When You Throw the Gag on Mama Bear

When you gag a mama bear, it ain’t pretty. In fact, it’s downright scary for those unfortunate enough to be standing around viewing the metamorphosis. And for better or worse, this mama bear is struggling mightily against the self-imposed gag order currently in place.

My mother told me something when I was little. She said “if you get into a fight, a scrape or a problem at school, don’t expect me to come running to fix it for you. You’ll have to handle it on your own. I’m not going to fight your fights for you.” The inspiration for this speech was the mother of a childhood friend who would, at the drop of a hat, launch herself into every single scrape, argument or perceived slight perpetrated against her own children and it drove my mother crazy. She believed in fighting your own battles and cleaning up your own messes. At the time, I didn’t quite get it. I also didn’t understand the amount of restraint required to sustain that particular decree. Now I do, because I've adopted it and made it a part of my own parenting regulations.

The things you learn when you have children of your own.

Those of you who know me know that I’ll take a lot of shit if it’s my shit. Throw anything you want my way and I’ll field it and handle it and usually I’ll do it without an abundance of anger or self-righteousness (OK, long lasting anger, no. Short term fury, yeah, probably). But if you shit on my friends, my family and especially my child, just stand back, get out of the frigging way and strap up because then it’s game on. Those of you who know me might also remember the beach vacation from hell this past summer when we took my daughter’s best friend since kindergarten with us to the Outer Banks.

They’re both now in the fourth grade and have been fast friends up until a day or two ago when the Ringlet came home to tell me that her friend (hereinafter referred to as “E” because otherwise I’ll make up another name for her that simply isn’t appropriate for a 9 year old) had been ignoring her and she didn’t know why. My back went. She continued with “I’ll try to talk to her or play with her and she won’t speak to me and ignores me.” The hair on the back of my neck started doing that little dance it does sometimes. We chatted and I talked to her a bit and while she seemed troubled, she wasn’t overly upset about it. I was the one who was steadily developing what my father likes to call “a serious case of the ass.”

Yesterday, Ringlet came home from school and I asked how the day went. She said fine. It was a good day. Except for the fact that E told me she’s not my friend any more. I screeched to a halt, turned around and demanded details. It seems that at a play date a E’s house over a week ago, E’s little sister, who resents Ringlet’s presence because it detracts from her time with her sister, informed E that Ringlet had said “bad” words to her and E’s comment to Ringlet yesterday was that “I’m not your friend any more because you said bad words to my sister.”

OK, I’m not the mother who automatically believes that my daughter can do no wrong. I know she can, I know she does and, on some level, I expect it. But in the bad word department, I know my kid. I’ve heard her correct the neighbor’s child who thinks cussing is cool. I’ve heard her tell her that if she talks that way, she has to go home. I mean, my God, she’s called ME down at times and she still won’t actually say a bad word in front of me, even if it's just to tell me what someone else said, without spelling it rather than say it. This kid doesn’t cuss. This I know because I know her, I'm the subject of her correction on the topic, and because I eavesdrop on her play dates at my house.

People, the flames were coming out of the top of my head. I told her that under no circumstances was she to even attempt to speak to this kid until she had a full apology. I told her that if she did, she should make it clear to E that she did no such thing (because she really was vehemently denying it and she's a pretty terrible liar) and that she didn’t need friends who would just cut her off like that, and I said a lot of things I can’t quite remember right now, but bottom line was that she was to ignore this little . . . . . ignore E right back and not give her the satisfaction of being courted or begged back into a friendship.

From my reaction, you would have thought that somebody had put Ringlet on stage in front of the whole school and shamed her naked. It was overkill at its very very finest.

All I know is that I’d better get a grip on this because if I don’t, it’s going to be a long long long hellish long miserable long traumatizing road through middle school and high school. For me.

Mr. Ringie’s reaction in the face of my overwhelming desire to get in my car, drive over there, bang down the door and go after her, her parents, her grandparents and the godamned dog? “They’ll work it out.”

**sigh**

He's right of course. I know that. I know I have to let her slog her way through these things because I know that children, especially girls, can be incredibly cruel and hurtful at times. But I hate being gagged, thwarted and forced to let somebody else handle their own issues. I hate it. Put it third on the list below spiders and dentists.

I dunno if I can do this. Somebody start the Bail Ringie Out of Jail Repeatedly for Crimes Perpetrated Against Minors Who Upset Her Kid Fund right fucking now. Because I'm gonna need it. That and a whole pile of little blue pills.