Sticks and Stones and Secret Weapons

I recently started working again and got home last night shortly before Midge and Bean went to bed.  Red was off at a corn maze and Banana had her best friend over.  We pretty much just hung out in the living room for a little bit before it was time for the little ones to get to bed.  It was a nice little slice of time we got to spend together, and even though I am only spending a few evenings each week working, I feel incredibly guilty not being with my family.  I know I'm crazy, but whatever.  The laughter and happy souls gathered in my front room assuaged my neurotic guilt and we headed off to bed to call it a night.

The better half and I were talking once we got under the comforter about the minutiae of the evening while I was gone, much as we do when he gets home from work but the roles were reversed.  We were finally settling in and he said something and suddenly my whole mood changed.  Apparently a couple of the boys in the neighborhood were hanging out front with Midge and Bean as kids in the neighborhood often do.  Everything was fine until these boys decided to entertain themselves by mocking Midge's speech impediment.

My blood boiled.  I was enraged.  I was thisfuckingclose to putting on a bra and ringing doorbells.  I know it was a *slight* overreaction on my part but come on, someone MOCKED MY BABY.  I am not one of those ridiculously naïve parents that believes my precious children would never misbehave.  I am very aware of their flaws, as I am of my own (hotheaded, vulgar and vengeful much?!), but I don't believe for a second that one of them would be intentionally cruel and mock another child.  If they ever prove me wrong, I promise I will make sure they regret it.  I demanded to know how my husband dealt with it.  Did he storm outside and yell?  Did he show up on their parents' doorsteps?

No.  He did none of that.  When the irritation and disgust could no longer be masked and started to seethe out in my words, he very simply explained to me that Banana had told him he couldn't do any of those things.  Midge would be ridiculed terribly for having her parents deal with it.  And fuck them both for being right.  Clearly they are better at this whole responsible and even-tempered adult bullshit than I am.  Dammit.

Still, I couldn't very well just let it go.  Even though I was dead tired, I had a hard time getting to sleep because my heart ached for my Midge.  High-strung and control-freak she may be, but she is tender-hearted and kind and I know she must have been so hurt.  Even as I write this, she is doing extra speech exercises her speech pathologist has given to her of her own volition.  So yeah, there's that.

This morning Banana and Midge were in the family room hanging out because there was no school today and I asked Midge about what happened yesterday with the boys.  She relayed the story and I could see even though it wasn't news to Banana, she was upset someone had been mean to her little sister.  I told them that I had a plan to deal with it if they were interested.  I confirmed before I laid out my stroke of genius to them that it didn't involve me confronting them myself.  Now that I had their attention, I informed them that Midge has a secret weapon.

Teenage girls are the scariest thing on the planet.  They strike fear in the hearts of different people for different reasons, but their mere presence is intimidating for adolescent boys.  I told the girls that next time the boys come by and want to hang out with Midge and Bean, that Banana should step outside and have a word with them about how she doesn't think it's right that they made fun of her little sister. Both of the girls approved of my suggestion.  I'm sure she will be sharply disapproving (she has her mother's razor tongue) and will have no problem making them feel ashamed of what they did.  It saves me from causing a public scene on the street, because as I've already said, I really, really suck keeping my cool.  I doubt they will run home and tell their parents that Midge's teenage sister was mean to them.  If they do, so be it.  I will congratulate them on raising little assholes, or not raising them.  Whichever.  I don't really give a shit.