Today's post is a guest post by MamaBear who tells us a little bit about what it's like to defend one's cubs in the rough and tumble world of suburban Strongsville...
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| Mama Bear- ever vigilent |
Hidden deep in the lush forest of the Midwest (the
Strongsville Metroparks), lives an elusive creature known for her fierce,
loyal, and irrational protection of her cubs. As her offspring enter into what some consider
the golden-years of cubhood (the ages between 6-12 when cubs become interesting
and pleasant), there have been increased sightings of this wild protector. Who is this insane animal, you might ask, and
where has she been spotted? You need
only look to a nearby bus stop, playground or library story-time to locate
her. And it is there you will find… The Mama
Bear.
My day started out as any other. The kids woke, got ready for school, and
together we walked to the bus stop where we greeted several other moms and children. Things were moving along quite nicely,
children excitedly planning for the school day ahead, moms chatting about the
weather…wait a minute. Wait just a minute. Did that kid just push my kid? DID
THAT KID JUST PUSH MY KID?!! And
then it happened. My grizzly teeth grew
sharp, my eyes got wild, my Jamberry nails transformed into claws right there
at the bus stop. I grew to a towering
eight feet and broke right through my yoga pants and sweatshirt. Mama Bear was awake! I lumbered over to my child (who had moved on
from the alleged (possibly misconstrued) pushing incident), and said, “Are you
ok?” and then even louder, “Did John just push you?” My son replied, “No, he tripped and bumped
into me.” Oh, ok. And just like that, my teeth and eyes returned
to their human form, my nails regained their suburban-painted status, and my
clothes once again fit my 5’5 frame.
Mama Bear headed back to the cave.
Returning to the house, my three-year-old and I decided to
head out to the library story-time.
Honestly, can you think of a more benign, fun, and educational experience? We got there a bit early so my kid could get
a front and center seat. He was happy. And of course, I was happy that he’d reached
an age where story-time no longer involved him climbing me like Mt. Everest
throughout the entire 20 minutes of painful songs, rhymes, and finger
plays. All was going well as the other
children filtered in, and I may have even patted myself on the back for our
participation in this enriching activity.
Wait a minute. Are those kids… ARE THOSE KIDS NUDGING MY KID OUT OF THE
FRONT SPOT?!! A deep growl emerged
from me, and Mama Bear was awake! Very
loudly, so the other mothers were sure
to hear, I roared, “Ben, don’t let those kids push you! Batten down the hatches, honey! Hold your position man!” Then I glowered my big grizzly eyes at the
offending toddlers. (Did I just swipe my
bear paw at that girl?) I was on full
alert, glaring around at the toddlers and parents in a frenzied, rabid sort of
way, with a look that I am certain conveyed, “Don’t touch my cub, and you best
find another place to sit.” Thankfully, story-time started and all was well. Mama Bear once again headed back into the
cave.
That night at dinner, my 6-year-old casually mentioned that
one of the girls at school was being mean to her. Smelling danger as any Mama Bear would, I asked
her what the girl had said and she responded, “She called me skinny”. My husband, who rarely gives advice, sat
silently. In fact, I think my whole
family was waiting for my reaction. And
there it was. My face heated, my breathing
increased, my finger (paw really) started making that “Z” shape in the air and
I heard myself roar, “She said what? SHE SAID WHAAATTT?!!” I think I might have seen my husband’s eyebrow
raise a bit, but I was just getting started.
Mama Bear was awake! “Well,” I rabidly
howled, “What did you say back? WHAT DID YOU SAY BACK?!! Did you say, ‘I’m going to kick your--‘” My husband shot me a look complete with the
throat cut-it-off sign. My daughter
replied, “I don’t want to say that, mom.”
Getting all the more agitated, I crazily responded, “Did you tell her to
shut up and mind her own business? Or
how about saying…” My 8 year old cut me
off and sagely stated, “Mom, Jesus tells us to turn the other cheek”. Again
I saw my husband’s eyebrow raise in question.
In full frothing Mama Bear mode I retorted, “Listen, Michael, different
context. Jesus wasn’t talking about mean
girls!” Everyone else at the table
pretty much agreed that this was the exact
kind of situation that Jesus was apparently referring to, and so one dad, his
daughter, and her two brothers decided that the best response was to simply say,
“Thanks.” As a rabid Mama Bear ready
and willing to protect her cubs at all costs, I questioned the retort, but all
involved assured me that this method would work to curb this kindergarten
bully. “Fine”, I said with a low rumbling
growl. (Actually at this point it is
more of a resolute Chewbacca-whine.)
“But maybe you can at least swipe a paw at her when you say it.”
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