Common Courtesy--A Fading Fancy

I recently read an article about Olde Salty's restaurant, in North Carolina, that posted a sign reading—“Screaming Children Will Not Be Tolerated”.

Hummmmm…..

Does a restaurant owner have the right? One mom, Kelly Chambliss, doesn’t think so. She believes Olde Salty’s is discriminating against her son because he is autistic.

Ms. Chambliss--are you serious??? Isn’t that a little extreme?


Do you think it’s alright for you to remain in a restaurant with a screaming child, autistic or not, and spoiling the dinner of everyone around you? Talk about indigestion!!  What about the parents who have paid for a sitter to enjoy some time away from their kids, and the whole time they have to listen to a screaming child? They could have gotten that at home for free. Don’t they have a right to an enjoyable dinner?


Here, let's get a little more extreme.... Maybe the restaurant should sue the parents of screaming children. Screaming children drive away customers, which results in loss of income. 
Ka-ching!


People!! Let’s try on some of that seemingly uncommon, common courtesy, some more of that good old-fashioned respect. If your child is throwing a fit in a restaurant, or your baby won’t stop crying, remove them. Trip to the bathroom? Outside? To-go box??


Maybe our rights as parents have been stripped down. I think there are people who want to discipline, but are afraid, so they resort to lazy parenting. It’s just easier to give in. You don’t like the whining, the crying, and you want it to stop. Totally get that. But giving in to the whining--giving a child what they want because they are whining???  Whew.….that's bad news. That’s when they get what they need—a swat on the butt, maybe? Can’t do that, though—you might get arrested.

(Now child abuse is a total extreme to what I’m talking. Let’s keep that in mind. I am also not suggesting spanking an autistic child.  We're talking generalities here.  Don’t want those extremist breathing down my neck.)

No means NO! It doesn’t mean having a fit, or whining and carrying on to get your way. It means 'No--and if you don’t stop, you’re going to be sorry'. If that lesson is learned early on, you’re golden. You’ve won half the war right there. Pick your battles--the important ones. Your child acting a fool in public—that’s kind of an important one.


I applaud Ms. Chambliss for being an advocate for her child. Kudos! But I think she is being very extreme with her allegations of discrimination. Olde Salty’s just wants to create a pleasant environment for all their customers. They aren’t saying that kids aren’t welcome, but merely screaming and crying won’t be tolerated. If an adult were to behave in such a manner, as to disrupt other patrons, I'm sure any restaurant could ask them to leave.  Why not an out of control child and their parents?

Maybe Olde Salty’s should change their sign to read—


Screaming People Will Not Be Tolerated

"Girled" Cheese

Grilled Cheese and Tomato Soup has always been a family favorite.  It's a feast around here.  When I announce the savory dish, I am met with a chorus of "Yums"!  Being the kind mother I am, I allow them the feast often--weekly, in fact.  It's affordable.  I use milk, not water, so naturally I feel like I am providing a nutritious dinner...lol...plus....how easy is it to make?    Thank God for Campbell's!!

Since she could talk, instead of saying 'grilled' cheese, my daughter has called it 'girled' cheese--not boy cheese, but girled.  She had ear issues as a tot (tonsils, tubes, adenoids) and wasn't hearing properly there for a while.  Girled Cheese was just something we didn't correct.  It was cute, that girled cheese!  It stuck.

Before long, we were all saying it.  Girled Cheese. 

Just a few days ago I walked in on a heated argument between my daughter and her friend.

"Nuh uh....it's GRILLED cheese.  G-R-I-L-L-E-D."

"Well, you're wrong," said my daughter, hand on hip, in her most condescending voice,
"It's GIRLED!!!  G-I-R-L-E-D!"

With a smug look she turn to me and said, "Right, Mommy?"

Oops..................

The Scamp

My daughter only asked for two things for her birthday--a Zhu Zhu pet or a kitten.  At the time Zhu Zhu pets were in short supply, and kittens, well....I have issues with cats.  A cat tried to kill me once.  I found poor kitty high in a tree, mewing in such a pitiful way.  I climbed that tree, rescued poor kitty, and gave him food and shelter for the night.  In the middle of the night he repaid me by curling up on my face, over my mouth.  I awoke gasping for air.  He was trying to suffocate me, I just know it.  No cats for me.

As her birthday had passed, my daughter, a master of compromise, then asked for a puppy for Christmas.  Now I had been toying with the idea of another dog for some time.  We had our beautiful black lab, Sassy, the most well-behaved dog you'd ever want to meet, but Sassy was getting on in years, becoming quite lazy, truth be told.   A puppy might bring back some of her youth and vitality.

My parents own two Bichon's, the cutest, fluffiest, cuddliest little creatures I had ever laid eyes on.  The puppies would cuddle and love on me, much to the chagrin of my father.  I think he was jealous of the attention they lavished on me.  At the end of a visit, my parents would check my luggage to make sure I hadn't kidnapped their 'babies'.    My daughter was equally smitten with 'the puppies' as my dad calls them.  He doesn't like dogs, but puppies are okay.

Bichon's are beautiful animals, and they come with a hefty price.  Really out of my budget.  But my mother had an idea.  She offered a puppy as a Christmas gift for me and my daughter.  Not one of their puppies, of course, but an equally cute, cuddly, 'foo-foo' puppy.  We searched high and low, unable to find a Bichon, but were able to find a comparable mixed breed, a Bichon Frise/Shitzu.  Now please don't call my baby a mutt, I take offense to that, she is a 'designer breed'.  She is a Shitzon!

Before we even picked out the puppy, my daughter and I had already decided on a name.  Again, we compromised.  Since the pup was a Christmas gift, and she had wanted a Zhu Zhu pet, we settled on Zu Zu's Petals, after my favorite holiday movie--It's a Wonderful Life.  She had her Zu Zu pet and I had my own little Foo Foo puppy.  I had visions of my pristine white puppy with bows in her hair, daintily scampering about.  Yep, visions equal dreams, and dreams are not always reality.

I should have taken the clue when we first walked into the place.  There were several little puppies scampering about.  I had my eye on the shy, quiet one in the corner, but my daughter fell in love with the puppy that practically knocked her to the floor--the wildest puppy of the bunch, the puppy that became our ZuZu.  Sold!  Merry Christmas!

Naturally I was concerned how our Sassy would feel about this new addition to our family.  She is an 8 year old lab, and has been the only dog her whole life.  But being the sweet dog that she is, Sassy looked upon this tiny addition as one might a fly--just a pest.  Sassy tried to ignore the pup, but ZuZu would have none of that.  ZuZu was that annoying sibling.  She would run circles around Sassy, nipping and biting at her feet.  "Stop Touching Me." Sassy took it all in stride, up to a point.  Sass is the Alpha dog and she lets ZuZu know it.

Mornings find ZuZu dashing about the yard, soaking up dew to her belly.  When she's good and wet, she'll make her way over to her favorite digging spot, coming up for air with a muddy face and paws.  Then a quick trip to the sandbox for a little more digging.  She's becoming permanently stained a dingy off-white color, despite frequent 'whitening' shampoos. 

Her newest mischief includes tipping garbage cans to find the used tissue, then shredding them into thousands of pieces of snotty confetti.  Her favorite game is sneaking into my daughters room to steal one toy, then run out of the room like a thief in the night.

ZuZu is a scamp. She's like that ragamuffin child, dirt smudged and hair all askew, big sloppy grin plastered across her face.  You know she's up to no good, but you can't help but love her.

                                   Like owner, like dog.

Sugar Mama

Confession time.  I have a potty mouth.  It's not a badge I wear with pride, but a badge I wear none the less.  I guess in my youth I thought I was really cool throwing those curse words around.  It seemed like everyone was doing it, so why not me?  Naughty, naughty.

Then one day, I woke up and I had this baby--the epitome of innocence.  I made a decision to clean up my act.  While not yet a seasoned parent, I'd learned enough to know that children live what they learn.  I wanted to be a shining example.  I tried to eliminate cursing from my vocabulary.

I found, however, that I still needed a word to really drive the point when I was mad. It really didn't  matter what word, just something that I could say with force.   I needed a word that, maybe, if I was midstream in a real curse, I could quickly correct.  I settled on 'sugar'.

Oh Sugar!! Spilled milk--Oh Sugar!  Stub a toe--Oh Sugar!  Sugar, sugar, sugar.  When I was irritated, upset, angry.....I was spinning some potent sugar.

This is where I learned that children can be the best teachers.  I discovered a very important lesson about language.  It's not always what you say, but how you say it.

One day my then 3 year old  was very upset with me.  I'm sure I told him 'no' or some other equally heinous act, like to pick up his toys or, perhaps, share with his brother.  (THE HORROR!!)   He worked himself up into a lather, crossed those little arms over his chest, stomped that fat Fred Flintstone foot and said to me,  in a voice void of any sweetness, "You're a Sugar Mama!"

My 3 year old was essentially cussing me out and I was the one who taught him to do it!!

No Cool Mom points for me.  Guess I really am a Sugar Mama.