The Problem With Mommy Poppins

If I told you that when I got ready for work this morning everything went smoothly, you'd call bullshit because that never happens, and you'd stop reading this post because it's boring. BUT, if I told the truth about how I woke up this morning—to my kids fighting, in my house, the place where reffing their brawls trumps sleep and well being—I'd have your attention.

Could my morning have been worse? Yup. And it was. When I loaded all my gear into the car and started it, I heard a sound that has the power to turn my stomach as sickengly as my alarm clock does at five-thirty on a Monday morning. What I heard was the something is wrong with your car ding and you'd better clear your schedule for the rest of the day dong. It turned out that not only was my tire flat, but my rim was bent. Game over.

Since I had to take an involuntary, unpaid day off that will probably snowball me right into debt and foreclosure, I decided to create a new blog post for my site. But what to write? Stuck for ideas, I surfed the net, looking for creative ways to trim my hedges (as if!). Then, I updated my status on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and LinkedIn. 

In the midst of Tik Tokking, and after much deliberation, I decided that eight thirty is too early for a cocktail. But that's when it happened—the rest of the neighborhood emerged from their homes. I'm not like other people I know who take their morning coffee with milk, sugar, and the blinds open so they can scan the street and criticize. I'm a writer. I do research—which is my way of saying that I manipulate words, so I sound like I'm something other than a nosy voyeur into people's lives. 

I have a neighbor who was unhappily childless for a number of years. She's a social worker and therapist for young people and their families out of her home office. She used to think that she was the shit—the Mary Poppins of everyone else's kids—giver of gifts we wouldn't spring for and a sympathetic ear because we parents obviously just don't get it.... 

Fast forward... to when she adopted a young girl and officially joined the ranks those who will one day have to compete for the room in the "home" with the good view. They'll call it the Old Folks Hunger Games. And only one victor will get the coveted room and the meatloaf (cut into tiny squares) for dinner. Welcome to hell, Mommy Poppins.

Ok, that's a little too far forward. Rewind to this morning or practically any morning since she adopted this kid. Then come sit next to me, in front of the window that directly faces her house:

Mommy Poppins stands in her driveway, her long white prairie skirt and bushy hair whipping about in the wind. She looks like a witch when she flails her arms, as if she is attempting to cast a spell. She screams into the backseat window of her car, at the little girl she adopted. The child is about two years old and is strapped tightly in her car seat, unable to flee from the verbal tirade she is subjected to on a regular basis.

Mommy Poppins: "What?! What?! I can't understand you! *pause* I can't understand anything you're saying!"

Two Year Old Car Seat Captive: "Cry, whine, garble."

Mommy Poppins: "Did you brush your teeth?"

Two Year Old Car Seat Captive: "Whine, garble, garble, whine, my hair."

Mommy Poppins (still screaming while getting in behind the wheel): "What do you mean?!"

As the toddler pleads her case, I'm sure she is also desperately trying to crawl out of her car seat and escape back to the country she was adopted from. Suddenly, the car lurches backward. They are sitting in the street, slanted, blocking the driveway and part of the roadway. Mommy Poppins shifts into park, and continues yelling.

Mommy Poppins: "Shut up! Just shut up already!"

Mommy P gets out of the car and stands in the middle of the road so she can not only shout some more, but also so she can reach in—I'm sure to both muzzle her kid and to give the offending hair a yank—because when you're shrieking at a kid who can barely string together a sentence or poop in a toilet yet, you remember what's really important.

Mommy Poppins: "There are no knots in your hair! This wouldn't have happened if you'd brushed it when I told you to!" 

When she got back in the car and tore down the street, she was still shouting.

So yeah, I listened... and I watched. Then I judged. It's part of the drama ritual—stop, stare, and critique while forgetting the time your own kid dropped something on the floor and continued walking without picking it up. Questioning his IQ was the appropriate response to that situation at the time. Ask any parenting expert. 




*Be careful how you treat the kids, because MAYBE CHILDREN AREN'T INNOCENT AFTER ALL: https://skinnyandsingle.wordpress.com/2015/10/15/maybe-children-arent-innocent-after-all/ Check out this short, but intense and thought provoking post.

CF Winn is the award-winning author of The COFFEE BREAK SERIES, a quirky group of short stories meant to be read while on break or in the waiting room of the doctor’s office. Her first novella, SUKI, has been grabbing hearts and hugging souls all over the United States. 

You can now order SUKI in paperback at BOOK REVUE, one of the nation’s largest independent bookstores, by email at info@bookrevue.com Learn more about SUKI at BOOK REVUE. 

CF Winn is the founder of Winning! Publications, a firm specializing in editing and promotion services for authors. Her latest project is the just released Trailer Trash, With a Girl’s Name, a hilarious and heartwarming story of a boy saddled with a girl’s name and forced into a nomadic existence. Order it now: http://www.amazon.com/Trailer-Trash-With-Girls-Name-ebook/dp/B00IX0MIAO