seeing red.

*Disclaimer.
No kids were harmed in the development of this post.
But I wanted to.

I know.
I’m a grown woman and she was just a kid.
But she punched my kid.
And I wanted to pick her up by her red headed pigtails and give her a piece of my mind.

So she’s 5?
Big deal.
She looked at least 6.
Does that make it better?

My poor JT sat there and took her punch. Three times. Finally he heard me call his name and came over, buried his face in my arm and tried not to lose it. I watched her punch him three times. And he didn’t hit back. (Point for our parenting skills) But this little rugrat’s dad also watched and said nothing.

So yeah.
I’m not perfect.
I wanted to pop her one and she was only 5.
(But she looked 6)

I wonder if the momma bear instinct ever goes away. I wonder how the hell I am going to deal with the first boy who really breaks my daughters’ hearts or hurts my kid when there’s nothing I can do about it. I wonder how my parents feel when watching the inevitable hurt that comes with love and life of my sisters and I. Because, really-people around us aren’t perfect and surely we’ve all been punched by the red headed brat a few times figuratively or literally.

And I have a sneaky feeling…
That my mom has wanted to wallop a few kids on my account too.
Which makes me feel better.

So did the ice cream I bought us both tonight.
Him for not hitting back.
And me for only hitting back in my head.

McGee