Mama Bear's Getting Mighty Angry

Dee got hurt at school again by Ass. Remember Ass? That wonderful child I spoke of last November who thought bullying my son was within his rights? Yeah, that child.

Well, he's done it again, and now I'm more than angry. I'm beyond livid. I'm infuriated, exasperated, convulsing with fiery outrage, nay, even splenetic in my wrath. Because this time -- this time -- my son's just had abdominal surgery and has just returned to school. And if there's one thing I don't want, it's my son having to return to the hospital for more surgery, or having any more pain than he's already had.

And if Ass wants to see the Mama Bear in me come out, he's doing a damn good job of it. Because if he wants to roll, he's gonna roll. I'm not above throwing a child to the ground and stomping him to a pulp. As long as my hair doesn't get mussed up, I'm there. A woman's gotta have priorities.

If there's one thing you don't do to The Goddess, it's mess with her kids. I will rip you to shreds. And then I'll rip the shreds to even smaller, shreddier shreds. And then I will take those shreds, and put them in a bowl with mayonnaise and a dash of paprika, and feed them to the guinea pigs.
Because, although I don't especially like to spend any time with my kids, and I make them do all the chores around the house, and I have to ply myself with many martinis every evening to try and forget the day, I do love them, believe it or not. A lot. I would even die for them. As long as it was a quick, easy and painless death, and not one of those long, drawn-out things that hurt and are messy. Because then, I'm not so sure.

When I picked Dee up from school and he had that sour, "what a crappy day" face. I asked him what was wrong, because I'm a good mother that way and sometimes I actually care. And he tells me Ass jumped him. Not once. No, not even twice. Three. Times. In one day. Dee's first day back to school after surgery, and he gets nailed three times. Unbelievable.

When I heard that, I put my amazing driving techniques to work, did a 180 like you only see in the movies, leaving snow clouds behind me as I reversed and headed right back to that school to talk to the principals. I felt like I was in an episode of the Dukes of Hazzard.

And into the office we marched. My furor was at an all-time high, but I kept it all under control. I had to. I was in the principal's office, and we all know what that's like. All those old childhood feelings come flooding back, the feelings of inadequacy, of shame. Not that I ever spent any time in a principal's office.

After waiting 25 minutes for another mom to leave the office (a mom I actually cannot stand because she has one of those whiny, nasally voices that grate, and she drones on and on and on about nothing really, and no, I'm not the only one who can't stand her, so I don't feel bad at all for feeling this way), Dee and I finally went in and spilled the beans.

They were not amused, which made me happy. Visions of publicly stringing Ass up by his wienis enthralled me and made me smile.

When Mr. Handsome came home, I let him know what had transpired, because being the good wife that I am, I believed he should know and would want to handle it himself, to make himself feel that much more manly. And the way I see it, if it's not my job to make Mr. Handsome feel all good inside about himself, than what is?

And again, I was right.

Because after dinner, Mr. Handsome got on that phone and called Ass' house, and spoke to his father, Mr. Buttmunch, and gave him a piece of his mind. I'm sure he scared Mr. Buttmunch half to death, which is a good thing because I didn't want to have to do that myself. God knows what foul things would come flying out of my mouth. The words that I spew when angry are not words for the weak. They make me cringe when I hear them, and it's hard to believe that I'm actually saying them, that's how awful they are. I cannot control it. Some unknown power takes over and makes me say those awful awful words. Because under usual, calmer circumstances, I am pretty much a saint.

The two boys were to meet at the principal's office first thing this morning to work things out. And guess who didn't show up to school?

Frackin' yellow belly.

I'm staking out his house right now to make sure he gets his sorry little butt to school to face the music. And let's just say the music that'll be playing will be The Funeral March.