Wanda Holloway. Yes, I had to google that- it wasn't fresh in my mind with the other useless information my brain likes to waste space with... She even has a wikepedia entry:
Wanda Holloway asked her ex-brother-in-law to hire a hitman to kill the mother of a girl who was competing with her daughter for a spot on their junior high school's cheerleading squad. Holloway wanted the mother killed because she determined that the competing girl would be so devastated by her mother's death that she would drop out of the competition, thereby giving Holloway's daughter the coveted spot on the cheerleading squad. Both girls were thirteen at the time. She became known as the "Texas-Cheerleader-Murdering-Mom", and her story gained national attention and spawned two TV movies.
I might have missed my chance to be famous last night... because I was two seconds away from being good ole' Wanda. Well, I wasn't sending out a hitman, but I was going to make headlines by taking care of business myself on a rude parent. It's amazing what athletics can do to the best of us. It's been a good 16 hours and I still haven't simmered down.
We're a swimming family. Yes, we're one of those obnoxious families that swim year round and sport our Snow Swimming gear. And we're proud of it. My hubby was an amazing swimmer- so he started my son off early- don't worry- we're a "No Pressure" family. For example, my driving force was to help my son's weight... it's just a lot easier during the winter to drive to Claude Moore, throw him in the pool and let him get some hardcore cardio instead of spending an hour at Chick-Fil-A sweating it out in the play area. Just sayin.'
So, we spend our summers at the pool loving every second of swim team... That is until last night. We swim in a very well run positive swim league, but ya know how it goes- one bad apple can spoil the whole bunch. And last night, I had a run in with the Big Daddy bad seed.
Yes, my son is big. He towers over most kids. We keep him active and even limit his food at times. It's an issue. So when I hear a grown man openly mocking my son, I have a problem. Ya see, I can be socially awkward until I feel comfortable and know people. I can't speak up in public- In fact, I've made my hubby volunteer this summer because last year I almost experienced hives when I had to work the snack bar and talk to strangers. It's a personal thing, I guess. BUT... when you mess with my kid, you mess with me. And I will turn ghetto fabulous and go crazy on your a$$.
Thankfully, my hubby handled the situation with more class than I would have. After my son killed it in the race, my hubby politely told the man, "Not bad for an Al Bundy." To which the man replied, "Oh, I didn't mean that in a negative way." Hmmm.... when you are talking about my son and making other coaches laugh by saying all he needs to do is stick his hands down his pants- I really don't think you were referring to Al as a heartthrob buddy.
Although handled well, I'm still seething. Have you ever just felt your blood flowing through your veins? Like literally boiling?
So, I turned to facebook. I seem to be on there a lot. Yes, I'm one of those status posters... but I've come to the conclusion that with a traveling hubby, sometimes Facebook is my friend and my link to adult interaction. It's not like I'm sitting at my computer all day. My handy, dandy I-phone is right in my hand and when I've just eaten PBJ for lunch and sang five Barney songs, it's nice to at least feel like I'm talking to someone over the age of six.
Luckily, my mother-in-law had just posted Ephesians 4:29 and Colossians 3:8 on her status... "But now you must put away anger, fury, malice, slander, and obscene language out of your mouths." It's funny how Jesus talks to ya right when you need him. If it wasn't for that, I was about to be classless and tactless and let f-bombs fly...
So now that I'm writing this out, I have calmed down. Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. But if you talk about my son, I will punch your face in. Or just give it a night of not sleeping, testing the limits of my blood pressure, and then lift it up to the Big Man up above and let him handle it. Dear Lord- This man lives in Lansdowne and was wearing a bright, yellow shirt. But then again, I know you already knew that. Amen.
And here goes, another Lesson of the Day. Watch your tongue. And women of I Am Modern unite. Let no child be picked on for ANY reason. They are innocent (at least most of the time).
And today, I will be nice and not gossip about women at the pool that should not be wearing bikini's. Words hurt at any age. Wear it loud and proud sista.
Enough with the rambling, Rev Run posts. But I just can't tell ya how cathartic writing can be. XOXO