There is a place we go sometimes that the kids call “The Food Mall”. It’s a regular mall with a soft play area that has giant breakfast foods for them to play on. As you can see from the picture Tummy Man has appeared there, perhaps to have his fill of all the sweet goodness of the waffle behind him. That’s DQ above him and though you can’t see her eyes I can almost guarantee they’re rolled so far back in her head that she’s starting to scare the other kids.
Speaking of scaring kids, we went there (the food mall) last weekend and the kids were playing just fine, though TM is a little gun-shy because he has either been clotheslined or tackled by other kids a few too many times. When that happens he usually comes running to us crying and it stops and he’s fine. Well, last weekend he came over to us screaming and crying and muttering something incoherent. We assumed he had collided with someone and began our usual, “What hurts?” line of questioning. When this yeilded no results and just more wailing and gnashing of teeth, we both looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. TM was finally able to make out the words (between sobs), “My don’t like the little mom! WAAAAA”. We had no idea what he was talking about and figured some bossy little girl had told him off, and he thought she was like a little mom. He kept carrying on with his puzzled parents looking on, when lo and behold the husband (I really need to figure out a name for him) sees what has caused the ruckus. Right in front of him walks “a little mom”: a little person or midget. Not really sure what the PC term is so forgive me. So, there it is. My son is terrified of the little mom. We asked him later why he was scared and he said because she was calling kids “sweetie”. Riiight, because I call them rotten, good for nothing but blog fodder, brats?!?!? We will be enrolling the kids in a tolerance seminar next week. 🙂
I really could fill an entire blog with stories from the food mall, but will try to model tolerant behavior, like not complaining about other people’s kids (because mine are the image of perfection), and not making jabs at the fashion choices of the fashion elite in Cherry Creek, and not making fun of the helicopter parents. Oops!