Really?

Question for some mommy friends...here's the situation.

Today I took Kyle to a public play area at a local church, with play tubes, slides, etc. There were only a few other children there, so it wasn't busy at all. Well, this little boy, around three/four years old, is running around like a mad man, and his mom is repeatedly yelling his name. Over, and over, and over, telling him to slow down, come here, whatever. Anyhow, Kyle was standing next to him at one point, smiling...the other boy looks at me, then him, then aggressively shoves Kyle down with both hands--while grinning. I politely say, "uh oh, no, let's play nice, he's a little baby". The kid looks at me again, then him, and shoves him down...again. Kyle begins to cry. I look at the boy, pick Kyle up, and as soon as he's on his feet, this kid shoves him down AGAIN! Oh and that's not all...I grab Kyle and walk him away from this kid, and he comes up from behind and shoves Kyle down from BEHIND! Oh heck nooo....not cool Shamrock...or whatever wierd name your parent gave you.

At this point I'm really ticked off. I look around and his mother is over running her mouth to another mom. I just let it go, because obviously this kid has no rules or boundaries, as I saw when the mom had to chase and yell at him for thirty minutes to get him to leave. I know he's a toddler, but purposely shoving a baby down multiple times? And I don't mean a little shove, I mean this kid used both arms, as hard as he could! Kyle slid back this kid shoved him so hard!

Anyhow, what do you do in that situation? Get onto the child? Move your child away? Go let the parent know?  Trip him? My teacher instincts make me want to redirect the child's behavior and go "address" the mom, but this parenthood thing is new. Other kids think Kyle is much older than he really is, because he looks more like a two year old than 13 months. But still, this kid was one shove short of a thumb in the eye. Any suggestions?

Possibly obsessive helicopter mom,

Karma's Bitch Slap: My FB Post

So, today I had a pretty relaxing, laid back day. I thought I'd share my happiness in the moment by posting my day's activities on my Facebook page for all my friends to read. Perhaps they would share in my happy-go-lucky, aquarius like, splendor of a day...

Woke at 7, GMA, eggs and pancakes for breakfast. Crafts in pjs, lunch out with Wendy, then a two hour nap cuddled with my sweetie. Next, shopping, a nice run, then cooking dinner for the hubby. Maybe some vino.
Staying. home. rocks.

Yeah, so I posted to the world how effing wonderful my day was, and how kick ass it felt to be able to stay home. Karma was laughing at me from across the room before he ran over and shanked me in the neck.

Michael went to sleep, and I was back on baby duty. Over the next TWO hours...

1: Kyle runs around laughing and trying to slap me. Repeatedly. In the face. Shit ain't funny.

2: I rock Kyle in his room in the dark, he jumps up and runs down the hall laughing at me.

3: I let him play, and he manages to get his fat little leg stuck in the coffee table railings, and screams murder until I untangle him.

4: Coke is spilt on the floor, leather couch, my blanket, and on him. This is the second diet coke spilt. Today.

5: I rush over to grab something from Kyle and stub my toe on the table leg. I let out a sweaty, white faced m*ther***** just low enough to hope that my son doesn't magically repeat it.

6. Kyle runs up to me on the floor, hugs me, and pukes all over my hair, shirt, and arm. This is no spit up. This is acid smelling, foul, puke. Then he rubs it in, sticks his hands in his mouth and rubs it all over my face before I can get him off of me. The towel I quickly grab to wipe my face with is covered in 409.

7. Kyle ran into the bathroom to play in the toilet water. And my face is on fire. 

8. I try rocking Kyle again, and he runs away. Again.

9. I chase him, pick him up, proceed to tickle his fat thigh, and I get a hand full of shit. Shit.

10. I try to put him in his crib, he screams bloody murder for 15 minutes. I pick him up and see he's busted his upper lip on the (padded) crib railing from throwing his tantrum. Blood everywhere.

11. I finally rock him to sleep...at midnight. And, he WILL wake up at 6am. My child doesn't sleep.

12. I return to my laptop to see all my shit was totally erased when it died.

And I still have no bacon.