Have you ever felt like shouting, "What the **** did you just say?!?" and then pushing someone in the face, but then you chose not to waste your time because your two munchkins were sopping wet and crying because they were so cold?
That's how I felt this morning.
The boys and I had had a fairly lazy morning followed by a mad dash to get ready for swim lessons. None of which should surprise anyone who knows me.
We were late to the lesson, but I dropped them off with their teacher in the pool and went to get a seat in the parent viewing area.
During the first ten minutes of class, Squish spotted me and kept saying, "Momma!!" as he gave me a big thumbs-up. This happened several times, and it was as endearing as you would imagine it to be each and every time.
Toward the end of class, the kids swam to the end of the pool closest to the parent viewing area. The viewing area is separated from the pool by a wall of windows. So, when Bug and Squish are at that end of the pool, they can see me, and we are no more than fifteen feet apart from each other.
As the class got out of the pool and lined up behind a starting block to practice jumping into the water, each of the kids was freezing. They had their arms crossed in front of their bodies and were shivering.
Squish was the saddest of the group. Literally. He was shivering and crying. He saw me and called out, "Momma! Momma! Momma!"
I gave what was meant to be an encouraging smile and said, "It's okay. It will be okay," hoping he could suddenly lip read.
But this was not reassuring, and he kept crying and shivering. Soon I was about to cry, too.
Finally, Bug gave him a little bump forward - his signal that it was Squish's turn to jump in.
A few minutes later, class was over.
I met the boys on the pool deck. Both of them were shivering, crying, and saying, "Momma!"
Their teacher was standing there and said, "Momma?!? Ha! [Squish] kept saying 'Momma, momma!' all through class today. I called him 'Momma's boy,' and [Bug] laughed. Hahahahaha. Good job today, boys."
I said, "Oh . . . No." Then I wrapped up the boys in towels, picked up Squish, and escorted them to the family changing room as quickly as possible.
What I wish I had said was, "Momma's boy?!? MOMMA'S BOY?!? Ha? Hahahaha?!? Let me tell you something. He is three years old. He is THREE. YEARS. OLD. And another thing. He is not a momma's boy. He is THIS Momma's Boy. And THIS Momma does not abide by adults calling children names! AND ONE LAST THING. If my FIVE YEAR OLD laughed when you called my THREE YEAR OLD a name, it's because he didn't realize that you were being an asshole. But I do."
Then I would have pushed him, and he would have fallen into the pool, drenched in humility.