Defining Drama

Dramamama has dance class every Wednesday evening.  I usually make sure to avoid the waiting room/lobby area during class because there are two types of parents there and I can’t stand either one.  The first are the pageant moms…these women make me want to reach down my throat, pull out a rib, and stab them with it.  One in particular is always talking about “sportswear competitions” and “personality points” and “talent aspects” and which photographer’s work assures a spot in the finals for your FIVE YEAR OLD.  She even talked one day about the false teeth she makes her little girl wear because her teeth are “too tiny” and “she’s no good at holding a smile for a long time.”  She’s five fucking years old!!!!! They have tiny teeth!!! And who the hell can hold a smile for 2 hours?!?

Anyway…I totally digressed.  The second type of parents I can’t stand at dance class are the worthless parents who let their kids run the show, then complain about their “awful behavior” when any demand is placed on them.  They were talking today about how often they have to “pop” their kids to get them to do the tiniest thing.  “I don’t like to do it, but it’s the only way she’ll listen to me.”  “Mine will only listen if I’m screaming.”  “I can’t remember the last time she got ready for school without needing at least one pop.”  I want to pop them.  I am impressed with my ability to keep my mouth shut around them, because this is the kind of shit that really makes my blood boil.  There’s one other parent there…a flaming (yet apparently straight) high school teacher who, despite the fact that he sounds exactly like Jim J. Bullock, doesn’t seem to fit into either group.  He’s not a pageant mom and he speaks his mind to these women about his views on screaming and popping parents (which I, thus far, agree with).  So today I just sit there for the last 5 minutes of class listening to these women and thinking “I am so lucky.  My kids are so great.  They might have their moments but they aren’t anything like the demons these women have created.  I have the most awesome kids…so mature and rational.” 

My self-praise was interrupted when the door opened, and my beautiful smiling girl came out.  She took my hand and we walked to the van, laughing together as she told me “I danced my whole heart out in there!”  We got in, and I told her I had a surprise for her.  I had gotten some Cracker Jacks and wanted to share with her…who doesn’t love Cracker Jacks???  “Thank you mommy!!! You’re the best!!!”  I know I am, baby…

She didn’t like them.  Cool…more for me.  She asked if we could have some different popcorn.  I said, sure…when we get home I’ll make you some popcorn.  She was happy with that answer until we drove past CVS and she suggested we go in for some popcorn.  I told her we didn’t need to stop, we didn’t have time, and we would have popcorn…the popcorn she loves…when we got home. 

Not good enough. 

Ya know that switch?  The one that all five year olds have? The one hidden deep inside all the cuteness and sweetness and smiles? 

Yeah…she found it.  And she flipped that fucker. 

Immediately she was in complete tantrum mode…writhing around, kicking, and screaming “I WANT MY FAVORITE POPCORN!!!!!!!!!!!!!”  I knew what she meant…the Smartfood white cheddar popcorn.  I (still calmly) told her we had popcorn at home, and if she wanted that, she could have it.  But if she continued the screaming, she would get none and would go to her bed.  She chose none. 

For ten solid minutes she screamed at me about the damn popcorn.

DM: “I neeeeeeeeed the popcorn!!!!!”
Me: “You don’t need it. You want it.”
DM: “You don’t know what I need. You aren’t in my head. If you were in my head you’d know that I NEEEEED my favorite popcorn.

DM: “Do you know how it feels?”
Me: “What? To want popcorn?”
DM: “Yes.”
Me: “Yes.”
DM: “Then you know you need to turn around right now and get it.”

DM: *kicking the door*
Me: “Stop kicking the door.”
DM: “If I was eating my favorite popcorn I wouldn’t be kicking.”

DM: “If you don’t get my my favorite popcorn I’m going to rip my clothes off.”
Me: “What???”
DM: “I’m going to rip off my clothes and throw them out the window.”
Me: “Go for it babe. You’re still not getting any popcorn.”

~~~following a 30 second silence~~~
Me: “Are you ready to listen to me?”
DM: “Are you going to tell me you’ll go back to CVS and get me my favorite popcorn?”
Me: “No, I’m not.”
DM: “Then I’m not ready to listen.”

Those women have nothin’ on me. I’ve raised an angel.


4 Responses

  1. I think I could have written this myself:) Dance parents and all. I have wanted to rip that switch out of my girls soooo many times:) Oh and I laughed out loud at the Jim J. Bullock comment!

  2. that’s why i haven’t let my daughter take dance yet. because i can’t stand the thought of her being around THOSE women and their daughters!! oh heck…i’m lying…I don’t want to be around THOSE women and their daughters…
    all the dance studios in my area are like that. and…the adult classes too!! spare me!!

  3. All I can say is I know how you feel…LOL.

  4. LMAO! This post is hysterical! 😉 Thanks for a good laugh.

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