Going Southern

The kids and I regularly participate in a playgroup/wine club that has been going on for more than eight years. Some may question the compatibility of the two activities, but I stand by the combination and argue that the wine makes the children far more palatable.

During one such playgroup/wine club last summer, I caught the boys (the sweet angels pictured above) attempting to throw balls over the back wall of my yard into the semi-busy street above. Naturally, I marched outside and let loose a litany on those poor, unsuspecting boys. I ranted convincingly about the dangers of disrupting traffic, the fact that any balls thrown into the street would be lost to them forever, and generally about the reign of pissed-off-mom terror they would be forced to endure if I saw them try it again. Finished off, like a cherry on an ice-cream sundae, with a reminder that I could, most assuredly, see them even when they thought I couldn't. (Hmph.)

My good friend and fellow Boozey Mommy, Gretchen Reimbold, stood next to me with her hands on her hips through my whole tirade in the standard And-That-Goes-Double-For-Me pose all moms adopt when another mom is schooling a group of kids. When I was done, she looked directly at her child and said "Ben Reimbold, what did Aunt Lori just say?"

Fully expecting "She said not to throw balls in the street" in that bored, surly, sing-songy voice kids use when they’re in trouble, I was surprised when Ben Reimbold answered, "She said y'all.” Gretchen followed with "And what does it mean when Aunt Lori goes Southern?" Ben Reimbold looked at the ground, kicked the dirt, and said quietly, "It means she's mad."

I guess I made my point because no one attempted to throw balls in the street for the rest of the night. Apparently I'm quite Southern when I'm good 'n' pissed off. Let that be a lesson to ya... (all).