Thursday, August 11, 2011

Grouchy old man

See that book on my sidebar?  The one about the recovered skin*head?  Yeah, I'm reading that.  It's an amazing book, but it's incredibly difficult to read and has made me want to throw up on more than one occasion.

Take that book, along with my thoughts about the famine, and the fact that time is ticking away until work starts again, and try to understand that I'm maybe not in one of the best places right now.

Two days ago, a man honked his car horn at my son.  We were on the side of our town's only road, waiting for the cars to pass by so we could make our way back home from the park.  Leone jump started a wee bit early, but nothing significant that I was afraid for his safety.  But alas, apparently Leone had enough of a start that an older man who was at a standstill in his car felt the need to toot his horn a good five times.  (keep in mind that my boy was directly beside me, directly off the street.)  Once that horn honked, Leone managed to climb up one side of my body and into my arms, howling.

To be honest, I don't know what happened.  If it was the "not being in one of the best places right now" thing, if it was this mama bear thing, if it was just a bad day thing- but wow.  I walked directly up to the man's car (please keep in mind this is a small, small town- there are no stop signs, there are no turn lanes, there are no sidewalks... it's just a single Boulevard that makes its way down a two-mile stretch lined with houses, a park, three restaurants, and a couple shops), and as he pretended I wasn't there I could hear my voice rising. I could.  It was getting louder and a bit more gruff with each "SIR!"  But damn if I couldn't control myself.

"SIR.  Were those honks for our benefit?"

"SIR!  Were those honks for our benefit!?" (that one was a bit more sassy sounding, you can be sure of it)

We finally got some dialogue going, but it ended not so very well.  In the end, there I was... crying kid on my hip, both of us covered in river water, antique (meaning badly dented and really, really old) red wagon full of pails and water bottles behind me, and the older (not)gentleman driving away.  I yelled some things that I am not proud of, and truth be told I might have shaken my fist at him had my son not have been taking up residence against my chest.

Errg.  I could hardly see straight.  I have never lost control like I did with a complete stranger.  And with my son hanging off of me?  Truly a sight to be seen (although I'm glad you didn't).

Thing is, I could have easily been mistaken for one of the out-of-control, holy cow did you really say that? moms from Teen Mom, or Sixteen and Pregnant (minus the fact that I look much, much older than they do).  Again, not my finest hour (and yes, I would say it took at least an hour to cool my jets).

Yesterday Leone brought up "the grouchy old man" (yikes!  I might have said that at one point), asking if he was on our front porch as we returned from the Farmer's Market.  He mentioned being scared of the man and has yet ceased to be freaked out when a loud truck drives by us.  And although I swear we never hear car horn honks, its been a fairly regular background noise since the event.

I wish we would have left the park ten minutes earlier.  Just ten.  Then everything would be calm and good and big trucks would still hold their appeal and old men wouldn't be considered grouchy and a mommy wouldn't feel like a busted up pie and a very cautious driver deserved her wrath.

If only the co-pays for therapy weren't so damn high (but that's why I've got you, right?)....