New Sheriff in Town

I haven't written awhile, lots going on, and I'm a bit under the weather. Nonetheless, I wanted to share a 'short' I wrote some time ago. Let me know your thoughts:

There she is again, Mrs. Q. Most days I'm not sure if I want to slap her or just hold her head in my arms and rock her, the poor thing; she's Jimmy's mother. That statement alone is enough to illicit tsks, ohs and knowing sighs amongst the mothers at the Tree Haven Montessori School. The teachers just look skyward, and some have developed facial ticks as a result of trying to raise Jimmy in the Montessori way.

Little Jimmy gives his mother fits every evening and every morning faithfully. He kicks and screams when he's asked to take off his out door shoes and put on his indoor shoes. And like clockwork, he screams and kicks when he has to actually do it. This is all I ever really see of Jimmy's antics, but I've been assured these are rather tame compared to what goes on in the classroom.


Mrs. Q averts her gaze from the other mothers as she follows Jimmy up and down the hallway as he goes through his evening ritual of touching every blue square in the building. I want to get her attention, grab her by the collar tell her to wipe that pursed lip tense look off her face and take control. Perhaps it's my own little fantasy I engage in where she tells that pissant to straighten up and fly right or she's going to smack his little fanny so hard he's going to feel it in his teeth. The fantasy turns more real as I hear a voice: "You've been giving me crap since you turned three--well after the terrible twos. Who gave you the right to turn your card in late? You're three and a half and you no longer have the luxury of using that particular trump card. Nosiree Bob...Jimmy your nonsense days are over. There's a new sherrif in town, I tell you, and she's not taking your crap a moment more! Put your outside shoes and your coat on and go get in the car!"

I look back at Mrs. Q standing in the middle of the hall and she's looking directly at me, and for once the manic look isn't on her face, instead there's the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth as Jimmy abandons the blue square game and sullenly pulls his coat on. He heads to the front door wordlessly. I wonder if I imagined those words being said to him, or if I somehow spoke them aloud, or if the thoughts in my mind have been projected somehow.

The owner of the voice, however, comes around the corner, and to my horror, it's my five year old daughter, Charla, holding her head high with pride, marching over to me-- beaming no less. "I told him mommy! I really gave it to Jimmy they way you and Mrs. X say he needs it. And look, it's working just like you said it would."

A film of sweat completely covers my body from head to toe, despite the cool winter breeze coming in from the open door where Jimmy stands, now waiting for his mother, his blue square touching game interrupted, perhaps for good. I try to formulate some sort of apology, as every pair of eyes, large and small are watching me.

"Oh Mrs. Q, I'm...was just...I'm so... I never intended...

I'm interrupted, "Let's go mommy my work here is done," the sheriff says, tugging at my coat.

Mrs. Q walks in my direction, as I alone stand between her and her son. She ever so lightly squeezes my arm, "Good night to you and the sheriff," she says as she turns back and winks at my daughter, who by the way is still beaming with pride.

"Goodnight Mrs. Q. Drive safely," Charla says, waving. After she passes, Charla points her finger at Jimmy in a threatening way, enjoying her new found power.