I Feel Her Pain

I don't usually comment on goofy, people being people stories. You know those stories about people or events that we all suck up and consume like life's blood for the short term and then after the passage of some time, we ask "whatever happen to  . . . ?" The "octomom" comes immediately to mind. But being a mother with a very vivid memory of a scene much like recent story of the mother from New York who booted her warring kids from the car provoked me to share this. And in case you've been under a rock for the last two days, I've included the article from the New York Daily News:

Man, have I ever been there! The acid-tongued 15 year old in the front seat. The blossoming smart assy 12 year old in the back seat. Barbs and taunts are traded. I wondered where the ability to trade such venom came from--after all, I'm a very Zen kinda girl. The barbs and zingers turn into a thrown pencil and then a reach around into the back seat to throw a punch. All the while of course, I'm trying to keep the aliens posing as my two, used to be, adorable children from what seems to me to be "Ali vs. Frazier X."

Then, what the hell was that? Did one of the alien children throw one hellava punch? Oh nooooo. Because even the alien children stopped their on-the-way-to-school-madness and looked to see what interrupted their morning brawl.

Oh, didn't I mention that I had foolishly taken eyes and one hand off the steering wheel for one fraction of a nanosecond also foolishly thinking that the power contained in one humble mother's one hand and arm could bring a halt to the waring tribal factions?

BUMP went my bumper onto the bumper of the car in front of me. Well, while I wasn't looking and had one hand remaining on the steering wheel, I also had the good sense to remove my foot from the gas peddle. Oh did I mention that it was the height of rush hour traffic? And did I mention that while I was standing in the middle of the street absorbing the glare of, what seemed to be thousands of passing angry motorist who all seemed to be mouthing the same words that I had just heard in the car, the aliens where in the car fighting?

Fortunately, for me, the one person in rush hour traffic that day who had a heart, had just had his bumper nicked by yours truly. We both surveyed the scene and agreed no harm, no foul. After taking pictures of both cars--just in case--we went on our way.

I dropped the alien children off to what is probably an extension learning center of Area 51, yes, right here in the nation's capital! What better place to have an extension center? How do you think Capital Hill is populated?

I gladly, happily, gleefully, did I mention thankfully, waved the other powerless appendage out the window signaling goodbye, hoping that the alien children understood my primitive hand gesture.

With a quickness, I made my way to and settled in at the nearest Starbucks for a vente quadruple, caramel macchiato, not my usual drink and I didn't give a damn about the calories. Right there in the Starbucks temple, I offered a prayer that the kind-hearted guy that I bumped in traffic was really ok and that that this time in my childrens lives would pass quickly . . .

It hasn't.

By the way, having a ivy league education does not prevent the alien children from invading your home.

till next time,

Sunny