Uppity Crackers

Last Wednesday, I had a hot date. My best friend Lauren was in town and so we did what we usually do when she comes to town: go eat. So here we went; Bubba, The Kid, Lauren, Megan and me off to the Japanese restaurant and there begins our story.
We love eat Japanese food, so we thought it would be a great idea to take The Kid with us. Not such a great idea. It started out well enough. Our hostess brought us to a hibachi table that was already filled with two couples; both couples were middle-aged and already deep in conversation. We found our seats and strapped The Kid in her high chair and we were ready to go. Then he comes out. The Kid's new mortal enemy: The Evil Hibachi Cook. With a cheerful "Hello!" he turns on the grill and gets set-up. I look over at The Kid thinking she's going to be so excited by all this, but no. She was looking at the cook as if to say "I don't know who you are, but I know I don't like you". (I wonder where she learned that from...). Oblivious to the look full of hell-fire and hate that my child is giving him, the cook starts the show. He begins tossing his utensils and cracking goofy jokes, but The Kid is not easily amused. Then comes what everyone came for: the fire. If you thought that a child like mine who obviously toys with death everyday by licking her Uncle Bucky's fungus-filled flip flop, would love fire, you are sorely mistaken. The second that first fireball goes up, she starts shaking, and crying, and trying to climb me like a spider monkey on meth. Fabulous. I grab her out of her seat and she's just sobbing. That's when I notice the people sitting at the table with us. They're laughing at The Kid. No the kind of "Bless your heart,"-I'm sorry you're crying sweetheart-kinda of laugh that we give down here. It was a 'Man, that's so stupid it's funny'-type laugh. "Why?" you may ask. Well, I suppose nothing's funnier than a 10 month old who has just had her first near death experience at the hands of an evil hibachi cook. Now The Kid wasn't the only one giving out the dirty looks. ''Bad choice, jerks" I think to myself as I'm walking out to the lobby to get her calmed down.
Finally after about 5 minutes and the promise of more banana cookies, The Kid finally calms down enough to go back and join the rest of our party. You would think that since everyone's stuffing their faces, we would have some bit of peace so we can enjoy our dinner. Not so fast. Just as I'm trying to shove some teriyaki chicken in my mouth while feeding The Kid I hear the two couples sitting with us begin to strike up a conversation with each other.
Now, let me take a moment right here to clarify something. I'm a pretty easy person to get along with (I think). I have friends from all kinds of different backgrounds from all kinds of places, north and south. So when I say that these people were "Yankees", let me be clear: I don't dislike people north of the mason-dixon line; on the contrary, I love the hours and hours of entertainment I get from laughing at them. Most particularly, the way these "Yankees" think everything down here is so 'cute' and 'quaint' and that we're all a bunch of backwoods,uneducated, cousin-marrying, rednecks. Also the way that I can tell them that I think just about as much of them just by prefacing the conversation with "Well, bless your heart..." (True story, just ask Lauren).
That being said, as soon as I heard the beginning of this conversation I knew they were said "Yankees" (note the capital 'Y'). Their accent was not "Boston Kennedy" but it was far from "Minnesota Nice". So, me being the nosy person I am, and they being the loud mouths they are, I listened in. Apparently, the older couple of the two had been living down here for a while and they were giving these visitors, also in their late 40's, the inside scoop on things to do in our town.
"Oh, well, what do you guys like to do?" the older couple asks. "Well, we like to go to dinner and see a show and blah, blah, blah" says tourist dude while his wife sits there with one arm crossed sipping white wine. I swear, she had her nose so far up in the air, she would have drowned if it had started raining. Anyway, after tourist dude tells them all about how awesome him and his old lady are, the older guy starts in. He tells them about this little Italian pace that's on the square and a couple of other places then he says "Do you like burgers?". "Yeah" says tourist dude. "Well then, you've got to go to this little place called Buster's!"says know-it-all "It's kind of a dive bar, but they have great burgers!". Moron. Obviously, he's never been to Buster's. If he had, I'm sure he wouldn't have stayed long. It's that kind of place that has lots of Harleys in the parking lot and a sign on the wall that says "If you want it your way, go to Burger King". They're a no-bullshit kind of place. It's not a touristy - "oh honey, isn't this just soo cute"-kinda place. These Yankees might learn that the hard way so they may want to stay away. On second thought, let me know when they're going so I can sit there at see how this plays out.
So you may wonder where all this hostility comes from. It came from one little snicker from a couple of jerks. That's right, no one laughs at my child but me.

Reliquishing My Title

I am no longer Parent of the Year. I have found my replacement. Correction: Replacements. Yes, more than one. "Where did you find these shining examples of parenthood?" you may ask. Wal-Mart? Chuck E. Cheese? Visitation day at Riverbend correctional facility? Oh, no no no. I found them at my local Toys R Us.

Our first nominee is skilled in what I like to call "Juvenile Communication". While I was in line waiting to check out I heard her in action:"Is this what you want? Well, is it? Well then, you better get happy about it real quick then! Don't you cry! I'm not going to buy it for you then!". At first I thought that she must be talking to her sour-puss teenager about a certain Jonas Brother dvd, cd, or something and other. Then, I turned around to see a 3 year old girl clutching a box of polly pockets and silently weeping. A few moments later, after we got into our car in the parking lot, we see this wonderful woman put said 3 year old into the car. In the front seat. Without a car seat.

Nominee no.2 made a brief, but memorable appearance. This woman exemplified outstanding knowledge in a field I refer to as "Infant Health". All I can say is:

1. Cigarette in mouth
2. Smoke in Child's face
3. Ambivalence to child's obvious discomfort.

*Drumroll, please.

And the winner is...

I can't believe it! It's a tie! Johnny, tell 'em what they've won!

"Well folks, our lucky parents probably should win a full year of state mandated parenting classes, but we've decided to give them what they'll really use: $30 worth of lotto tickets, a carton of Winstons and a year's supply of Yoohoo for the young'ns!"

Sweet.

And with that, let me leave you with what my mentor, the great Jerry Springer would call "Our Final Thought"-

No matter how much I may question myself, I learned one important lesson today: If I ever wonder if I am doing a good job raising my child, all I have to do is make a trip to my local Toys R Us and see why some people should be forcibly sterilized...um, no. That's not right. What I ment to say was: I'm a much better parent than I give myself credit for sometimes.

(Right?)

Busy, Busy, Busy

I'm no longer a bum. You heard that right; I got a job. It's a awesome place with great hours, so I'm really happy about it. I can't talk about it though; you know, confidentiality and all. But hey, that's how it is when you work for the CIA...
Anyway, The Kid's first Easter didn't turn out exactly as planned. Not that I had really anything planned. I hadn't even gotten her an Easter basket. Yes, I know this probably makes me a bad mom, but what's new? She's only 9 months old, so if I wanted to get her something she'd really enjoy I could have just bought her favorite things: some electrical cords and shoe laces. She would have been happy for hours.
My husband, on the other hand, spent the night before Easter visiting his dad in a small-town emergency room. On the plus side, his dad's better. On the minus, he was witness to a drug-induced seizure and the aftermath of a one sided fight between a rooster and a 70 year old man.

AWESOME.