Tag Archives: fighting

Motherhood: it’s spelled that way for a reason

My son, dos, recently watched a show about gangs, their history and the hand signs they use.  This, of course, caused a fascination with gang hand signs and he began to throw down the bloods, crips and west side like a true gang member.  The throw down occurred in the privacy of our four walls so I did not feel any need to prevent the charades.  Plus it doesn’t help matters that certain family members appear to amuse themselves with gang signs.

Mr. Pavlov and my cuz throwin' down some version of West Side.

Of course dos’s throw down preoccupation did not escape the all observing eye of tres.  Like the sponge that he is, he utilized his super absorbent powers to perfect each sign.

The next day while uno, dos, tres and I were waking through a city parking lot, tres decided he would throw down to random people.  He began with the sign for the bloods and continued with whatever signs for who knows how long before uno spotted the finger action.  Then the scenario went something like this:

Uno “Stop that you’re going to get us killed!”

Tres ignores the request  and continues throwing down

Uno “MOM, make him stop!  You can’t throw signs in public!  You will get us shot! They kill over those signs”

Tres persists with the [now] over exaggerated hand signs while giggling and effectively dodging her grasp   

Uno: a slew of insulting adjectives then “MAAAUUM, he won’t stop!  Stop it NOW!” looking at dos “See what you did…help me get him!

Screaming and wails ensue as dos joins in pursuit of tres, who is quickly caught and overpowered. 

Tres “waaaaha, oowww, let me go!  MOM, help me….pleeeeasee, oh pleeaase…for the love of God, help me!”

Tres agrees (in the spirit of anatomical preservation) to stop throwing down and the older two release him from the death grip.  They prolong the event longer than my distracted nerves permit and argue back and forth…each one trying to get in the final word.  I believe there was blame, anger, insults, shoving and maybe a death threat or two….

Welcome to my hood.

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“I’m not perfect but pretty darn close”

I was coming out of the store cult of all store cults [Wal-Mart] a few days ago and got to witness an explosive argument between a man and woman.  This particular day I was in a “I have time to stop and get high on the flowers” frame of mind.  Most of my days are the mission impossible types where you could be spontaneously combusting beside me and I wouldn’t stop.

I slowed my rapid pace to a crawl and tuned into parking lot brawl fest 101.1  From what I could gather from the lung rage, the woman was at fault.  Apparently she made an irresponsible budget error that was going to cost the couple dearly.  She attempted to “sneak” objects into the cart without her partner finding out.  

Hello, woman?  Unless you are planning a ‘Thomas Crown Affair’ you’re supposed to do this when he isn’t around or NOT at all! 

Once busted she became very belligerent and defensive.  At one point she bellowed “I’m not perfect but pretty darn close!!!”  I believe it was this comment that sent the slippers sailing to Kansas.

I thought about suggesting a rapid return of merchandise but then decided against it once I saw the emotional escalation and astral projection of goods.  The words “wrong place, wrong time” rang in my head as I visualized both spaziods transferring their anger upon me….and it didn’t seem like a party I wanted to attend.  So, I did the self-preservation thing and continued with the auditory stalking.

Conveniently I parked close to the kill zone and they were screaming so I didn’t have to listen too intently.  I got to witness pretty much the entire event play out and not only managed to maintain a heart beat, but also gathered an important piece of data. 

Two words and only two words should have been spoken by the woman when her husband caught her in an intentional act of irresponsibility.  These words are difficult to speak and often involve a huge digestion of pride.  However, like an entire bomb squad these two little words have the ability to diffuse a verbal nuclear Holocaust. 

They are…….

I’M SORRY. 

Note:  I also find “yes, I was wrong” moves mountains as well and when combined  with behavior modification produces miraculous effects.  

I guess they could be considered three words without the contraction form.  These little words are powerful and produce dramatic results.  When spoken in sincerity, they make us own our actions.  They cause us to accept responsibility.  And rather than hours of heated warfare, a disagreement is often reduced to minutes if one party is willing to utter “I’m sorry.”  Yes, the other party may continue to rant and may attempt to get on a little rage but they can only fuel the fire solo for a limited time before the sincere  “I’m sorry” kills the action.

What a novel idea huh?  I’m sorry, I’m not perfect but pretty darn close!