Do I Even Know What I Am Doing?

Almost fourteen years ago, I became a momma.

Yadda, yadda, Yadda.

I have three children. Three kids that I bathe, get dressed, make sure teeth are brushed, take to the dentist on a regular basis, take to the doctor. Three kids whose bottoms I have wiped. Three kids who have vomited on me. I feed these kids, listen to their tears, and whining, and listen to them complain.

For some reason, it irks me when people tell me what do with my kids.

Last week, Emma and I were at the IGA getting a few groceries. She wanted a drink that is .25. After I purchased my items, she placed her item on the belt.
The woman jerked it off and handed it to me.
So I said, "I am standing right here. I see what she is doing. She is paying for it herself."
The woman replied, "Humph."

So I thought, "What a %&*$#."

I could tell these stories all.day.long.

People are always offering unsolicited advice, advice that starts off like, "WELL, if he/she were mine, I would....." But guess what people. It is not your child. It is mine. They are mine. Mine. Mine. Mine!

Many years ago, Eli had a teacher that did not like us. She made the comment to me one day, "Well, I am afraid to tell you what he does. I don't know what he gets at home."

I promptly drove over to the school and showed her what he gets at home.
Just kidding.

Sometimes, I wish people would mind their own business.
Especially the chick at The IGA.