I’m a pretty level person when it comes to my kid. I expect that he not act like a jerk and you treat him like a real person, not some sub-human, and we’re good. When we go out to dinner, I pick an early reservation time and try to stick to fast and noisy restaurants. I also don’t freak out if he splashes you in the pool on accident because he’s a kid and it’s water and you’re going to get wet. Again, acknowledge that he’s just a kid and kids do weird things, and at the same time I’ll keep him in line and not let him disrupt your life.
But there is one thing that gets my irrational mom rage going—fireworks for no reason at 9 PM.
It’s June 15th at 9 PM. My son has been in bed for an hour and he’s asleep while my husband and I watch coverage on the US Open. It’s quiet and we’re thinking of heading upstairs soon, in hopes of catching up on good sleep.
I close my eyes in rage. My husband groans. And just like clockwork, our three-year-old son starts wailing. “MOMMY!!! I heard a firework and I’m scared!” His sobs fill the house and we run upstairs to comfort him. It’s going to take awhile to rub his back and calm him down, so I mentally kiss any book-reading or marital romance goodbye. It’s likely he’ll end up on a pallet beside our bed if he can’t settle because yep, he’s that freaking scared of the loud booms.
I get it. They might not have kids or maybe their kids are enjoying the fireworks and I certainly don’t expect them to be thinking of me and my scared toddler blocks away. BUT SERIOUSLY?! SERIOUSLY. There is zero reason to be shooting fireworks on June 15th other than boredom. And boredom is no reason to wake sleeping giants…erm, I mean…toddlers.
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