Be careful, momma mouth, what you say!

Be careful, little mouth, what you say!
Oh be careful, little mouth, what you say!
There's a Father up above,
And He's looking down in love.
So be careful, little mouth, what you say!

I can't be the only one who sings this song. I don't even remember where I first learned it, or who sang it to me, but it's one of those baby lullabies that's permanently engraved in my brain, and every niece, nephew, and god child I have has to suffer through my less-than-gracious singing abilities while I spit out these words, because "Good night, baby," finally got old. Enough of my story.

I'm flabbergasted.

I just left preschool time at the gym, which is dramatic every other Friday all in its own, but this time, momma was the culprit. She outdid every preschooler in the place, put together, and then multiplied. Literally, it was that bad.

I watched the whole scenario unfold. Kid 1 jumps into the foam pit, followed by Kid 2 who gets a little too anxious and lunges into the foam pit with glee, hitting Kid 1 in the mouth and busting open a lip. Kid 1 screams, Kid 2 looks puzzled, and then the world fell apart. Not the kids' world, mind you, but momma's world. Yes, she was panicked. No, nobody wants to see their toddler in pain. Yes, blood makes everything seem more serious. I get all of that, but her reaction...? Inappropriate, to say the least.

She physically confronts the kid, yanks her bleeding child from the pit, and marches off yelling, "You stupid kid!" Mom 1 then shoves Kid 1 into Mom 2 and says, "Control your monster! He hurt my angel!"

Okay, okay, back up. We're gathered in a small space crammed full of feisty youngsters who are experiencing sensory overload at it's finest. You have to be ready for anything momma, including a busted lip.

Anybody who's spent more than sixty seconds with a child between the stages of crawling and graduating high school knows accidents happen. It's almost like the little aliens are born accident-prone. Why do you think there's fifteen different cartoon band aids lining the Walmart isle? Because kids get hurt...all the time.

Kid 1 has a busted lip, and within a week or so, it will heal. Kid 2 just got publicly humiliated, disgraced, and bullied by someone ten times his age. I don't know how long that wound will take to scab over, much less heal. Death and life are in the power of the tongue; a concept much more hefty to grasp than the manners or patience of a four-year-old child.

Wake up, moms and dads, grandmas and grandpas, aunts and uncles, and caretakers of the world! We have to get a hold on our words, actions, and reactions. Those little eyes and ears are watching us, ever so closely, and they will repeat everything we teach them. Let's be gentle in our correction, kind in our chaos, and never ever demeaning or cruel in our words. After all, this big bad world is mean enough, and I think we ought not raise more bullies, yeah?