Mom's (Non) Muffin Morning

Today was Mom's Muffin Morning at Mark's school. It's a wonderful chance for moms and kids to share breakfast while being serenaded by the middle school orchestra, followed by a trip to the classroom, where the moms help their loving offspring paint masks. (Don't worry, Dads got their day back in November.)

Well, wonderful for most moms, anyway. For Mark, there's absolutely nothing more embarrassing than being in public with his mom. I could defend his behavior as a natural part of growing up, or asserting his independence and transitioning to a teenager, but I won't; the truth is, sometimes he's just a big ol' brat. Today was one of those times.

I could sense the winds shifting toward brattiness, so I prepped him before leaving the house. I told him this was a special day, and I expected polite, respectful behavior. His eyes glazed over, so then I spoke the language he responds to most often -- threats. I promised to kiss him all over and call him "Mommy's wittle bitty baby" in front of everyone if he did not cooperate. He shaped up pretty quickly at that!

We walked to school, and I again reminded him to behave. He reiterated his promise to do so.

And behave he did. Right up until we walked through the school gates, and he said, "Bye, I'm going to play." He started to dart off, but I expected this, and grabbed his arm before he could flee. There were tons of moms around, so I reminded him again, nicely, that we were going to get muffins.

He squirmed away and said, "I'm not hungry. Bye!"

Again, I helped him back into line.

But he was determined to win. "Fine," he said, acidly. "I have to go to the bathroom then." He turned to march away, dodging and smirking at me. Once again, I grabbed his arm to lead him back to the line. I still thought we might succeed.

Until he opened his mouth and squealed, "OWWW, YOU'RE HURTING ME!! WHY DO YOU HURT ME EVERY CHANCE YOU GET??"

And, cut away from the muffin line. This time I didn't bother speaking, I just pulled him out of line under the gaze of a hundred appalled mothers. I led him to the wall where I ordered him to sit down immediately.

"You are done," I told him. I turned away from him, fuming, and told myself silently to BREATHE. (Yes, I said it just like that, in all caps -- I was MAD!) I took a few deep breaths, reminded myself again to breathe (lower caps) and finally calmed down.

Mark spent the next 20 minutes watching the other kids play on the playground. At one point he relented, saying, "Fine, I'll eat a muffin."

"I don't want to eat with you anymore," I said. "You're on a time out until the bell rings. And then you're going to class alone, without a mother to help you, because I am done with your attitude."

He shrugged, and that sent me over the edge. I am not proud to say that I told him I was going to get donuts (his all-time favorite treat) for breakfast.

The bell rang, and he went off to class. I walked home, stomach grumbling, because it was now 8:45 and I hadn't eaten breakfast. When I suddenly had an epiphany -- who says kids have to be part of Mom's Muffin Morning?

I'd already told my boss I was coming to work late, so I made the best of it. I grabbed my car keys and my new People magazine and drove over to my favorite bagel shop.

I enjoyed my favorite bagel and my favorite coffee and read my favorite magazine. At no point did any of them back talk me, whine that they were bored or wiggle uncontrollably in their seat. It was leisurely, it was relaxing, and it was a great way to re-start my day.

Maybe I'll send an email to the PTA president recommending a kid-free Mom's Day breakfast next year. I think it'd be a big hit!