Serves me right!

Retribution is a way of life whether you’re a pretty young thing or a pretty mean mum

BY SHERYL DIXIT

Ayoung, cheerful, unmarried, twentysomething friend dropped in for lunch. My two young sons greeted her with a curiosity that lasted for about ten seconds, after they found out that she hadn’t a clue about the Power Rangers and didn’t have Angry Birds on her mobile phone. They are now at an age where it’s safe to leave them alone for about half an hour without more than a random check every ten minutes if they’re unusually silent. It was a pleasant afternoon that passed all too quickly, so when she began gathering together her belongings, I began gathering mine too.

“Are you going out?” she asked politely.

“Yes, just to the shops to get some groceries,” I said, pulling a face.

“I’ll come with you,” she offered. “I have to get a couple of things too.”

The dismay must have shown on my face, because she immediately asked, “What happened, did I say something wrong?”

“No, no, it’s just that I’ll be taking the boys along,” I said, somewhat lamely.

“So?”

“Well, a simple trip to the shops could turn into a perilous expedition,” I said.

“Come on, with these guys?” she said, looking at the two who were putting on their sandals with big grins on their cheeky faces.

“They’ve been great all afternoon, haven’t you guys?”

“Yes!” came the enthusiastic chorus.

“I don’t know what it is with you mums,” continued the innocent. “All of you make such a big deal taking your kids shopping. I rarely come across a mum who’s not tense when her kids are with her in a supermarket or department store. They’re always getting yelled at or being told, ‘No!’ for doing nothing. It doesn’t seem fair on them.”

Now by nature, I’m mild and peace-loving to the general world, although my kids may strongly dispute this statement. But when I looked at her, happy and blissfully ignorant of the joys of taking two little boys shopping, I thought it best to give her a dose of my reality.

“Great,” I said enthusiastically. “Let’s take my car, shall we? Once we’re finished, you can pick up yours from here!” This subtle manoeuvre effectively cut off all routes of escape, poor thing.

It began when we sat in the car. Encouraged by the prospect of an outing after an afternoon at home, they began arguing about whose seat was cleaner. Since both were grubby to the extreme it wasn’t much of an argument, but helped them expel a bit of energy, while saving the best for last.

I drove to the shops while my sons advised me on my driving techniques, while insisting that a variety of wildlife were sharing the car with us, including spiders, wasps, maybe the neighbour’s cat. My friend began to look nervous. I didn’t quite feel up to enhancing her experience with my usual yells and threats that they would have to walk, so I carried on a somewhat strained conversation till we got to the car park.

Getting out of the car took a while as usual, the older one had to carry along his football, the younger one had an assortment of toy cars and superhero characters. I desisted from arguing as I normally would have done, insisting that they leave their junk back in the car. Just as we were about to cross the main thoroughfare, the ball ‘fell’ and one of the cars ‘jumped’. So there we were, my friend playing traffic cop as we fumbled to get our belongings together.

“Serves her right!” I thought meanly, “She asked for it!”

Getting into the supermarket was the usual drama. Both wanted to sit in the trolley, and both are ones, each child sitting in one. Then we crawled along aisles together because the boys urgently needed to converse with each other, and see who could shout the loudest. We plodded on to the familiar refrains of, “I want that!”; “Can I have that?”; “Please, please, please, pretty please can I have that?” “I’ll pay you back, can I have that, pleeaaaseee!” Now I have a policy which both my sons are familiar with. If I don’t reply, the answer is ‘no’. However, my lovely young friend, ignorant in the matter of juvenile minds, tried what few mums dare do – explain! They were too young for energy drinks, they couldn’t eat oats raw, the box looks nice, but it contains tampons…uh, oh, I really don’t know what they are!

We were nearing the toy aisle, and I knew what was going to happen next. Predictably, both decided that they really could walk now, they weren’t that tired. With an audible sigh of relief, my friend let hers out of the trolley, mine jumped out and they disappeared into the toy section in an instant. She rushed behind them, I followed more leisurely in the belief that it would take a very brave kidnapper the nerve to snatch two vociferous children away from a bunch of toys. Satisfied that they were safe, my friend stopped a short distance away and began to look pensive. Then she looked mildly surprised and rummaged in her large, expensive, genuine Prada bag which I shamelessly coveted. She pulled out her iPhone and peered intently at the screen. From where I was standing, there was apologetically and said, “It was on silent, I have to take this call.” And with that she fled out of the store, leaving me to round up the troops.

Now when mum’s in charge with no distractions, the boys are good as gold. They walked along the trolley for the next couple of aisles, didn’t ask for more than the usual stuff, didn’t get a response, and didn’t push it. We were out of there in about ten minutes, much to the relief of my friend who had bought a large bag of iced doughnuts to revive herself. She probably needed the sugar, but I wasn’t too pleased when she offered the bag to the boys instead.

We got home in one piece, the backseat drivers too absorbed in smearing chocolate icing all over their clothes and the car, to make much conversation. I kept up my end, but my friend continued pensive. When we got home she patted the boys affectionately on the head, and although I was tempted, I didn’t suggest a hug. The poor girl had already gone through the wringer, I thought.

As she got into her car, she rolled down the window and said, “That was an interesting experience, thank you!”

“It was, wasn’t it?” I smirked.

“Oh yes,” she said. “By the way, keep an evening free next week, I want you to meet my new boyfriend.”

“Oh!” I said, taken aback, as this was news.

“He looks like Justin Beiber, and behaves like him too. You’ll love him!” she said with a huge grin, driving away before I could react.

I watched her drive away and thought, serves me right! I asked for it!

I drove to the shops while my sons advised me on my driving techniques, while insisting that a variety of wildlife were sharing the car with us, including spiders, wasps, maybe the neighbour’s cat

We got home in one piece, the backseat drivers too absorbed in smearing chocolate icing all over their clothes and the car to make much conversation.