Embarrassing

Mamakat's prompt: 2.) Have your kids ever embarrassed you? Share something they’ve said or done that caused a *facepalm*.

It is either one of those things that no one discusses, a dark secret best kept under wraps, or it is a reason to point and laugh at other mothers on occasion.  Maybe both.  Maybe neither.  All I know is that I was not in the least bit prepared.  I thought that all the embarrassing behavior happened during the teen years, so I was blissfully ignorant of all the wonderful adventures that can happen with a child under five.  Nobody ever said a word about how small children do things such as tweak your nipple in public or pull your shirt down so everyone can see your special sparkly zebra print push-up bra at inconvenient times.

We were sitting in the McDonald's play area on month close to Christmas.  It had been a lovely play date at the Witte Museum's Dinosaur exhibit, and we were finishing it up with some lunch in a place where all the boys could run amok in relative safety.  Kermette and Kirsten and I were discussing something completely innocuous,  movies or television shows.  The boys had eaten their chicken nuggets and were engaged in playing like hamsters in those tube-like structures most McDonald's have set up.  I was facing the playscape and trying to keep an eye on my child, because I am an anxious parent and that is what I do. 

As often happens, however, the topic of conversation was such that my attention was pulled away from the play area to hear a juicy tidbit of humor, and I relaxed.  I let down my guard and enjoyed my friends for about five minutes or so.  Suddenly I realized that I had not seen my four year old in a while.  I'd seen the other two scrambling around, but not mine.  He must be somewhere up inside one of those tubes, I thought, not the least bit worried. 

And then my son slid out of the tube...in his underpants.  He still had his shirt on, thank goodness, but the shoes, socks, and the pants...they were absent. Nobody else's kid was half naked, running through the McDonald's in their Superman underpants.  Just mine. Only one kid was probably violating several different restaurant health requirements.  Mine.

I tried to be calm, standing in the middle of the playscape. This was a more 'upscale' part of town, where the parents drove expensive cars and carried hideously expensive purses. I didn't want to draw attention to myself or my child, but there we were.  I asked my child where his pants were.  He said that they were "up" there, and pointed to the tube above us.  I asked Zane to go get his pants, socks, and shoes and put them on.

He told me, very clearly and succinctly, "no".  It was hot in those tubes, apparently, and he was happy to be less dressed so the heat didn't bother him so much. Zane saw no reason to justify putting his pants on.   Because Mama said so did not constitute a reason.  I tried explaining.  I tried encouraging, I tried cajoling.  Nothing worked.  I had to play the big card.  I pulled out my cell phone and pretended to dial...Santa. 

That worked.  Zane miraculously found his pants and put them on.  Another little boy found his shoes and socks and brought them to me, thank goodness.  All of the other kids were wondering if I really did have Santa on the phone, because if I had access to Santa, maybe some other parents were given access. 

We haven't been back to that McDonald's since.

RemembeRED: Embarrassing

Prompt: Know what's NOT funny? People laughing at you. Take us back to an embarrassing moment in your life. Did someone embarrass you, your parents perhaps? Or did you bring it upon yourself? Are you still embarrassed or can you laugh at it now?


As an Army brat, we moved around a lot. I often ended up in places where the kids at my school had known each other since kindergarten. The pecking order had already been established; I was the outsider. Consequently, I tried extra hard to be 'cool', which was an exercise in futility.

I was a twelve year old starting seventh grade wearing hand-me-down clothes. This included polyester pants with a seam on the front crease. You read that right. Polyester. With a seam. On the crease.

Elvis himself wouldn't have looked cool in those kind of pants.

I couldn't wear jeans like all the other kids did. Not me. My mother refused to buy them. They cost too much, she said, completely oblivious to my pain.

I distinctly remember trying to explain to her that ALL the kids at my school wore them. Even the kid who wore a helmet all the time wore jeans, Mom! I really WAS the only kid, Mom!

My general lack of denim automatically placed me on the bottom rung of the social ladder, an object of ridicule for the free for all that is junior high. The other girls would smirk at me, then lean toward their friends and start whispering and giggling. I hated it, of course. To a teenager, negative publicity is traumatizing.

One day, I was morosely standing around by myself in the courtyard one morning waiting for school to start, and I noticed a group of boys looking in my direction. I warily moved a few steps over. Their eyes followed me. They were smiling, and talking to each other, but I was too far away to hear them.

Were they looking at me? I looked around again, certain that there was someone behind me or in my vicinity which was the object of their attention. I found myself alone; those boys WERE staring at me! ME. I stood up a little straighter at the happy thought that I had been finally noticed. My toes curled in delight at the idea.

"Hi." I turned. There was a girl standing next to me.

"Hi." I smiled, giddy at my sudden popularity. I remembered that this girl, who had curly blonde hair and thick framed octagonal glasses, was named Cathy. She was in my choir class; we sat in the soprano section together.

"Your pants are unzipped."

I looked down, horrified. The zipper on those stupid polyester pants had 'unzipped' on a day that I wore the only pair of hot pink underpants I owned. At that moment, my face turned the exact same shade as my underpants.

"Thank you," I managed weakly. I zipped that stupid zipper, and the boys lost all interest in me. As far as social status went, I was no longer on the bottom rung; I was underneath the ladder.

But then a funny thing happened. Cathy started talking to me! She wasn't sneering at my polyester pants! She wasn't looking at other girls and rolling her eyes! She wasn't laughing at me! I was nonplussed; this had not ever happened to me, and I wasn't sure if I could trust it. I was so desperate to have a friend, however, that I started talking to her back.

We are still friends.