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Has anyone here ever been called out by a kid?  I don't mean "your butt is big" called out---I am talking about questioning-every-life-choice-you-have-made-and-hitting-every-insecurity called out?  By a five year old?  Because if you have, you know that it resonates with you for days.

Recently I was watching my friends' kid.  He's a sweet, quiet, awesome boy and my son absolutely worships him.  When it comes to role-models for tots, he's at the top of the charts, as far as I am concerned.  Anyway, due to the fact that life doesn't always ask for your input, his parents have been out of town and he has been staying with Grandma and Auntie.  So my kid and I took him out for the day.  We had a blast--we hit Burger King (where they both got crowns, glow-in-the-dark fish, and I am pretty sure some of the nastiest looks I have seen coming out of adults because they were a bit noisy), we grabbed some ice cream, and we headed to my house for some Incredibles and Batman.  It was fantastic, really, every second of the day.  Even when little Skippy proceeded to systematically ask every question that I have avoided since moving back here.  And, because you don't really expect such questions particularly out of someone 4 feet tall, I did what any mature grown-up in such a position would do.  I lied.  Allow me to demonstrate:

Skippy:  Why is your car a mess?
Me:  Oh, we had a party last week in the car and I haven't cleaned up yet!
Real Answer:  I am a single working parent who is most days too lazy to shower or smile at people.  I couldn't possibly give a s*&t if there is mashed Cheeze-it/banana milkshake buffet smeared on the back door handles.  Leave me alone.

Skippy:  Why is your house so small?  Where is the upstairs and the downstairs?
Me:  We don't have them because we like to be able to find everything!
Real Answer:  I am broke.  Leave me alone.

Skippy:  Where is [my son]'s dad?
Me:  Ummmm....what?  Oh, um....well...um....Africa.  (Aside--THAT will make for fun gossip in this town)
Real Answer:  Ummmmm....oh, um.....  Leave me alone.

You get the picture.  Fortunately, the mini-Nancy Grace did leave out the topics of religion and politics.  He must have felt they would be pushing things a bit.  But I have to say--hitting my laziness, financial strain, and ineptitude as a parent was really not a bad go for an afternoon.  I also have to say that normally I am a MUCH better liar.  There's just something unnerving about those huge eyes "innocently" looking up at you and legitimately wanting to know.  And the best part is, he didn't want to know in order to serve his own purposes.  He was just genuinely curious.  Maybe some day I can ask real questions of those I love.  Maybe some day I will have answers for those asked of me.  All off the record, of course.

Puh-Leeze

I'm sure that there is more than one person at fault, but whomever told me to teach my 2 year old to say "please" should be run out of town.  Seriously.  The word is an abomination.  Allow me to tell you why.

First, there is the over-use and clear manipulation that comes with the word.  For example, when he says "candy?" and I reply with "no," things are easy enough.  But when he follows up with "please?  please?" well that is another story.  Sure, you have to stick to your guns on such things.  The kid can't be running around 24/7, hopped up on sugar.  Trust me.  But then there's the flip-side.  You want the kid to be polite and have been preaching "please," since birth.  He now uses it.  Do you really want to discourage such a huge step into the grown-up world?  Do you reward the manipulation or do you move forward with the no exceptions method of parentology?  A semi-softball on the parenthood scale, and I don't personally think there's a horribly wrong answer.  But still a hurdle that will keep you awake at night.

But here's the killer with "please."  It's really hard when he actually means it.  Yesterday I had to attend a work meeting that would keep me from putting my son to bed.  I hate these.  I hate not being there when he goes to sleep.  And, of course, lately he has been a bit clingy, so we hadn't spent much time apart over the weekend.  So as I walked out the door, for one of the first times in his short history, he began to wail and cling.  Seeing his little face scrunched up in very real pain that I was causing sucked enough.  What is so horrible about your kid wanting to be with you.  It killed me to walk out the door.  But when I heard "mommy, please!  no, please!" my heart exploded into a million tiny pieces.  Please.  Ouch.  He was literally begging me to do something so simple as sit with him and read books and tuck him in.  And I couldn't do it.  Mommy, please.  He was fine, I was fine, the world was fine.  But I don't think I will ever get that little voice out of my head.

And so, dear friends, you see the issue.  For my two cents, I recommend raising a manner-less child who never uses the word "please," over having your heart ripped from your chest when little Timmy uses it in his arsenal of guilt trips that makes the Kardashian sisters look like Thomas the Train characters. 

Then again, it's possible that I need to buck up.  So forgive the new mommy.  Please.

Mine!

I have always been a teensy bit possessive. 
Ok, fine, I am an only child and cannot possibly deal with the concept of any other person on the face of the planet touching my stuff.  It makes my skin crawl.  I want to get physically abusive at the thought of it.  I am insanely paranoid about it, and really have no problems locking myself and my stuff in my house and keeping the rest of the world out.

So maybe it's this possessiveness, or maybe it's a "mom-thing," but what I heard this morning absolutely set me on-edge.  I have an awesome friend who is working her butt off running her own business.  She worked really hard to get where she is, and she's doing great.  She also has one of the most beautiful little girls in the world.  Subsequently, she also has a nanny who helps her out during the day.  Well, apparently, this morning the nanny said one of the most horrific things I have ever heard.  She referred to herself, to my friend, as the child's "second mom."  Moreover, one of her friends commented that her nanny calls her two boys "my children" to others.  Seriously.  She claims, in public, that these little boys are her own.

Ok, ok, I shouldn't be so worked up over this.  But I am.  Who does that?  I'm quite certain that my friend doesn't recall the woman trading off on the contractions and pushing a year ago.  I know for a fact that the woman wasn't opening presents at my friend's shower.  And I am quite certain that the woman, while she loves the child certainly, wouldn't be capable of throwing a tour bus of sumo wrestlers 500 feet if the child was in danger.  She is NOT the baby's mother and she doesn't get to call herself that.

I am fairly certain that my rage comes from the part of me that hates working and being away from my kid.  And it's pretty much all of me right now.  If there were any other options in the world, I would take them in a flash.  So maybe that's why I am so upset (naturally, it all comes back to me...).  I hate that someone else is helping to raise my kid.  My nanny is the most awesome woman I ever could have been blessed to find.  I am eternally grateful to her.  But I also know that I am more than a bit sensitive about missing so much of his day and what he does, while she gets to experience it.  But.  She is not my child's mother.  End of story.

Is she "mothering" him, maybe even more than I am?  Probably.  Do I hate this fact?  Absolutely.  Does that mean she gets the "mom" title?  While she may deserve it, it's not one I am willing to share.  He is my child.  MY child.  I make the decisions (good or bad), I try desperately to give him everything he could possibly need to be as happy as is possible, and I love him more than it is possible to love another human being.

Am I being a 5 year old?  Absolutely.  But what these women don't understand is that words can be weapons, just as they were on the playground.  And no matter how a child becomes part of a family--conceived, adopted, informally raised--nobody gets to invite themselves in.

Now I'm taking my toy and going home.