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March 15, 2009
M.Y.O.B.
Kelly and I are still in Fort Lauderdale, vacationing away and having a marvelous time, except for a little while this afternoon when a really frustrated mother gave me a stomach ache.
We're at the pool lying in the sun with our Number 45 slathered head to toe, because I have just discovered that when you reach a certain age, there is definitely such thing as "too tan." I have reached that age, and I look like an old leather boot. So Kelly is having her second or third nap of the day, and I am happily reading along, trying to get into a book I'm not loving, and suddenly, right in front of me, a little boy falls down and starts to cry. He was about five, and had been holding the hand of a young teenage girl, maybe 13 or 14. I hopped up, but immediately this hysterical mother came running over, yelling OH SHIT OH SHIT!. She scooped up the little boy, and started to berate the poor girl.
HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN? I KNEW HE WAS GOING TO FALL! WHY DIDN'T YOU WARN HIM ABOUT THAT (what? I didn't see anything like a raised tile or curb)? HE COULDN'T SEE WHERE HE WAS WALKING BECAUSE HE WAS CARRYING THAT STUPID BASKET OF TOYS! WHY WEREN'T YOU CARRYING IT? CARELESS!
She went on and on, and I was trying to catch her eye just so I could give her a look that might calm her down, you know? I mean, when your child is physically hurting, let me tell you, it can turn you momentarily batshit, apecrap crazy. If I could have just given her a mom-to-mom understanding look, I thought maybe she'd snap out of the nuttiness. I couldn't catch her eye, though, so I finally had to speak up. I just said, "Hey, now! It was an accident! It's not her fault!" She gave me that high-class Jerry Springer talk-to-the-hand and yelled "MYOB!" at me. She continued to yell at the girl, and since the mom wasn't willing to listen to me, I spoke to the girl instead and just kept saying, "it's not your fault, sweetie. It was an accident, and he's okay. Look, he's not even bleeding. It's NOT your fault!"
The mom told the girl to go upstairs to their room, then she took her little boy back to where her husband and littler boy were sitting, about twenty feet away. Her completely useless turd of a husband just sat there like the doughy brown lump of turd that he is, saying nothing, offering no help in either comforting the little boy or in trying to smooth out the situation with the girl or calm his maniacal wife. The little boy stopped crying right away, and they sat there for what felt like ninety hours while I fretted about what to do.
I know that when you witness somebody being frustrated with their kids, the best thing to do is to make an empathetic comment like, "It's really hard when they throw tantrums in Target isn't it? I've been there! I can tell you that it does get better! Hang in there!" Calling out an abuser is likely to just result in more anger for the abuser and more abuse for the kid.
I wanted to go over and talk to her again, to say something like, "Hey, I know how it is when you're kid gets hurt. There is nothing worse! I know you just love that little boy like mad, and I'm sorry I interfered." I'm not sorry at all, of course, but I'm worried about her taking it out on the girl later.
In the end, though, I said no more. I was torn, because I wasn't sure I'd be able to get her to be calm, and I worried about making matters even worse. And then I sat there second-guessing myself about saying what I did in the first place. But I had to say something! Right?
I HAD to say something. I couldn't let this girl (is she their daughter? Their nanny?) go undefended. That poor child was hurt much more deeply than the kid with the skinned, not-even-bad-enough-to-bleed, knee.
I do wish I'd have told the girl our room number, though.
Gah. I hate this. I hope she's the nanny, and that she has a really nice mama, and that the mama has sent a cab for her and she's flying home right now, and will never see that mean lady again.
Of course, while I was fretting over what to do, I posted a photo of the mean lady on facebook. Didn't do anything to help the poor girl, but it made me feel better.
So, what would you have done in this situation? I'm sure most of you have a similar story of your own. Spill it!
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