How Much is Too Much?/The Return of the Wiley!

I never write anything soul searching or painfully honest on my blog.  Heck, I hardly ever update my blog. I just keep it light and airy and figure I really shouldn't offend anyone and besides, writing about my kid just seems like more fun.  Alas, it is so far from who I have always been, and who I am finding myself returning to bit by bit, to keep my mouth shut.  I try hard not to be rude, but when confronted, I am never short of quips, many of which are biting.

And yet, I find that when I am in terse situations with family or extended family I can't quite be honest anymore.  Not that I need to always share my opinion, but perhaps when others share their opinions of me.  Gone is the fearless Jackie that always existed, that prided herself on not taking any shit from anyone.  Have I lost some of my spunk when I gained my baby?  These days I am realizing more and more that I could be the nicest person in the world, but I wouldn't necessarily be proud of what I was teaching my son.  I do want him to know all about kindness, not just what it means, but what it really takes to be an inherently good and kind person.  But, I also need him to see that you stick up for yourself and for what is right, because if I don't teach him that then who the hell will?

Maybe this post should be entitled "Northampton Moms" because that's what set me off today.  When I see a situation in which Finnegan isn't being treated well by other children I always pause.  Is this me overreacting as a new-ish parent?  Am I feeling sensitive and annoyed about something my child will someday inevitably do to someone else's child?  Still, who will stick up for Finnegan if not me?  More importantly, what kind of lesson is Finn learning in the in-between moments, when he sees his mama standing right there watching another kid be mean to him and doing nothing?  The thought of that lesson for my baby makes me want to cry.

Today the train table, tomorrow high school.  Sigh.  Two oblivious moms, one of whom had a nine month old baby crawling three rows of books away from her on the floor.  She didn't even turn around to see where the baby had gone.  I watched the little girl nearly pull down the entire New England travel section on her head.  The mother didn't even blink an eye.  Perhaps this is what life is like with two kids and I am inexperienced.  Here I go again, doubting myself.  Somehow, I truly believe that should I ever have two kids I won't let one of them be buried alive in books because I am too busy gossiping.  Meanwhile, the woman's other daughter and another woman's son were battling it out at the train table.  They looked to be about five years old and were two incredibly poorly behaved kids.  The mothers kept their conversation going while making passive remarks such as, "Be nice, S."  or "Now, E, you need to share."  My own son watched wide-eyed as E barked at S while she intentionally would not move.  Finn watched E nearly scream at S while S threw her trains across the table in frustration and threw herself on the floor of the bookstore, screaming and kicking.  He watched S try to bite her mother and S's mother say, "Now, now don't bite me or you won't get a book."  Seriously? 

Finnegan seemed to breath a sigh of relief as the mother gathered her screaming five year old and her miraculously alive nine month old and head out of the book store.  Now E was left with no one to antagonize but my son and as he demanded, "EXCUSE ME! Move yourself now!!" I stepped in and told E that while it was nice that he said excuse me, Finnegan was too little to understand why he was using such a harsh tone and that he wasn't use to being told to move that way.  E's mother?  Did. Nothing. 

Then E yelled at Finnegan, "MOVE NOW!" when their trains weren't even on the same track. 
I told E, "His trains are not in your way, I don't think he needs to move in order for you to play." 
E's mother, "Now, E, be nice. He's little." 
Where was she when her son ripped all of Finn's trains off the track and dumped them into the middle of the train table?  Or when he took all of the coach cars and the caboose off of Finn's train and snapped them onto his own without a word and just left a 22 month old little boy to look at me like, "You can play that way?"

More importantly, where the hell was I?  The real me who should have said to the other mother, "Could you keep an eye on your son, he's really bullying mine.  My son is learning how to play and to be social through the behavior of yours and right now he's learning all of the wrong things."  Where the hell was I?  Somehow I feel as though I can't possibly comment on another person's parenting, even if it is absent, because I would hate it if they commented on mine.  But if Finn was bullying another child and I did nothing, then I would absolutely deserve their commentary. 

It's such a fine line to walk and I find myself vacillating between indignation that I should have to bite my tongue and risk my baby thinking I won't stick up for him, and passiveness that I could possibly be offending a parent that I may have to work with or interact with on some parent committee in the future.

How much is too much?