It’s no wonder I hate dramatic people. If I cried as a child my dad would beat me. Ok, maybe not beat me, but he sure as crap wasn’t going to put up with any sort of whining. Unfortunately my kids have to put up with me having the same approach at parenting. When they fall down and get hurt I’m yelling at them to rub some dirt on it, or to suck it up and be a man! Yes, I know they are only 9 and 5. I’m the mom in the stands at a baseball game that screams “There’s no crying in baseball!” Which would be ok, but I have a bad habit of yelling that at other people’s children too. The opposing team is never excluded from this either.
I’m ok with the weird stares from other parents as I tell my kid to walk it off after being pegged in the head with a baseball. I may not be the best role model to my kids, or even be very sympathetic but my kids like me. At the end of Carter’s baseball game a few weeks ago, my mom and I brought the kids pizza and cupcakes to celebrate their win. One of the other players said to Carter, “your mom is so awesome!” Carters reply to this was “yeah, I know! And she’s not even 30!”
Who knows what will happen to their opinion of me 3 years from now when I turn the big 3-0. At that point Carter will be close to being a teenager and will hate me anyway. But for now, I’ve got 3 years left of my children reminding the world I’m not 30. Let’s just hope not too many of them are very good at math and figure out how young I was when I had Carter…
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