It was late afternoon and the neighborhood swimming pool was absolutely frothing. Young members of the swim team churned up and down their designated lanes, adults swam sedately in theirs; the kiddie pool was a riot of shrieking toddlers and befuddled babies and parents trying to sort out little disputes over whose rubber torpedo belonged to whom.
Amid this cheerful tumult, a dark cloud appeared. It was 5 years old, male, wearing a shark emblem on its swim trunks, and it bore a face of thunderous displeasure.
The cloud looked around for its mother, who was chatting by the side of the pool with friends, and advanced upon her.
“Hi sweetie,” said the cloud’s mother.
The cloud folded its arms across its chest. It glared — and actually stamped its foot, like Rumpelstiltskin at his final moment of rage and failure.
“I … want a snack … from the snack bar,” the child said threateningly, “RIGHT NOW!”
The boy’s mother’s mouth dropped open. She’d seen some rude children in her time, and occasionally they were hers, but this was insolence of such spectacular dimensions that she was, for a moment, robbed of speech. This power returned swiftly, however, and she bent down.
“I don’t know what you think you are doing, but you may NEVER …” she began, in a quiet, careful voice that had just the right amount of maternal menace. Unfortunately, she was so discreet that I didn’t catch what she said (and afterwards she couldn’t quite remember), but the gist was as clear as the kid was overcast.
“… So off you go,” she finished, gesturing unsmilingly to the hubbub from which the boy had emerged. The cloud retreated. He was almost raining — but not quite.
“Nicely done,” I couldn’t help blurting out.
“I am so embarrassed,” the woman said, shaking her head. “I don’t know where that came from.”
“But you handled it so well!” protested another woman.
“Short, sharp and no nonsense,” I agreed.
The woman smiled bleakly. “I much prefer it when people notice how well my children are behaving.”
“Who doesn’t? It’s the best feeling,” said the second woman. “When someone who doesn’t live in your house reports to you that your children have good manners when they’re not under your watch? Bliss!”
“Euphoria!”
“As if the clouds are opening, and a shaft of sunlight is coming through and cherubim are descending!”
We were all laughing at this point. Motherhood can be so fraught, and so full of treacherous inflection points, that some days you don’t know whether you’re getting everything wrong, or just most things. This particular woman had seemed to handle her child’s impudence with authority and grace. But had she done the right thing?
The answer became evident a few minutes later.
“Mommy?” came a voice from the pool. It was the cloud. He was no longer a lowering storm, however: This cloud was fresh and fluffy and smiling.
“Yes?”
“Mommy, I’m sorry I spoke to you that way.”
“Thank you sweetheart,” his mother said, beaming. “All is forgiven!”
Relief passed across his 5-year-old face. “Yay! Can you come here?” he said, “I want to give you a water kiss.”
Meghan Cox Gurdon’s column appears on Sunday and Thursday. She can be contacted at [email protected].
