Educating the masses.

Above everything, I want to be a good mother.

I want to teach my children right and wrong and that gray area in-between. I want them to grow up and one day say, "My mom? She kicked ass and took names and while now, I am a successful, self-sufficient individual? I am really pleased with the time I got to spend with her."

Or something. I don't know.

That being said, when my husband behaves in a boneheaded manner? I think it is my personal responsibility to politely point it out to my son, so that he does not think it is acceptable to behave in a boneheaded manner.

Take this weekend. Jason wanted to go out to eat. I was fine with this, surprisingly. Normally, I don't like to eat out. I hate crowds and, well, people. I don't like to not wear pajamas if it's the weekend. I just feel like my weeks suck so freaking bad that it is not only my right, but my responsibility, to lay around like third base all weekend long.

But I agreed. Because frankly? I didn't feel like cooking. Or deciding what to cook.

So he wanted to go to a pizza buffet. One that is somewhat known for having three hundred unruly children running amok and parents who could give a crap. But, okay, fine. We hadn't been there in seriously about a year, and the kids like it, and they have a salad bar, so I was sure it would be fine.

It is instead? A madhouse.

We managed to find a table and had to ask someone to clean it off for us. It's crammed in the back corner of the place and a woman with a child who appears to be two years old and two young men who appear to be about fourteen come and sit next to us.

I mean, literally. Right. Next. To. Us.

And the woman? Has a really bad staring problem.

People stare at me. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I'm a big fat-ass. But I kind of doubt that because that lady wasn't exactly thin or anything. Maybe it's because my hair rocks. But I kind of doubt that too, because she obviously did not have an appreciation for good hair based on the pubic-looking nightmare which was all over her head.

I really think it's because I...get ready, this is groundbreaking...actually talk to my kids like they are people.

I know, right? Shocking.

I think she was pretty jealous that those two fourteen year old boys were ugly and rude and ignored everything she said and my kids do things like, you know, act right.

So anyway. This is a self-serve place and the cups are really freaking small. I ran out of drink pretty quickly.

So did Jason. And he went and got himself another drink, but did not get me any.

I know. I know. Not earth shattering. He's not awful. He's not terrible. He's not the WORST HUSBAND EVER!

He's fine. But he should have gotten me, his wife, a drink. Or at least offered.

So this is a teaching opportunity for the Boy Child, clearly. I waited until Jason came back to the table and I said,

"Boy Child? Do you see that your mother is out of soda?"

He nodded.

"What would be the polite response to your mother if she was out of soda?"

"Mom? Can I get you another soda?" asked Boy Child. Meanwhile, Starey McMoronPants next to us watched. Mouth agape.

"Certainly," I said. "And Boy Child? If you were having dinner with your grandmother and she ran out of soda, what would you say?"

"Imaginary Grandma," he said. "Would you like another soda?"

"Good," I said. "And if your sister ran out of soda?"

"Girl Child, since I am getting more soda, can I get you another one too?"

"Good," I said. "Basically, anytime you are dining with a lady and she runs out of drink, you should always, always, always offer to get her some more. ESPECIALLY if you are getting yourself some."

Then, noticing that the woman next to us was COMPLETELY NOT MINDING HER OWN BUSINESS I added,

"Unless it's a lady of the night. You shouldn't be dining with them. Not here anyway. They only like Shoney's."



Because, frankly? Stare-Ann Starepants looked like she could use some education too.