How We Celebrated St. Patrick’s Day

My Monday’s post didn’t get lost in a hangover fueled by the excuse everyone uses to be Irish and get drunk at a parade. We didn’t attend a parade, nor can I even drink to try. Instead, half of our family spend it eating that disgusting slop known as “boiled dinner”, while my husband feasted on NyQuil, my oldest son sneezing all over the baby, and the baby being funneled full of Tylenol and juice. I had pizza and Chinese food, that’s how I celebrated. Hooray for colds, not that we would’ve taken the baby to a parade in a part of a city I don’t want to be in anyways in the middle of a freezing day. Everyone’s illness by Monday was no better, so the post really got lost in a baby who was too busy coughing, sneezing, running a fever, and not wanting to leave Mommy.

I did get to celebrate Monday with the second true Irish art: our tempers. Easily flared, easily passed. At least, I thought they normally pass quick. This apparently doesn’t apply when your child is nearly harmed. In picking up my older son at his CCD classes, he was nearly hit by a car parked inside the area where the CCD kids are dismissed. He didn’t pay attention, and sped off in his fancy car picking up his children from the school’s after school program, nearly running down my son. If it weren’t for me screaming “Dyl, stop!!”, this post would be an entirely different and much angrier post. The guy didn’t stop when he saw me running and screaming, he floored it and left. The gate on that side is normally shut to prevent these measures, but not today.

This wouldn’t have been a big issue if the guy would’ve driven a little slower, if he had paid a little attention, or even if he cared enough to be a decent human being after the incident to stop and apologize for being (pardon my french) a giant asshole. After the fact I realized I should have taken a picture of the car and license plate, but it wouldn’t have mattered. I was so shaky with rage and terror the picture probably wouldn’t have come out well. Then I comfort myself by saying, “what would I do with a picture? Being a douche isn’t a crime”. Two bad words, my apologies. See, apologizing isn’t hard fancy rich man who thinks he’s better than me.

I did the responsible and mature thing and emailed the head of the CCD program the next day, when I was calm enough to be an adult and not revert to my “give ’em hell” temper. As of yet, nothing. I don’t know if I really care if she apologizes or not, though one would be fantastic. I am sure that I want to make sure that this incident doesn’t happen to another child at this school. I’m also sure if she pins any blame on me or my son, I’ll make noise. Because my child’s safety is her concern until I get him into the car to go home with me.

When it comes to our children, we turn into completely different people. We because vicious and protective, daring anyone to “try me”. They say “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”. I don’t believe that’s the case. There is no rage like one a parent can easily fly into when their child is in danger. We’re tirelessly protective and eager to keep them safe at any cost. When I heard someone tried to bully my older son (tried, my son smart talked his way out of it and it never happened again), I won’t lie and say I didn’t want to hunt the kid down myself and show him what a real bully is. If someone tried to kidnap him or harm him seriously in any way, I can’t lie and say I wouldn’t try to severely injure that person. There’s something primal that eats away at our civility when it comes to protecting our children. That’s the way we should feel though, it’s normal to want to protect your child from everything you can and give them the best you can.

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