Monday, 4 March 2013

Our Berry Terrible Day!

    You know those moments when you just know in your heart that you are making memories?  Those moments that you congratulate yourself on your amazing parenting skills?  Oh I had one of those, and Elly quickly squashed it to a pulp.  She brought me back to reality faster than you can say "Waste of Money".
    A few months back I saw Strawberry Shortcake Live tickets on sale at The Empire Theatre.  I realized that I had taken all of the other kids to plays, but never Elly.  I felt guilty in that instant, and decided to remedy it.  I bought two tickets to Strawberry Shortcake Live.  I was congratulating myself on being a good mother, and playing fair.  I got us great seats because I bought them so early, Row F, seat 20 and 21, right on the isle.
    For months Elly would excitedly ask if it was "our special day soon".  I would smile at her excitement, yes I was a wonderful mother, and we were going to make memories.  "In March" I would tell her after I had finished congratulating myself for being such an amazing Mom, with a sickly sweet smile.  I could picture her little face just glowing as she watched the performance.  The performers would come through the isle, and would shake Elly's hand.  I could see it so clearly.  She was going to look at me with complete adoration.
    Finally after all of the anticipation, the day finally came.  The day turned out to be a little busier than I had planned, but that was o.k..  Riley had public speaking at the Legion at 12:00.  I was able to go and watch her speech, and then beetle home to get Elly ready for our big day.  I watched Riley's speech, but had to leave before they announced the results (Riley won her division, just as a side note).  I ran home frantically, feeling like a frantic, but amazing Mother.  When I got home Elly was watching T.V. all comfy in the corner of the couch.  "O.K. Big Girl, it's time for our special day!" I said with a sickeningly sweet voice (I'm pretty sure that A-M-A-Z-I-N-G mothers use those voices).  "I'm not going." says the delightful little blonde on the couch.  "This is our special day, now let's go get you dressed." My voice loosing some of it's sickly sweetness.  "NO" she says as she still lies on the couch, a defiant look on her little face.  I physically had to put her clothes on her, with her fighting me every step of the way.  There was one point that I told her that if she tried to take her socks off one more time I would murder her.  This last statement had none of the sickly sweet mother notes in it.
    I physically carried my dear little lamb to the car, with her kicking and yelling.  I fought her and won getting her belted into her seat.  Big sigh, deep breath.  I look into the rear view mirror and catch site of my little darling with her face all screwed up.  "When we get there I'm going to puke." She announces.
So now I'm looking at her with more softness in my face, that wonderful mother trying to sneak back in to replace the homicidal mother.  I bet she's not feeling well, and that's why she has been acting like a little ungrateful animal, that's what it is.  "Don't you feel well?" I ask, my voice softer with sickly sweet edges to it.  "NOPE, I HATE STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE, and she makes me puke!"  She shouts back.  It was at that point that I wondered if it was all worth it.  Maybe I should just let her win,  I mean in the end she's depriving herself.  No, I paid good money for those tickets, and DAMN IT she'll like it!
    We arrive at the theatre.  I'm trying to get her excited, met with a sour face.  "Do you want a treat maybe?" I ask her, thinking that if I bribe her this may be an alright experience after all.  "Later" she says.  We find our seats.  I congratulate myself on the great seats.  We take our jackets off and carefully place them over the backs of our seats.  "Where's my treat?" she asks.  "You said that you wanted it later." I tell her, the homicidal mother tone beginning to come out.  "But it is later." She says.  We leave our jackets and head back to the lobby, where we pay way too much money for popcorn that is too salty and kind of gross, and a semi-cold bottle of Pepsi.
    When we return to our seat, we discover that someone has chucked out jackets.  Nice, really nice.  I take out our tickets, and examine them.  I then walk up to the B*tch who chucked our jackets and inform her that I think she's sitting in our seats.  She informs me that they are her seats.  I take a deep breath.  I re-look at my ticket, only to discover that the B*tch is right, we're the next isle over.  Deep breath.  I take our jackets and carefully place them over the backs of our seats.  I then run back and get Elly a cushion to sit on.  Deep breath, "You're still a great mother, and this is going to be a memory",
I keep repeating to myself, hoping that if I say it enough I will begin to believe it.  It was shortly after this that we saw the people who would be sitting beside us... the French Honey Boo Boo.  There was not enough room to just move your legs for people to get in, so I had to physically get out of my seat to let them in, and then out, and then in, and then out, oh and then in again, oh and out.
    The opening act was the Doodle Bops.  They are energetic and fun.  I look over at Elly, thinking that she has to be smiling and enjoying herself, no, no she is not.  She is sitting there with a sullen look.  "Is this almost over?" she asked.  The urge to push her out of her seat was immense.  Then Strawberry Shortcake came out.  I look over at Elly, still sullen.  "Is this almost over?"  Deep breath.  For some reason that I do not know at children's performances, parents seem to think that they no longer have to parent their child.  Somehow if it's a children's concert, or performance it's o.k. to let your child do anything that they want.  There were little girls dressed in ball gowns, a girl dressed in a wedding dress, girls in crushed velvet with tiny crowns, all running up and down the isles.  Some of the little darlings were shouting up at the characters, trying to get their attention.  Some of them were trying to climb on stage.  Two of those were the Honey Boo Boo family that was sitting beside us, all the while their idiot mother looked lovingly at them.
    Finally the day from Hell was over.  The show was done.  I look at Elly, trying to summon a ghost of the good mother who brought her, there were no words.  "Aw, is it done already?" she asks.  "Did you like it?" I ask.  She shrugged her shoulders "Can we go home now?" she asks.  "Oh yes, we can go home now.

    Now normally at the end of my blog, I tell you what I learned, or share the silver lining, but this story does not even have a tinfoil lining.  I have learned that children do not give you what you want.  They never act the way that you think they will.  Oh and it just confirms the fact that I don't like other people's children.  Ohhh are you still waiting for those words of wisdom... there are none.


  1. and...I will have to share with you the day I made young James attend a performance by an African childrens choir at St. Carthagh's church that he absolutely did not want to attend but that in my wisdom I 'made' him go to...loud remarks about 'stinky incense that is making me sick', 'I want to go now' over and over again...all to the chagrin of many other guests (I am guessing a few found it funny). Eventually we did leave early cuz it was 'lose / lose/ lose' all around... :) But looking back it makes me laugh hearing his words replay in my mind...