One Bad Mother

Last night I took the kids to the library. We don't do that much in the winter and almost never during the week, but I had some time to kill and I thought, "What the heck? Let's live large." We head up to the youth section, which has its own floor and is sort of hermetically sealed from the rest of the library. In the past, I loved that about the library because it meant the occasional baby- shriek wasn't going to disturb some poor schmo working on his dissertation. Plus it has comfy sofas and chairs just perfect for lounging and reading to munchkins. Last night, though, I discovered the downside of the comfy couches and the glass doors. The youth section of the library has become the hangout-of-choice for the early adolescent set.

Eeek.

That means that, while trying to find the last remaining copy of Cowboy Kate and Cocoa and Percy & the Olympians, I was also trying to keep the kids out of F-bomb range. At one point the librarian came over to tell them to watch their language and they just laughed at her, which triggered some long-dormant teacher instinct in me and I sort of lost it. Not like "Get off my lawn" lost it, but more "scary short lady talking to you like she knows you telling you to have some self respect and find some place to hang out where little kids don't have to hear you talk like you don't know better- which I know you do- and don't mess with me cause you don't freakin' scare me" lost it.

When I finished and one kid tried to laugh at me, I spun on him like the kick-ass teacher I used to be and dared him (with my expression) to push me. He (and three of his co- hoodlums) left.

I had to go sit down because my hands were shaking so badly.

Badass speaks her piece and dares you tell her to shut up.