Thursday, September 12, 2013

Stranger Danger

Miss Chatterbox never meets a stranger.  She's friendly.  Way too friendly for this momma's comfort.

And that friendliness forces me to interact more frequently with people that I would rather not.  Like that crazy old bat two doors down, who likes to tell me things like, "Your kids are filled with the devil."  And, "How do you like being the other woman?"  Though my personal favorite is, "Your grass is filled with weeds and your tree is dead, just like your soul.  You need to make Jesus your landscaper."   

She's Cuckoo, Y'all.  Certifiable.  


Miss Chatterbox also loves to flings the door wide open for the UPS man and hold a lengthy conversation with him.  She also chooses to do this when I'm in my ancient mickey mouse nightie, with the twins flying free, and yesterdays hair and makeup because I haven't had a shower yet.  Never mind that it's almost noon.  And I have to do that awkward little arm cross where I try to cover up the fact I'm braless whilst simultaneously holding up my boobs and taking a package and signing.  Except it never works because my boobs are too big for that shit.  I know y'all know what I'm talking about.  Even if you won't admit it.  

But I digress. 

Given Miss Chatterbox's level of friendliness, I decided it was time to enact Operation Stranger Danger.  Which, if I'm honest, should actually be called, Operation Quit Putting Mommy in Awkward Situations. 

The Firefighter and I have often explained to her that we don't talk to everyone. We don't get in cars with people we don't know.  We don't let people touch us in our private spots.  

But clearly I wasn't getting through to her.  So I amped it up a little.  I bought books like these.

I even got a video.

It went well.  She seemed to understand and not be frightened at the same time.  Which was my goal.  So I breathed a sigh of relief and went on about my business.  

A couple of days later, though Miss Chatterbox is fully potty trained and independent in the bathroom most of the time, she called me for help cleaning up.  No biggie.  She's a preschooler.  It happens. 

Later that day, we went to the grocery store and while checking out, Miss Chatterbox starts chatting up the cashier.  I am just about to swipe my debit card when I hear, "Momma touched me in my private parts."

Y'all!  I don't think I've ever been so mortified in all my life.  Or so I thought. 

With my face as red as the spaghetti sauce I was buying, I quickly explained that Miss Chatterbox, like all preschoolers, sometimes needed help cleaning up after pottying and that we just had had the stranger danger discussion.  

When we get in the car, I explained that we don't tell everybody those kind of things.  She smiled and nodded and said, "Ok, Momma." 

We get through the next store, and are at the checkout when I hear, "Momma touched me in my no no  parts all the time, but we are not supposed to talk about it."  

OMFG.  Mortified doesn't even begin to describe it.  I am so sure my picture is on some Mothering Wall of Shame in a Target backroom somewhere.  Seriously.  I just wanted to melt into the ground and disappear.  AND this little gem is on the heels of an EPIC tantrum Jellybean threw last week in Target, that involved eagle screeches so loud, management came to see what was wrong...but that's a post for another day. 

What's the most embarrassing thing your kids have ever done?  

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