
Jack: Well, Kevin gets all the girls.
Alex: He sure got Nicki!
(Jack looks somewhat shocked as he looks over at his son).
Jack: (on the phone with Joan) It’s gotta be Kevin’s.. Victor? How could it be Victor’s? He got a vasectomy… It didn’t take?!
Well, they ended up watching the whole thing and I sounded like the female version of a Trekie, only instead of containing an expert’s knowledge on the subject of Star Trek, mine was on Twilight, a Twightie.
Yes, I probably did something so sinful that it could be compared to letting my child go out un-sweatered on a blustery day. I let them watch Twilight, and yes, I had a ton of explaining to do and was indeed grateful that I’d seen it “a ton of times.” Had the lady of the burning eyes been there I would have probably been incinerated. I do know that one proud moment came from the experience and that was when Douglas saw things my way, the way I’d felt throughout each book, when he asked, “Why didn’t he just turn her into a vampire?” “Good question my son, now go outside and play and tell your brother to get his sweater on.”