Future Therapy Fodder

I've said it before. I'm not the best mom. While I may get an A for effort, it will be up to my son's future therapist to decide whether or not I'm responsible for all of his neurosis. Let me explain.

Frankie and Benjy decided to take me to see Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (again) for Mother's Day. When I say take, I mean that they came with me and allowed me to pay. It was a beautiful day, and I suggested that we go mini golfing instead, since I'd already seen the movie. But to no avail. They both wanted to see it. So off we went.

There were only about 10 or 20 people in the theatre (as I'd mentioned, it was a gorgeous day) so we had our pick of seats. We sat in the middle middle. We got our popcorn and contraband candy. I was helping Benjy into her special plastic booster seat when I looked over and was horrified to find Frankie with his finger knuckle-deep into his nose (even writing it now makes me want to gag). I said (perhaps too loudly, in retrospect, considering how quiet it was in the theatre):

"Look, you're not going to share my popcorn if you're going to pick your nose!"

The whole theatre broke into laughter, and poor Frankie sat there mortified, protesting, that he was just scratching an inside itch. We negotiated a hand wash disguised as a restroom break and life went on. Hopefully he won't be traumatized for the rest of his life. For now, it makes a cute little anecdote.