You Don't Know Me Like That

Someone decided a long time ago that women should compete with each other over everything and unfortunately, that competition is in full swing today. Women compete over the way we look, the way we live, the way we work, the way we dress, the way we cook, and yes, as I’m finding out more and more every time I go out in public with my two year old son, the way we parent.  It can all be traced back, I suppose, to that great beauty pageant known as natural selection. Advancing the human race turns nice, normal women into cat-clawed vultures.  It’s what encourages T.V. execs to come up with ideas like The Bachelor.  It’s what forces tramps on a Rock of Love bus to fight over a sleazy, dirty, washed-up aging rocker.  As if I have to tell you, that is only "reality" if you live in a trash can or in New Jersey, apparently.  Don't get me started on the “Real Housewives.”   Their stretched out faces make them look like cartoon characters and most of their body parts are anything but real.  All they do is compete with one another and fight over who’s the prettiest, who has the most money, who can wear the shortest skirts.  It’s a joke.  Sadly enough, it’s only perpetuated by its popularity.

I hate to admit this but when I was younger, I got caught up in competition.  I felt like in order to be successful at something I needed to be the best at it.  I needed to win.  If I wasn’t the prettiest girl in the room then it somehow meant I wasn’t pretty at all.  If I didn’t sing better than the person next to me then I guess I wasn’t a good singer.  If I wasn’t the most valuable employee then I wasn’t valuable at all.  This way of thinking sets you up to always feel superior or inferior to others.  In other words, you’re either a jerk or you’re a loser.  Or, in those classy words of Ricky Bobby, “If you’re not first, you’re last.”  That’s where I found myself a lot, before I grew up. Before this life I have now where I’ve seen and done things that have redefined my purpose and where I place my value, I was just as susceptible to the cat-claws as the next woman.  But now that I’ve grown up (for the most part) and in this day to day work of motherhood, I’ve found that my opinion of myself matters so much more than "winning" or being the best.  I have to be accountable to myself.  Competition is too exhausting.  I'm way too tired to get involved in it.  I’ve decidedly removed myself from most of the rounds and therefore have no time for women who want to compete with me.  You think you’re prettier than me?  You probably are.  You think you’re smarter than me?  You’re probably right.  You think your house is cleaner and better than mine?  Yes.  It is. 

But my son’s cuter.

No I’m just kidding.  But, truth be told, I’m not always that confident and sometimes the opinions of others really do get to me, sending me right back to the immaturity of my yester years.  Like today at Target.  We were checking out and my son was in an especially “testing the boundaries” sort of mood.  You know that mood.  I started getting annoyed with my own voice because I was either saying “No” or “Don’t touch that” or “Come over here” every five seconds.  By the time we left everyone in the store knew his first and middle names.  Negotiations with a two year old can be so draining.  I can bribe him with a sucker but then I feel like I’m contributing to his delinquency by fueling his rage with sugar.  Rationalizing with a two year old is even more of a moot point.  I tried to do this today in the check out line as my son picked up every single piece of candy that he came across.  “Want this, mama,” he said.  “No buddy, put it back,” I said, about a hundred times.  He saw an empty register and quickly went over to look at it.  “Come back here!” I said.  Then I sent dada over to forcibly remove him from the cash register area which resulted in a meltdown of epic proportions, complete with screaming and gnashing of teeth.  Everyone looked. 

I guess I’m so used to hearing a child scream that when I am out in public and another kid does it, I don’t even blink or turn my head.  I know what my own son’s scream sounds like and as long as he’s next to me, not screaming, I don’t even care if another kid is throwing a fit.  Ignoring it, to me, is just good manners.  Turning around, making eye contact with me for an uncomfortable length of time, and then smiling a patronizing smile is not good manners.  But that’s exactly what some woman did to me, right there in Target as I was checking out. 

We know my son has a history of throwing fits in check out lines.  Think back to the over priced soap store in the mall.  It happens everywhere we go.  If he’s going to have a melt down, it’s going to be at the exact moment I am ready to pay for my stuff and leave the store.  It’s kind of convenient in that way.  But in an inconvenient way, especially at places like Target or the grocery store, it’s the one place where I’m stuck and can’t remove myself quickly from the situation.  I am solely at the mercy of the pace of the line and the speediness of the checker. 

What really made me mad about the woman who stared at me was that her husband was holding a child that looked to be right about my son’s age.  Her son had a binky in his mouth, conveniently enough, so of course he wasn’t screaming.  I said out loud to my husband, “That woman is looking at me.”  And then I said, passive aggressively, under my voice but loud enough for her to hear, “Ooh, you just wait.  It’ll be your turn soon.” 

My husband thinks I’m paranoid.  I might be.  In hindsight, it was rude of me to say that, even if it was true.  She will find out soon enough.  What goes around comes around, you reap what you sow, etc.  In other words, karma is a real b-word.  My husband just sort of blew the whole thing off.  He thought I read too much into her eye contact.  But he didn’t see it.  He doesn’t get it.  It’s a very rare occasion that he accompanies us on a shopping trip.  I usually keep my son in the cart the whole time we’re at the store but when dada’s with us, he's supposedly keeping an eye on things and lets Junior run around.  That’s the only reason he was getting into things in the first place.  So I was on edge.  Okay.  Sensitive?  Sure.  But I have seen the look on that woman’s face many, many times.  He hasn’t.  I recognized it for what it is, a strange combination of relief and condescension.  She had a child on a shopping trip who wasn’t throwing a fit, which was proof that it can be done.  She looked at me as if to say, “See, I can do it. Why can’t you?  My Junior is behaving, because I am a better mother than you.”  Oh, it was there.  What I wanted to do was shout “What are you looking at?” and get up in her face as she stared at me for what seemed like a good two minutes, which is way too long to be looking at someone. (When you’re staring at someone and they catch you, immediately smile and look away.  It’s the polite thing to do.)  I wanted to scream, “YOU DON’T KNOW ME!” like they do on Jerry Springer.  But I am better than that.  I remembered that this was Target, not Wal-Mart.  I thought, no.  I’ll go home and write about you on my blog and that will serve you right, you judgmental hag.

Okay, so maybe I am paranoid.  None of this sounds very Christian of me.  My friend, who’s a pastor’s wife, reminded me of a verse.  I’m paraphrasing here but it has to do with mercy triumphing over judgment.  I confess, I should’ve ignored the woman and let down my defenses.  It’s possible that, okay, maybe I was a bit jealous that she hadn’t forced her son to give up his binky yet.  He was behaving like a good boy because he was plugged up.  Or maybe, and this is probably the case, he just hadn’t hit those two-year-old tumults yet.  I admit this only to you.  I was embarrassed.  Because, listen, and I’m not exaggerating, this has happened every single time I’ve checked out at every single store I’ve been to with my son in the last two months.  Every time it happens I list off in my head all the things I’ve done wrong to let this kind of situation get out of hand.  I get mad at myself for being mad.  I start attacking myself in the most vicious way.  Today, I felt that another woman, who didn’t even say anything to me, passed me up on the track.  I fell victim to the great competition.  This woman was winning.  It really, really pissed me off.

When we got in the car my husband said, “You’re crazy,” which always helps situations like these.  (Men, listen to me.  No.  It doesn’t.)  But then he said, “Two year olds are supposed to act like that.  Stop being so hard on yourself.”  And once again, I smacked my head up against a brick wall.  I need to tell myself this every day.  Stop being so hard on yourself.  He said, “He was doing what every kid does.  It doesn’t mean we’re terrible parents.  It means we’re in the process of teaching him the things he can and can’t do.  We just happen to be doing it in the middle of Target, that’s all.”  Don’t tell my husband this, but he’s right.  Sometimes I need to keep reminding myself that this isn’t a reality show competition for “America’s Best Mom.”  This is real life.

So if you ever see me and my son out in public and he’s mid-meltdown, please, just ignore us.  Be patient with us.  We’re working on it.