Should I Let The Social Worker Read My Blog?

Yesterday I took the children to the library. I thought it would be fun to walk, seeing as we have just spent a week indoors avoiding eyelash-scorching heat. Ironflower happily climbed into the stroller, eager to check out every Todd Parr book in the library. Lovebug handled being put in next to her quite agreeably. We set off on our fifteen minute walk to the cozy and familiar library.

Ironflower and Lovebug were pretty cheerful on the walk over. Ironflower asked enough questions about who lived in the houses we passed that I started making things up. I found all the proper ramps for street crossing, because we own the most awkward side-by-side stroller known to parents (whenever women pregnant with their second child ask me about our stroller I tell them not to even think about it and to refuse it if offered for free). After arriving, I got a whole five minutes in the adult section before we HAD to go to the kids' area (I used to go to my area after we went to the kids', but they were actually more impatient that way).

All went reasonably well, especially since the computer was not on and thus Lovebug could move the mouse to his heart's content. We found lots of fun books and CDs and Lovebug only pulled a few books off of the shelves. I should have known something bad was going to happen when Lovebug volunteered to climb into the stroller. I asked Ironflower if she was ready to go - and she was. Then we checked out and I didn't even have any fines. It was all too good to be true.

Lovebug began screaming as we walked across the parking lot. He wanted down. I explained that getting out of the stroller was not an option. He screamed and tried to break out of the straps. I told him he could get out soon. He screamed some more. The few people we saw stared at us, but when they saw I wasn't beating him with a baseball bat they looked away. I kept trudging home and Lovebug kept screaming.

Then, because he is a resourceful child and likes to get his way, Lovebug began pulling Ironflower's hair. This is the great disadvantage of the side-by-side stroller, not only can they share snacks, juice and conversation; they can also assault each other easily. Lovebug, while not yet eighteen months old, can inflict A LOT of pain with his hair pulling techniques. Ironflower howled and I removed Lovebug's hand. He did it again and again and finally (not having the option of putting him in time-out on the streets of Stuck-Up or of being able to carry him and push a stroller filled with Ironflower and library books) I smacked his hand away and used my mean teacher voice to yell NO. Since he'd been sobbing the entire time, I can tell you that he didn't really react to the smack, except that he actually let go of her hair for more than thirty seconds. At this point they were both screaming and I was yelling "NO!" while on the verge of tears myself. Lovebug was only momentarily daunted, though, and returned to hair pulling a minute or so later (while also kicking and screaming - I knew that I'd never be able to carry him and push the stroller). Ironflower screamed in pain and I continued to yell NO.

I then tucked Lovebug's offending hand under his stroller seat belt - I didn't know what else to do to make him stop hurting his sister. Lovebug screamed like I had stabbed him with a hot knife. . . and that's when I saw the old man across the street. He was stopped dead in his tracks, just staring at me and my charming children. I tried to nod and smile, but he didn't react at all. I tried to loudly explain what was going on to the children, hoping that he could hear me and understand that I didn't normally go around hand smacking and yelling NO.

Ironflower calmed down but Lovebug refused to feel better. He screamed the whole way home, even after extricating his hand and being offered snacks, juice and toys. After the last offer was batted away I gave up. I didn't talk or explain or make silly sounds. I didn't point out the cars or the houses or the birds. I just concentrated on not yelling.

I don't know if the old man knows the number for the Department of Children and Family Services, and if they are like the department in the school district where I used to work they will not be very concerned by his story, but I'm preparing myself anyway. I even told Hot Guy to buy Pampers instead of Target brand diapers, just in case the social worker shows up.