If It Walks Like A Mother, and Talks Like A Mother....

Then it must be...

Duh. A mother.

I was at Starbucks the other morning, in line with The Dictator getting a coffee before dropping her off at camp, when I overheard this conversation between a mother and her three year old.

Mommy: "Don't touch that!"

Mommy: "Don't touch that!"

Mommy: "Don't touch that!"

Mommy: "Don't touch that!!!!!!!"

Ok, it really wasn't so much a "conversation" as it was one mother, also with a baby in her arms, demanding every two seconds that her three year old stop touching things.

I mean, I totally got it. First, this mother had two kids with her. Second, she hadn't had a coffee yet. Third, her three year old was touching everything. Ok, I don't get that really.

I mean, it's Starbucks for godssake, otherwise known as stroller central. Starbucks is THE place for new mothers to hang out in, and bored mothers to hang out in, and, well, let's just say there's one Starbucks in Toronto, on Avenue Rd (you know the one I mean?) which, I swear to god, men go to oogle the all the yummy mommies who hang there.

Anyway, I got that this mommy had her hands full. But I was still freaking inside. I mean, do I sound like that? DO I SOUND LIKE THAT????

I NEVER want to sound like that. Of course, I know I do. But, mostly, it's when I'm trying to get The Dictator ready for bed, which is now a 30-minute or 50-minute process.

I sound something like this:

"Put your leg in this one! NO THIS ONE! Ok, now put the other leg in. NO THE OTHER ONE. Great. Now put the first one back in. NOW GET THE OTHER LEG BACK IN. Ok, we're going to start this again. First leg please! FIRST LEG! GIVE ME A LEG. ANY LEG DEAR GOD GIVE ME A LEG!!!!!!"

In public, where people have stopped me on the street to ask if that's "The" Rowan, I prefer the bribing method. You know, "If you come in here with me, I'll give you a present," so I won't ever yell at her.

No, I don't feel bad about this, because I can buy The Dictator off by handing her a straw, or giving her a cup or napkin. The gal comes cheap. And, really, like I've always maintained, I'll pick the big battles, not the little ones.

Plus, how do you reason with a two year old? The other day I tried to explain how mommy really needed to run into the magazine store, for five seconds, to get Vanity Fair so I could read about Hilary Swank. I tried to reason with her, but, quite frankly, she doesn't really listen to reason. (She came in with me, and her "present" was a free pamphlet.)

In any case, The Dictator is usually pretty good in public. So I don't have to always tell her, "Don't' touch that! Don't touch that! Don't touch that!"

But, who knows what the hell I sound like. The only way I would know is to carry around a tape recorder.

But I'm too afraid of what I'd hear.