You show me a woman who has never experienced irony at the hands of her children, and I will show you a lackluster mother.
Let’s be completely honest here: Kids have a tendency to act out at the most inopportune moments and then shove your reaction back in your face. I have one particular child who does this to me often, and while I won’t name any names, I will tell you that his name starts with the letter I.
This child of mine - who shall remain nameless, but whose name starts with the letter I - has a tendency to argue with me and push every limit set before him, and it drives me absolutely crazy.
“Mom, can I please have a cookie?”
“That’s fine.”
“Can I have two cookies instead?”
“No.”
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“Did you finish your homework?”
“I hate homework. Why do I even have to do it?”
“Just get it done.”
“Well, can I only do half of it?”
“Nope.”
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“Hey Mom, watch me jump this.”
“Be careful, you might get hurt.”
“I might not.”
“Nice jump, but you did come close to breaking your arm.”
“Can I get a dollar for that?”
“No way, Jose.”
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The other day I took the kids to a local bookstore. I told them that they could each pick one book while I searched for a specific book for myself.
“Can I get two books instead?”
“I said one book.”
“I know, but there are two books that I really, really want.”
“No.”
“But Mom, I…”
“Absolutely not!”
A few minutes later, as we were making our way to the checkout stand at the front of the store with books in hand and a tired and cranky toddler in the stroller, my argumentative child has started again.
“Why couldn’t I get two books?”
“I’m not buying you two books.”
“It’s not fair. You didn’t give me enough time to pick a book.”
“That’s because you spent your time arguing with me instead.”
At this point we are now standing in line. Naomi is done sitting in her stroller, Caleb has found some obnoxious pull string toy near the check out stand that keeps buzzing and shooting little foam darts, and my purse has fallen to the ground, spilling its contents all over the floor.
As I bent over to pick up the contents of my purse, my bangs, which I happen to be growing out at the moment, fall into my eyes. With my eyesight hampered, my child, who’s about as persistent as a mosquito trapped in a tent, tries one more time:
“Mom, can’t I just go back and pick 2 books?!”
I saw black. I couldn’t help it. I snapped my head up and searched for his eyes through the strands of hair covering mine and uttered words I never thought possible:
“Shut the hell up right now or so help me God…” (I’m not saying it was pretty, but then again, life rarely is.)
My eyesight returned just in time to see a mother walk by with her calm, well-behaved child at her side. In shame I looked down and noticed the words on the book that I was about to purchase:
“…How Jesus can take everything you are - and everything you have been - and turn you into something special.”
…And then my eyes caught fire.
If that’s not an object lesson about irony, I don’t know what is.
