Last week I shared the Jordana struggles.  Jackson’s the jealous type, so let’s devote this entry to my four-year-old planet of energy.  Jax loves the library, and it can be a safe little haven. The children’s area has a train table (rethink that, public library system, kids can’t share, so how the heck can they coordinate a train track?).  There’s, of course, an abundance of books, games and computers to plug your kid into if you need to veg.  So it’s an inviting place, right?  Well, Jackson and libraries aren’t a cookies and milk kind of combo- more cookies with a side of antifreeze.  If you recall, he recently chucked a library book out the window.  Then last week, he accomplished the impossible (not good impossible like a whine-free hour).  We were tossed from the local library- don’t let the door slam you on the behind and if it does we don’t give a dang.  Booted.  I wish this entry could be all about the benefits of my newly earned street cred, but thug life and suburban life don’t always gel.

I’M HUNGRYYYYYYYYYY

It all started with an innocuous visit to the library to meet a friend and her son.  I carted the three kids in then slumped into a comfy children’s room couch.  The baby crawled contently along the carpet at my feet, grabbing grubby toys.  She’s been on sleep boycott, so I let her ingest germs to her heart’s content while I zombied-out.  My friend arrived, and the big kids ventured up a few steps to the section that housed games, computers, and amazing prizes for the summer reading program such as…. wait for it…. lollipops.  I heard Jackson’s booming voice a few times, the kid lacks a volume knob, and the librarian scolding him, “Prizes aren’t free for the taking” (library system, rethink placing lollipops in reach of small kids and sugar-fiending adults who lack impulse control).  Every two minutes, Jackson returned to my crumpled body.  “I’m hungryyyy,” “I’m hungrryyyy.” Tough luck, kid.  You ate the last stash of chocolate bunnies.  Traveling pantry, AKA grungy diaper bag, is bare.

Fricking Exhausted

One adult conversation, that’s all I was jonesing for, to spill my stress, including but not limited to, a tall glass of childcare upheaval with a hefty splash of work-drama.  But Jax, surprise, surprise, didn’t consider MY needs.  “MAAAAAA” I’m hungryyyy.”  Thank you, library employee, who picked this moment to microwave stinky popcorn.  “I smell POPCORN.”  “POP CORN.”  “Jackson, there’s a few minutes left.  Play!!” (Code for shut the mouth, so I can vent then put my mommy costume back on).  He  obeyed grumpily.  Exhausted and counting every millisecond until Keith moseyed home, I was content to sit for a few final minutes versus running to and fro after sneaky crumbs and sticky juice.  But teary-whiney-boy who snacked fifteen minutes ago was starving, and suddenly….. Hold up!  When did we go from food-beggar, to full-on chill-inducing-tantrum-maker?  Sternly but without vigor, I pointed to a chair in the corner.  “Sit there until you calm down.”  The sobbing and heaving escalated into unadulterated speaking in tongues, writhing around, ear busting.  Rather than jumping to calm my son, I let him stew.  His M.O. is to demand attention, so we often let him self-deescalate.  Plus, I was fricking exhausted and salvaging my temper.

The Throw Down

“Do you feel sorry for me?” I asked my friend with my head, a bowling ball, in my hands.  She has a knack for making the future seem neon bright.  “Do you remember the time he wouldn’t stand up at the orchard,” she asked, and I chuckled.  “Yeah!  Do you remember when I dragged him out of the mall by his feet?” I added.  Mom-life was bearable again.  “What should I do?” I posed aloud, but as I looked up to the sky for an answer, a formidable figure was hulking over us.  It was… the CHILDREN’S LIBRARIAN.   I smiled up hopefully at the nice librarian. “I am going to have to ask you to leave,” her voice flooded the room.  Shots fired, and my friend and I were the shocked targets.  The blood at the tip of every extremity stormed my brain.  “You need to leave.  Your son is disturbing the entire library and has been for quite a while.  The library is a quiet place.”  Are my ears damaged from blasting hip hop?  Say what, meanie librarian???  “You need to leave now,” repeated robot-library-lady.   Ouch!!  Burn unit, STAT.

The Librarianator then lasered in on Jackson, still a bawling wreck.  “We are quiet in the library. You can’t be here if you don’t listen.”  Faster than venti cold brew, adrenaline coursed through dog-tired mom.  Presto Chango!  Oh-No-You-Didn’t mom jumped to her feet, “Are you kidding me?” I asked calmly.  “You’re going to do this in front of everyone and don’t have the courtesy to pull me aside?”  Warden-of-children’s-books hissed, “It’s library policy we don’t take a parent away from the child.”  Wench, is a throw down an opportune time to discuss policy?  Rather than slap her with shade, I replied in disbelief, “You’ve always been so kind to us before.”  Ice Queen glared, “You need to leave.”

Embarrassed AF

“I want to take out books.  Booooooooks!!!!” Panic Mode: yell Jordanaaa, scoop baby, abandon books, grab brat.  My friend and I dragged the crew to the door as the entire library stared, googly eyed.  Screw the audience watching this go down like an episode of Honey Boo Boo.  Where’s the posse of parents leaping to our defense?

Overflowing washing machine stuffed with memories of dirty library laundry:

• Storytime missions aborted because Jackson couldn’t sit still in the row of nodding angels.
• Jackson chair-slamming a kid accidentally.  Sneaking out with tails tucked tightly between our legs.
• Halloween in adorable dinosaur costume, entire body rigid and howling, slung over my shoulder.  Pushing the newborn stroller one-handed, kicking the door open to escape.

Our library mishaps culminated in the Worst Mom Ever prize awarded to… Jamie!  With the help of my shell-shocked friend, I shoveled the kids into the minivan, embarrassed AF.  A toddler trying not to have an accident, I couldn’t hold it; tears trickled down my cheeks, shoot.   “Mom why are you crying?  Was it because Jackson got us kicked out of the library?” Jordana said sweetly.  The librarian is a total BIACH, Jordana.  Nope, I didn’t say that; I did the good-mom-thing.  “Awww honey it’s okay.  I’m fine.  We’re okay.”  Jackson, on the other hand, hadn’t ceased his moaning gig, and I’m not proud, but the mom-voice voice evolved into throaty serial-killer-voice, “Jackson, do I have to pull over and spank you?”  No dice.  Called my bluff.  His Crocked feet smashed the back of the seat over and over as I smashed myself for being a suck ass parent, Jackson for not fitting in with all the little-goody-two-shoes, and the librarian for being cruel.

When we got home, I called the “Head Librarian” rather than stand idly while they slammed the next kid with special needs or mom in crisis.  The call quickly transitioned into sobbing-out-of-control-god-how-embarrassing.  The Head Librarian, though sweet, couldn’t do anything other than leave a note for the Director.  In the morning, the Director, all efficiency, did call: incident was addressed; “sorry” on behalf of the library, we respect patrons etc. etc.  I attempted to reiterate 100+ more compassionate ways to approach a distraught child, we were too wounded to return to the library, but she was ready to move on to important things like cataloging books and scheduling magic shows.

Egos Intact

I’m reexamining this fiasco through a freshly Windexed window- with clarity rather than as a victim. According to the Director, the perp was under stress that week, so maybe that was her best self in the moment.   My smart, sweet, super sensitive, extremely active son is still my love, not my library felon or bad kid.  Sure, I could have kept a better eye on Jackson, packed him extra snacks, resurrected him instead of sticking his butt in timeout.  But that’s all I had to give, every ounce I could muster, my best.  I’m not a horrific, soon to be banned from the library, kind of mom.  I’m an I love my kids more than life mom.

My wish, in a perfect world, is to rebuild this memory out of kindness rather than rage or sadness.  The librarian discreetly suggests I take Jackson outside for a few minutes or offers her help.  People smile understandingly because, hey, we’ve all been there.  Instead of the yuck, I’m going to use this reminder to be a more compassionate human, bundle others in support when I see them struggle, and show my kids the right way.  That’s the kind of mom I am.

And yup, as you can see from the pictures, we’ve been back to the library with egos intact.

What what??? Who’s the Motha****** in charge of the library now????

Disclaimer: No library property was peed upon or harmed during the making of this blog.

Double Disclaimer: No children were encouraged to deface public property.  Mommy wanted to take “silly pictures.”