Pimp My Lent/Day 34
From Kristin McCollum…
“My OCD makes me a better mother.”
“The Sudden, Swift Uprising of the Crossing Guard Mom”
Hold up, please. Let some of these cars go by. Hold up, just a minute, please.
I know you and the other women – the other mothers – I know you make fun of me. I don’t care. But don’t think that I don’t know. That’s insulting.
I don’t care that you call me “the crossing guard nazi,” I don’t. Except that you think that I’m too…stupid?… to know what you’re saying.
I keep your children safe, I keep my children safe. Okay? Thank you.
Why should I care what these women who don’t even know me are saying about me? When it is obvious that they lack…. No. I won’t go there. I won’t go where you all go. I will rise above it. Because I don’t care, I really don’t.
You whip into the carpool line, at the last minute, trying to push into the line, and cut ahead of the moms and dads who arrived on-time, early, nudging your vehicles in, and all the while talking on your cell phones — which is not only against the rules, hello, it is illegal?
You do not watch for your children to come out of the building. You do not watch to make sure your child safely crosses the driveway. It’s four lanes of people just like you, paying about as much attention as you do!
Some of these people, half the time, they do not even have their children buckled in. Excuse me? Is this 1961, or 2011?
You don’t come to PTA meetings. Ever. And when you show up for school programs, if you show up, you let your younger kids run wild, and spoil it for everybody else. You staring at your cell phone the whole time, tapping and tapping and blinding the people behind you. We all know children’s concerts are tedious, especially if it’s not your child on stage, we all know that. Just show some consideration. Please.
You call me “mother of the year.” I hear how you all say it. It makes me pity you, that you waste time denigrating what I do – for your children and mine, because you need to feel better about yourselves, because of what you never do. You do not volunteer. You can’t get off the phone long enough. You’re all like that – it’s like kids were just some occurrence in your lives, like, “O-kay, had kids, check that off the list.”
You go out after school, right? A bunch of you go to Chili’s or Applebee’s with your kids after school, and you sit there and drink wine and don’t manage your children, and then you get into the car, with the kids, and drive home. I know you do this, I have seen you all there! And yes, I have been asked to join you…once, and if you will remember, I said “No, thank you. I do not drink and drive, especially not with my children in the car.”
I drink wine. I am not a prude. I am not a religious maniac. I do go to church, and I do believe in God but I am not some wingnut going around in long dress and bonnet quoting scripture. I love my kids but they have rules. We have rules for our children because we love them. We have order, a foundation. We have rules, order, and love in our home, and if that makes you roll your eyes, or talk about me behind your hand – if what I do out here makes you think that you have me pegged, you need to think again. You don’t know me, or where I come from, what I come from. What I have seen, and what I have done, and what has been done to me.
I’m a good mother. I am proud of that. My children love me, and they respect me.
(steps out into traffic, holds up her Stop sign, gesturing “move, move, move”)
…Just cross the damn driveway, please.