No way around it.
Protect your young. Keep them from harm. Do whatever necessary.
Ask the hikers in Montana that found themselves between the mother and her cub while in the hills. Or the Florida boy who scrambled up an embankment in Tennessee ahead of his father and older brother only to startle a black bear and her youngin's. It's a place no human wants to be. In the sights of a bear. Especially one that thinks you were out to hurt their cubs.
It's serious stuff. Do a Google search for photos and info. It's disturbing. And many times fatal.
But this instinct transcends species. Most mothers have that intuition to protect their offspring. For some species the protection of the young falls on the fathers shoulders. This includes us homo sapiens as well.
I know I would. Don't be messin' with my BooBear.
You do not want me to come after you. I'd get all Liam Neeson like in the movie Taken. "...I have a particular special set of skills. Skills that will enable me to hunt you down. I will look for you. I will find you. And I will kill you."
Some women have always had that maternal instinct, whether they have children or not. They nurse and protect anyone they call their own. Others instincts come alive with the act of childbirth. I know from experience that I felt something once Boo was born. Something inside me came alive that wasn't there prior to her arrival.
I could no longer watch movies or programs where children were hurt without feeling physically ill. Even some news items affected me to the point of tears. I've been blessed that the 'fight to protect' instinct hasn't been put into play...yet. But the other day I felt it. I swear I did. For the first time. And I'm a little in a quandary what to do about it.
As you know, Boo just had her eleventh birthday. We have birth months here in this household. One day cannot contain the amount of celebration. It'll come soon enough when she no longer wishes to commemorate adding another year to her growing larger number...like her mom. But for now, we celebrate.
Oh yes, we celebrate.
We had the actual birth day observance. That fell mid-week. A school night. So we went out to dinner and had a nice birthday meal. Her choice...with guidance, of course. Dave and Busters is not a mid-week destination spot for us.
And then the next day was a Friday. So we had her neighborhood posse come over for cake, ice cream and games. Then she had a family birthday fete with her fathers immediate family. And a still to be party invitation with my brother and dad up in Michigan once our schedules can manage it. The highlight of this fest was this past Saturday. We hosted a party with her school friends.
That's alot of singing of the Happy Birthday song. (which by the way is now owned by Disney and you need to pay them royalties if singing...)
We went to the Melting Pot. A fun fondue restaurant and chocolate dipped ourselves into a decadent bliss filled stupor.
Perhaps it was naive of me to allow Boo to invite sixteen girls.
Sixteen eleven year old girls.
I didn't think about drama. I didn't think ahead of the drama that might exist. Or the drama that might commence.
Was I wrong.
Now the actual party at the restaurant was fine. Except, of course, for one little girl crying for a completely unrelated issue with some others within earshot then ganging up and making fun of her. And except for one of the girls going around and eating the cheesecake off everyones dipper plates, which didn't please the rest. And except for a few bickering over which pot of chocolate they wanted to be in front of. And except for a couple of the girls wanting more of this or that and complaining that they weren't getting their 'needs' met.
Seriously. Those were the exact words. "Needs met."
Eleven years old. Where did they learn that?
Not out of my Boo's mouth. Ever.
Who complains at birthday parties?Certainly not one that makes the guest list in the future, that's for sure. But all in all, it went well. For the most part. Note to self: do not invite that many girls to a party again. Either that or make sure the waiter has a big ol' martini on a tray waiting for me upon arrival.
Fast forward, return to the homestead. The opening of presents. The playing of dress up. The continued drama that ensued because all couldn't agree on role playing with said dress up.
Finally with all the guests gone, Boo broke down and cried.
"It's all my fault.", she said through big crocodile tears.
"What is, baby?"
"Why everyone was fighting!", she sobbed.
"How can that be darlin'? It's your party! I thought it seemed like everyone was having fun!"
"No. I tried to get everyone to get along, but they were all fighting. It's all my fault.", she wailed. Inconsolable.
Later on, once she got her composure back, she confided that one friend told her that another friend had told the other friend that she didn't want to come to the party but her mother made her and she didn't want to be there at all and would've preferred to do chores than to attend Boo's stinking birthday party.
Yes. That was all in one breath.
It was almost more than I could stand. It made me angry. It made me mad. It made me feel protective.
Of course, this was the guest with the biggest gift. Nice, but a little over the top for an eleven year old...geez. What do you do with that information? Especially since I knew this particular girl had been giving Boo some 'mean' treatment on and off this year. One minute they are best of friends, going trick or treating. And then the next, receiving notes at school of 'I don't' want to be your friend. Ever.' Followed with a phone message of 'Sorry, I was having a bad day."
That's enough to send an adult into tailspins. Let alone a young girl.
I had urged Boo to invite her. She didn't want to originally. So she did.
I've some inside information that their family is going through some difficult, emotional times. So perhaps this young lady might just be taking out her frustrations on her peers. I understand that. It's got to be hard for someone her age to handle that kind of burden. But really. To say something to be that mean?
Really? To a friend?
To my child?
Good thing I'm not really a bear. A momma bear.
Because, that's my cub.
And I have a particular set of skills. Skills that enable me to hunt you down. I will look for you. I will find you. And it will be easy because I know where you live...
What would YOU do?