Out of the Mouths of Babes

I've tried introducing this entry a thousand different ways...but I can't find the right lead.  So I'll just lay it all out...all at once.  Here goes:  the other day at work, I got cussed out by a two year old.  Yep...you read that correctly.  I, a forty-three year old woman, got cussed out by a diaper wearing, two year old little girl.   Some might chalk it up to one of the hazards of working with the public...which is like playing poker and every blooming card is wild.  Nothing's ever predictable.  Normal is best left as a setting on the dishwasher.  The adults that come through are door make every day an adventure.  Often, they bring their children with them.  Things move from adventurous to near mayhem when the littles arrive.  Let me say that not all of our little guests are carriers for pandemonium.  By and large, most of them are very sweet and well behaved.  A very few of them aren't...and Little Miss Potty Mouth might just be the High Priestess of Pandemonium. 

She and her four year old sister came with their mother...who came with a friend...who was our client.  Our appointments can take up to ninety minutes.  The waiting can be difficult.  I get it.  We aren't designed to accommodate small children.  We keep a handful of amusements and kid friendly snacks to make the time pass, but it became quite clear...in a big city hurry, that no amount of cold juice or story books were going to be of any use for Her Royal Rowdiness.  What would have been helpful, what would have been useful, would have been for this child's mother to ENGAGE.  As in, put her phone down and parent!  Too much trouble, I suppose.  Not her style, evidently.  Her style was more of the bark harshly, issue threats of the physical nature and ignore until she became annoyed.  The older sister was more engaged than their mother!  So, if she's unruly, it's no wonder.

Her Royal Rowdiness was reveling in her torment of Big Sister.  Big Sister was desperately bothered and vocal with her objections.  She called her sister by name and said, "You so bad!  You ain't never been nothing BUT bad!"  A four year old...to a two year old.  Someone please tell me how two is long enough to be anything but two?  I'm here to tell you that Big Sister didn't come up with that little nugget all by herself.  Nope, she's heard that curse spoken over her sister more than once...which is why she repeated it...which means that Her Royal Rowdiness has heard it more than once.  I wanted to shake their mama until her teeth rattled out of her head! Does she have any idea of the curses she's planting in her daughter's spirit?  Does she have any idea how hard it is to exorcise those curses?  Does she care?  The antics escalated to the point that Her Royal Rowdiness earned herself a couple of well aimed swats...which produced tears and wailing and great despair.  Don't get me wrong, she earned those swats, but the gesture was completely futile.  The cease-fire between the sisters was momentary and that's being generous.  It's not in my job description, but I joke about adding "tamer of wild children" to my list of responsibilities.   It became quite clear that NO ONE was going to get any work done unless something changed and I was going to have to initiate the change. 

After spending a very few minutes with the girls, I became aware of the fact that Her Royal Rowdiness was "the Alpha."  Oh, she might be the second born, but she was definitely the one in charge.  Or so she thought...and no one ever REALLY tried to dispel her of that notion.  We were in the floor, playing with the Busy Box.  What Big Sister touched, HRR had to touch.  Where Big Sister sat, HRR tried to occupy the same space.  HRR got froggy and took a swipe at me.  Reflexes took over and before I knew it, I had snapped my fingers in the child's face and issued a stern, "Oh, no ma'am!  You will NOT hit me."  I looked up at their mother and apologized, "I'm sorry.  I treat all children as my own.  I don't mean to offend you."  Nothing...nothing but a smirk came back to me.  Okay! 

I got pretty tired of trying to make HRR share the Busy Box.  I grabbed one of the books and began to have a conversation with Big Sister.  The teacher inside me died a thousand deaths.  This four year old child didn't know her colors...the only animal she could name, from the book, was the monkey.  She was bright and capable...just left to her ignorance.  A thousand deaths, I tell ya!  Big Sister wanted to play with the Busy Box, again, so we did...and of course, HRR wasn't about to make it easy.  I corrected her of her notion that it was step stool...and a chair.  Evidently, it must have been more than her little brain could handle.  She growled at me and said, "S'op it, bish."  I sort of stared at her for a minute...wondering if I had really heard what I thought I had heard.  Big Sister confirmed my suspicions with a most appropriate response, "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"  I looked at Mama...wait for it...you're going to love this.  "They stay at my cousin's house, while I'm at work and my cousin taught her how to cuss.  I told my cousin she doesn't need to be teaching her that.  She needs to teach her how to count and her colors."  Seriously?

They eventually vacated the building, but left their mark on the day...and on my heart.  There are days I would give my next breath to have those "little" years back!  And that mama...the others like her...is letting those precious moments slip right by.  For what?  The next level on C*ndy C*ush?  The latest scoop on her favorite KarTRASHian sister?  What's the payoff for time spent with that phone?  Thumb cramps?  Dry eyes?  Wild, hooligan children who cuss out perfect strangers?  Yes, yes and YES!  I'm not into mommy shaming, but I lay this at her feet.  Good kids don't just happen.  It takes a lot of hard work, time and effort.  And that's no guarantee that everything will turn out ok...but it sure makes the odds more favorable.

Hard work, time, effort....and soap on a sassy little tongue!

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