So, I don't allow myself to be photographed, videotaped or recorded thanks to confirmed reviews of past appearances where I bear a striking resemblance to Corky from Life Goes On (evidence dates back to Good Morning America crowd appearance.... not pretty). Actually, as I get older and far more frightening, I look more like Chaz Bono. And my voice sounds like a Muppet gone wrong. So, I don't record myself. Today, however, I am kinda sad about that because today's blog post really ought to be a vlog. I am never going to do my annoyance justice in type... but the desire to not be mistaken for Chaz wins... so a-writing I will go.
Last Thursday, I took Jack to Chik Fil A for lunch. We'd had a hard week... Will was sick (which may end up being a later blog post), and I felt like Jack became the invisible kid for awhile. So, Will finally made it back to school and I decided it was time to do a little bonding with old Whatshisname. But, much to my dismay... in the Chik Fil A play place we encountered the most feared creature of all time... The Sing Songer.
Moms, I know you know her. She's the one who sits OUTSIDE the play place reading her iPad listening to her iPod sitting in her iPants doing iParenting. Which means, she will look up once in a blue moon and confirm that her child is in the play place, and then she'll go back to iAnything other than watching her kid. If said glance shows that something has run amok in the play place, she will sashay her iWay in and as her 8 year old son is straddling a toddler punching him in the face like Ralphie to Scut Farkus (although this time an unwarranted beating) and she will say in her sing songiest Disney princess voice, "Honey, you're beating someone up again." And her kid will shrug and stand up, wipe the blood smears off his face and say in an equally fake song from the Disney movie from hell, "Sorry, Mooooom."
In this case, the kid was a diaper wearing little mini boy. But man, despite his size he took a swing at every kid that walked by. Older kids came sliding down the tube slide bawling over the punch the little brat man gave them. One little boy burst into tears as the hell beast (I mean toddler) punched him square in the nose and demanded his hat. (It was a really cool Transformers hat, so I had to give the little killer that one). The older hatted boy thought for a minute, until I jumped in from the mommy bench and said, "Hey... you don't hit, and you don't give that kid your hat." The brat man just ignored me and went on his way. Moments later The Sing Songer noticing the distress wafted in and said, "Hooooney, keep handsies to your selfie." I said in Lynn/Muppet voice, "he's hitting everyone." And she said, singing to me, "Oooooh, he is in such a phase." And, out she drifted as if I had imagined her there.
Maybe TechnoMom would have a lower likelihood of mothering the next Jeffrey Dahmer if she didn't sing to her child and instead used a little bit of what I like to call "Old School Mom" voice. It's the voice that was used back when people didn't worry about psychiatrist bills and CPS knocking on their door. It's the voice that put the smack down so hard actual smacks were never needed. Maybe then her little 2 foot tall torture machine would have actually stopped hitting. It will help him to not be hated in the play place by parents and children alike, and one of these days the older, bigger kid isn't going to be scared to fight back and her little munchkin will go down singing a different tune. One of these days, the dude he hits may be Jack.... and your future mini mangler ain't got nuthin' on mine. And while I use that Old School Mom voice to get Jack in line.... if your dude hits him.... I may just sing song my "no," too.