Mean Girls in the Family

Yesterday, I felt like going for a walk after a full day of working in an office, click-clacking on the keyboard, false light stinging my eyes.

I fed T Junior some string cheese before I strapped him in the jogging stroller at 5:30 for some de-stressing time. We set off along the concrete sidewalk, me taking my tiny, limpy steps and T Junior slurping the three middle fingers on his right hand.

Mountainous white clouds with black bellies passed over us. I could tell they were harmless, but they were scary enough that I suspect most people were staying indoors for fear of rain. Plus, it was cool and windy. It felt like October actually.

We turned down the main drag in our neighborhood and I smiled at the three sisters across the street taking their chances with the weather in their front yard. They looked like they were about 10, 7 and 3.

As I got closer, I could see what was really going on. The oldest girl was using her 10-year-old strength to keep the middle one on her back in the grass as she encouraged the 3-year-old to kick her in the side.

"Harder! Kick her harder!"

I listened. Was that laughter or whimpering?

What should I do?

I considered my options. I could holler, "Hey girls! Stop that!" through the wind gusts and the big girl would probably snap her head up and glare at me thinking, "Whatever, lady."

Or, perhaps I should cross the street to make my mommy presence known. At least if I was on the other side, I could say, "Girls..." on a down note to imply disapproval. I was sure to get the "whatever lady" look that way and from all three of them.

I kept walking and I kept my mouth shut. "They're fine," I thought. And then I felt like a hypocrite as a home video of me tripping my younger sister over and over flickered behind my eyelids. And then me whipping her with a dish towel. And then me hiding so I wouldn't have to play with her. And then me intentionally ignoring her.

Okay, I think I'll stop there.

So, what would you have done?