Littering

Dear Elli,

I have to confess that I was a total litter bug today.  Let me tell you the story.

After I picked you up tonight, we had to stop at the store for hamburger buns.  I told you before we went in the store that I wasn't buying you anything, because we were only entering the store for the purpose of purchasing hamburger buns.  That's it.  And you agreed.

We walked into the store, and they had a big freezer set up front and center, displaying various popcicles and ice cream bars.  You were mesmerized.  I caved a little, because it's 80 degrees and sunny outside and a popcicle is absolutely necessary for a child during these weather conditions.  So I told you to pick a popcicle, but ice cream bars were off limits. 

I'm not an ice cream Nazi, but I don't like you to eat it very often.  Mostly because it's terrible for you and it occasionally makes you puke.  I'm okay with food that is terrible for you sometimes, but I'm not okay with the whole puking thing.  It makes me nervous. 

So you complained and gave me major attitude and a super dirty look about it.  But then you changed your mind and decided a popcicle was better than nothing.  I proceeded to purchase the hambuger buns and the strawberry popcicle you chose, and we left the store.

We got approximately one quarter of a mile down the road before you started complaining about the popcicle.  You said you wanted ice cream instead, and you informed me of my status as the most awful mother on the planet.  Then you started screaming and crying and threw your sunglasses on the floor.  

Being the completely level-headed mother that I am, I carefully pulled the strawberry popcicle out of the bag, rolled down the passenger side window, held it up for a moment so you could get one last hateful glance at the horrible popcicle that wasn't the ice cream you wanted, and chucked that son of a bitch right out the window. 

I littered. 

You were totally silent for a moment.  And then you started sobbing.  And I felt kind of mean and also a little like Muhammad Ali in his prime at the same time. 

I sent you to your room the moment we arrived home, and told you to stay there until dinner was ready.  And when I came to get you for dinner, I found you fast asleep on your bed.  Snoring. 

I know you had a long busy day, and I know it's hard to be civil when you're exhausted.  Believe me, I get it.  But you're not allowed to yell at me and throw your sunglasses on the floor in a fit of rage.  If you do that when you're an adult, you'll get fired or divorced or arrested.  You've got to control yourself. 

You see, I threw the God forsaken popcicle out the window to prove a point.  And my point was that you're not going to get shit in this world if you're an ungrateful asshole.  Not from me, and not from anybody else. That's a hard lesson for a little girl who generally gets everything she wants.  And it's a lesson I clearly haven't been very diligent in teaching thus far.  That's my fault, and I'm sorry.  I'll keep trying.  And hopefully I won't land myself a ticket for littering as a result.

I love you.

Mom aka Litter Bug