one that meddles; also : blabbermouth, gossip
My little darling had tested me too many times that afternoon. As I looked into his bright eyes he realized that a different type of insanity was going to quickly unfold. He realized the harshness of my tone and he quietly snapped back to the realities of our dinner table. A calm came over Brase that extinguished his fiery tantrum.
Mind you, I do not remember exactly what I said. I am positive the statement contained the words, "Absolutely not!" These words seem to be my constant mantra, at present. This statement was probably followed by, "We do not act like this!"
My son's temper is my cross to bear. You will be forever cursed if your mother has ever spoken the vile words, "I hope your children act exactly as you did as a child." You see, I am paying my penance.
I have learned that negotiating does not work at this stage of the game. If I look Brase in the eyes and lay down the rules he will conform. It may take an unpleasant tone and a few minutes but the end result is effective. He has not learned that my bark is much worse than my bite.
I believe I come by this child rearing technique naturally. I learned it from my WASP mother. I never remember getting a spanking but I certainly remember my mother's voice echoing from the walls of the ladies lounge. I always exited our impromptu chats completely composed but obsessed with her every word.
Brase now sat quietly. I took a generous bite of my knish and breathed a sigh of relief. This battle had ended and I was happy to simply finish my meal.
As I glanced up from my plate, a lady approached from two tables away. Our eyes were conversing before she reached me. I knew another battle was going to quickly escalate into a full scale war. She said... "is this your baby?" Then without another breathe she said..."do you boys need some help?" Her tone was sharp and impertinent.
This was day 3 of a very long extended weekend. A weekend that encompassed 1 doctor visit and 4 pharmacy runs. Our little one had yet another upper respiratory infection brought on by a mystery virus. Brase had also gifted this illness to me. Fortunately, we were on the downside of this virulent bug.
The stranger persisted with the manners of a bull. Her smile was strained as she relayed her thoughts on parenting. Somewhere in her muddled of words the phrase "motherly instinct" shot from her mouth.
I took one deep breathe as my son happily sat playing with a teaspoon. Brase looked at me as he shouted the words "Da, Da, Da!" You see, he wanted my full attention.
Remember those commercials during the 80's for the brokerage firm E. F. Hutton? The tag line was... "When E. F. Hutton talks people listen." Those commercials always ended with swarms of people eavesdropping on a very private conversation. At this point I felt like my family had a staring role in one of those short comic/drama episodes.
As I raised my eyebrows, I remembered my audience. You see, tonight's dinner theatre presentation was playing out in our favorite local Jewish delicatessen. This place is where the sick come to eat. It's the only place in the city that you can find matzo ball soup that comes a close second to your bubbie's.
My script was short but I was the star of the show. I not so politely declined the services of this overreaching Yenta. In addition, I gave her some personal thoughts to ponder and interjected a few choice words. I will not repeat exactly what I said because I am not proud of the expletive that rolled off my tongue. I will say that the woman abruptly excused herself but forgot to apologize. The one scene act quickly played out.
In the aftermath, Jose face unclenched. The reality is... I was afraid that my calm partner in life was going to take this lady out. I have seen him this mad only a handful of times in the last twenty years.
As the tension eased, I ordered 3 cheese filled blintzes. I justified this treat by saying, "We deserved them after all we had been through." Jose and I also discussed our latest lessons on communication skills and parenting.
The bottom line... I know my child and I know how to handle him. I have fed, bathed, rocked and nurtured him since the second of he was born. He is my son and I do not need a vagina to raise him.
Overall, people are so kind to our family. We live in a metropolitan area that encompasses 6.1 million people. It's a big city with vast diversity and cultures. On occasion, we run into the town idiot. It seems this is another cross our non-traditional family must bear from time to time.