For The Sake of Arguing

                                                           

Welcome to the February edition of  The Insecure Writer's Support Group. Be sure to visit our host Alex J. Cavanaugh, as well as the other talented and supportive writers.

                                                                  

                                                     For The Sake of Arguing

The phone rang just as I was about to leave the house.

Mom: It's raining hard now, so you don't have to take me to physical therapy.
Me: But it was raining earlier.
Mom: Yes, but I'll just cancel my appointment. That way you won't get wet.
Me: You weren't worried about that before. I told you I don't mind. Besides, I made you lunch, and didn't you want to go shopping first?
Mom: Yes, but it's too much trouble going back and forth in the rain.
Me: It's not coming down as hard now, and don't you think you need the therapy to get stronger?
Mom: Well if it's not too much trouble.

Later that afternoon my mom told me that I really should be more patient.

This made me think about other ridiculous arguments I've had throughout the years. Shortly after I started driver's ed, my dad suggested that I drive to work. As I was pulling out of the driveway, my mom came home. She hopped in the back seat, while my dad sat by my side. All was calm, until I had to make a left turn without an arrow. My dad was telling me to be assertive and speed up before the light changed, while my mom was telling me to slow down. Instead, I got so nervous that I backed out of the intersection and waited for the next light. Needless to say, neither of my parents volunteered to take me driving again. 

The summer my younger son turned thirteen was during travel baseball season, so we decided to have a little celebration after the game. We ordered pizzas, and brought a cooler filled with soft drinks for the team. Earlier that evening I asked my husband to pick up a few bags of ice for the cooler at McDonald's. He asked me how much it would cost. I told him 99 cents a bag. Then he wanted to know how much other places in the area were charging to make sure that was the best price. I assured him that 99 cents was the best rate in the Chicagoland area, and that if he wanted to miss his son's birthday to scout for 97 cent bags of ice in Wisconsin, I'm sure he would understand. Of course, he still had to make some calls just in case there was a fire sale on ice at the end of July.  It took me a long time to thaw out from that whole experience.

After all these years, my mother still puts her foot on the imaginary passenger side brake whenever I make a left turn. As for my purchasing power, I'm in charge of finding the best deals on cars and the occasional travel destination, but I never go further than my freezer for ice.

*Note: This is a re-post from November 2011.

Mighty Manic Moms

                                                                       



Many multi-tasking moms are motoring around town often wreaking havoc on their children's lives, as well as their own. When our older son was in grammar school one mom was so busy driving back and forth to all three of her children's after school activities, that she even kept a compact porta potty in her mini van.

I remember when both of our boys had conflicting baseball games. It was often difficult deciding which parent would go where. In the end, I was very lucky that my husband and brother helped us cover all the bases. In seventh grade our younger son played travel baseball. It was years before his growth spurt, and he was one of the smallest boys on the team. The coach was new to the park district, and even scheduled smaller practice sessions to provide additional help.

Shortly after, he became fiercely competitive by allowing only the best players up to bat. Though our son was a strong catcher, hitting was his weakness and the coach took his frustrations out on him during practices. When I noticed that some of the other boys were being treated the same way, I made a huge mistake. I sought out the other parents in the hope that we could approach the coach as a group. Hence, I became the team piranha, and it didn't help matters with my son. I could understand if he was playing for his school, but this was a paid  program where everyone deserved to play.

On the day of the last game, my husband took our older son for a college visit, so it was my final chance to clear the air. After everyone had left I sarcastically said to the coach, "Thanks for a great summer." This really set him off,  as he went on a huge tirade. I tried to respond calmly, and  was proud that my boy also stood up for us.

Months later I ran into the mother of one of his teammates. She told me that she heard everything from the parking lot, and her family didn't leave until they knew we were safe. Afterward, my husband wrote a letter to the park district commissioner. It's almost eight years later, and we're still awaiting a response.