1-800-BABY-BOOT-CAMP

I stumbled upon a group of moms at the park near our house the other day. It was the closest thing to a "playgroup" that I've ever experienced...and, quite naturally, it was accidental.

I don't know what it is about a playgroup that turns me off so badly. I guess I just figure that the process of finding another mom that you genuinely like and admire is pretty difficult. Which makes the odds of actually enjoying the company of five women pretty astronomical, when you think about it.

Well, in spite of my misgivings, Luke had a great time playing with the other kids and Evie (thank goodness) simply enjoyed watching. I enjoyed socializing as well; but, since we had arrived pretty late, it wasn't long before some of the moms started packing up.

I spotted Luke standing next to a minivan full of children, looking for all the world like he was about to climb inside.

I called him over.

He didn't twitch.

I smiled politely at the other parents and cleared my throat.

"Luke!! Get over here...NOW!!!!"

He started running in the opposite direction.

In a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability, I spoke over my shoulder to the other moms...

"Do any of your kids actually come when you call them?"

They all laughed...which I took as a negative. Turns out my kid isn't the only one with selective hearing.

One of the women took pity on me and spoke up...

"I'm trying to teach my kids that delayed obedience is still disobedience."

The other moms all nodded in agreement.

I couldn't help thinking that delayed obedience would actually be a step up for my children.

Then another mom chimed in...

"We need to start an obedience boot camp!"

Immediately, I was bombarded with images from that dreadful Maury Povich show (and many others like it) in which trashy parents willingly display for all of America how disrespectful, abusive, and generally evil their children are.

In an exciting climax, Maury confronts the foul-mouthed little brats and tells them they're going to boot camp to learn how to be respectable human beings. Then some thick-necked drill sergeant comes onto the stage and starts screaming spittle into the kid's faces. Some of the kids yell back but most of them just look really, really bored.

As I'm writing this, I'm wondering what on earth would ever have prompted me to watch a show like this.

Oh yeah...bed rest.

When I was pregnant with Luke, I had some issues with pre-term labor and was put on strict bed rest. Twenty-four hours in a day and only twenty-three channels of cable.

You do the math.

Try as I might, though, I can't remember what happened to those kids next. Maybe the show ended there, with no follow up. Or maybe I just turned the channel in disgust.

If I were a betting woman, though, I'd say that those kids got home and were smacking their parents around within five minutes.

Which makes delayed obedience seem pretty darn good, really.

So go ahead and ignore me, Luke. Pretend like your little eardrums aren't vibrating from the exponentially increasing volume of my voice.

"C'mere, c'mere, COME...HEEERE!!"

But watch your back, Little Man.

I've got Maury's number....and I'm only slightly afraid of using it.



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