I’m a grown woman. I won’t tell you how old I am but I’m old enough to be married for a decade and be responsible for two children. But, as I recently found out, I’m never too old to be a daughter. I got in trouble.
Recently, I had to meet my mother at an art gallery in Mansfield for an event we were planning. I had my two little ones in tow (they are 3 & 5 years old). Now picture them in an art gallery where little white signs share the price of delicate, exposed sculptures around the room. $450 for one all brown piece of art called Red Foot Left, Green Foot Right. On a nearby bench lay a beautiful water color painting for $750.
Prior to even bringing them inside the room, I repeated my expectations over and over. “Mommy needs to talk to this lady. I need you both to sit on the couch and wait quietly. You can look at the beautiful art from where you sit but no moving. The more quiet you are, the faster we can leave and go get ice-cream.”
Ice cream was the motivator. The serious tone of my voice was the threat.
We enter and the owner turns the corner looking very displeased at the sight of humans who just stopped wearing diapers.
“How old are you?” my 3-year-old daughter asks. In her defense, she wasn’t trying to be rude. This is how she makes conversation.
That’s unimportant though. What you need to know is that my kids started acting like animals. They were touching the glass walls, hopping on the couch, turning into noodles if I tried to put them back on the couch. My mother, thankfully, was able to conduct the business side of the discussion while I tuned in between grabbing their little hands and whispering about ice-cream futures.
We left the gallery and the four of us stood on the sidewalk (mom, me and the kids).
“Mom, can we have some ice cream now,” my son whines.
“No. Do really think you get to have ice-cream after that?”
My mom turns quickly to make sure she heard right. It registers and she snaps, “You have got to be kidding me! They did wonderfully in there.”
Boy, was I in trouble. I can’t remember the last time I got yelled at. My mother is THE most sweet, patient, loving woman in the world and here I stood - part mother and part daughter. Three generations in a fight. I held my ground but my insides felt a bit uneasy.
We’ve laughed about it since. She feels badly she second-guessed my authority to withhold ice cream from her grandbabies. I should add that after we left the gallery, we all rode to one other store. When I returned back to the car both of my kids were eating chocolate covered strawberries.
“What? It’s not ice cream,” she said when I looked her way.
Leave it to that grandmother to find a loophole!
If you’d like to celebrate the grandmother/father in your kids’ lives, please consider sharing a photo and message in the September issue of P&K. Details can be found here. http://www.wickedlocalcontests.com/contests/grandparents