My house is so quiet. This is strange.

The kids went to sleep sometime between 4:30 and 5, which is extremely early. They also woke up at 6 this morning to take J to the airport with me. “Get outta bed, guys!” Elias ordered. “We got a pwane to catch! Addie– get your pants, baby!”

After we dropped Jason off and promised to remember him fondly, we went out for a day of nonstop fun: Operation Crash and Burn. Grocery shopping, snacks, then a meet-up with Erin & Co. With them, we did craft and store time at Barnes & Noble, looked at pets at Petsmart, and got McDonald’s but let the kids play in the indoor Chik-Fil-A toddler center. Addie does not like the toddler center. She screamed the entire time, like meltdown screaming. Going up the steps made her angry, coming down made her angry. The slide? Forget it. She howled going down, then she howled trying to climb back up.

We took the whole entourage back to my (impressively clean) house (impressively clean because I was hoping to impress Erin). Let the kids trash the playroom. Eli threw chocolate milk at Riley in the car, so I let Riley wear some of Eli’s clean clothes and find a suitable punishment for him: I make the bottom sleeves of his shirt wet. This will sound stupid, but Elias hates wet shirts more than being in time out or spanked or having his toys taken away. It doesn’t hurt him, it’s only mild discomfort, but he had to keep the shirt on for two minutes. The message got across. He was all, “DIS IS THE WORST!” and I was like, “Dude, how do you think Riley felt when you threw milk on her? WET.”

Yes, I really spend my days thinking up toddler punishments for drink-flinging.

Erin and company go home to nap. The kids want to go back out. They want to do the park and the library. It’s like 2:30, so nowhere near bedtime, and bright outside. Sure. Why not. We go to the park first.

There are a lot of mommy situations I’ve run through in my head, and I thought I’d know how to deal with most. Something really obvious and normal happened today, and I wasn’t prepared at all. A kid bullied Elias. Like, in front of me. I watched it happen, and I was completely torn as to whether I jump in and break it up (verbal bullying, nothing physical), or just let Eli deal with it. And when it progressed, I didn’t know whether to involve the other parent. I’ll break down what happened.

Basically, a boy and a girl were playing in the sandbox. They seem to be related, but the boy is Russian or Czechoslovakian. He has a super thick accent. “WE MAKE CAKE!” he orders the girl. Elias wants to play with them. “GET SPOON AND MAKE CAKE WITH US!” the boy yells at Eli. Eli is like, Okay, and gets a spoon and digs in the sand.

“COME ON, WE GOING OVER HERE!” the boy yells, and the boy, girl, and Eli all run toward the slides. I watch them near Addie, who is going up and down the same slide she always does. There’s a Big Kid Section, and a Little Kid Section. They’re in Big. I’m in Small. Elias wanders back over to Small and starts hanging out with Addie. Russian boy and girl come back.

“WHERE IS HE?” the Russian kid demands.

“Who?” I ask, even though he’s sort of asking the sky and not anyone in particular.

“Me?” Elias asks hopefully. “I am right here!”

“NOT YOU!” the Russian yells. This kid is like BARKING all of his words. “NOT YOU, DOO-DOO HEAD! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU! WHY DO YOU THINK YOU CAN FOLLOW US! GET OUT OF HERE, STUPID! GO AWAY!”

Whhhhhaaaat. You should have seen my face. I scan for a mother, but there’s nobody that resembles him nearby. There’s tons of different ethnicities, so it’s usually easy to pick someone out. Like, there are two white moms, one Japanese, one Indian, one African-American. I’m looking for the mom who has dark hair and dark eyes like the kids. Nothing. Elias is just staring at the kid, not intimidated but sort of hurt. “Hey,” I tell the boy, who suddenly realizes I’m there. “That’s not a nice thing to say, okay?”

I really debated even jumping in, but COME ON. I felt like I’m right there. If this had happened on the other side of the playground, I wouldn’t be involved, but as a parent, if I’m watching one kid call another stupid– whoever the kid is– I have to say something.

The boy is embarrassed. “OH SORRY SORRY SORRY.”

He slides away and yells for the girl to follow. Elias tries to go with them. I pull him back: “That kid is being mean to you. You don’t want to play with him. You can play with another kid.”

“They’re my FWIENDS,” Eli insists, almost crying.

“They just–” Argh. This sucks. How can you tell your kid someone doesn’t like them, even when you think they’re the most awesome human being on Earth? “They want to play alone, okay?”

“Okay.” He sniffles. “I’ll just pway by myself, den. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine, little buddy.”

He goes back over to the Big Kid Side. Addie is going down her same toddler slide, unaware, all: “TA DAAA!” when she reaches the ground. “Ta da!” I say back to her, grinning.

I hear Russian kid again: “HEY, STUPID! DOO-DOO HEAD! WE DON’T LIKE YOU! GO AWAY STUPID!”

OH NO HE DID NOT. Russian Duo are pointing at Eli, laughing, while he’s playing all by himself on the main turrent. He’s just trying to climb something, and the kids chased him down to be obnoxious. I watch to see how it unfolds. “Don’t! Be! Mean!” Elias counters, very serious. The Russian kid scoffs, but runs away.

My phone rings. It’s Michelle. There is some drama going down at her work, which I won’t get into here because I don’t need to cause more drama, but the whole thing is unfair and ridiculous. While she’s talking, I hear Russian boy screaming: “HEY YOU! BOY! YOU ARE A POOP FACE! HA HA! YOU ARE A BABY!”

Elias is still on the turret. He sticks his tongue out at the boy (I actually feel thrilled to see him do it, good for him not letting it bother him), and goes back to playing. The kid does NOT let up: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING STUPID KID! HA HA! DOO-DOO FACE! NOBODY LIKES YOU!”

Another look for the mom. Nobody is watching this boy. I tell Michelle, “Hold on,” and put the phone next to my jacket. My Samuel L. Jackson Do Not Jack With Me Voice came out: “Don’t act like that,” I scold the boy. He’s like ten feet from me. He looks ashamed again, but I say, “You don’t act like that or call people those names. I don’t want to hear that again.”

Two other parents are sitting next to me. They think I’m talking to their kid, then they see Russian Boy and give me this look like: Thank you. For REAL.

I gather Elias and Addie, tell them we’re leaving. I’m seething. This is getting to me more than Eli, even. When we get in the car, I see the Russian Boy run up to a pair of women off on the edge of the playground. They talk to him, he runs away. MOTHERLODE. Literally. I turn to Elias: “Eli, I know who that little boy’s mommy is– the one who was mean to you. Did you want me to talk to her, or did you want to just forget about it and go to the library?”

Honestly, I was terrified to confront this woman. I’ve never gotten into an argument with another parent, certainly not in a park, much less a Russian woman, much less something that would likely end in cops getting called. But I’d do it if Elias wanted me to. I know as a kid, it meant the world to me when my parents were willing to stick up for me. They did, too. Constantly. They would give me the choice, but if I wanted them to be in my corner and fight the good fight with/for me, they would.

“Please tell his mommy,” Elias answered. He was in tears. “That boy was so bad to me. He hurt my feelings.”

“You got it,” I say, squeezing his hand. “Wait here.”

I got a spot about ten feet from where they were sitting, parked, and walked up to the two ladies. Deep breath. “Hi,” I begin, doing my very best to not let this end in bloodshed. “I’m sorry to bother you. Does the little boy in the sweatpants and red shirt belong to either one of you?”

One of them raised their hand, sheepish. “Okay,” I say, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but, um, your son followed my son around and called him names. He really hurt my son’s feeling. He called him stupid, a poop head, told him nobody liked him.” The other mom looks horrified. “I just told him that I’d let the other boy’s mom know, so– you know. He felt better.”

“Oh my GOSH,” the woman answers, “I’m so sorry! I feel awful– thank you for coming over! He’s not allowed to say that at all, I’m so sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to come over and cause anything,” I added, apologetic, which made the other mom more apologetic. I was like, “I know kids say thing– I’m sure my son has said things before– he’s just so upset, and I felt like I needed to come over and let you know.”

“No, thank you,” the mom repeated. Her mom friend looked sympathetic, and not at all clawing my eyes out like I expected. I thanked them again and wished them a good day, and went back to the car. I was practically shaking, but I DID IT. I talked to another mom about her kid. Exhale.

“What happened?” Eli asked.

“She’ll talk to him,” I said. Then, for his benefit, “He’ll probably get in trouble,” and Elias sighed, “I just want some fwiends, dat’s all.” I don’t think Eli cared at all about justice being served, I think he was more hurt that he lost a potential playmate.

That’s my story of the day, which seemed pretty monumental at the time but isn’t even on the same scale as my friend’s woes. Michelle, like I said, is going through work troubles. Like, big time, the worst kind of work troubles. I called Becky Jo to check in on her, and she has bronchitis AND pneumonia. Yes. Both. One of her lungs is filled with liquid. I was horrified, and asked her if Dave was taking care of her, and she said Dave has influenza. (I was calling, of all things, to see if she wanted to party while I was in town next weekend for our anniversary. We made a ton of jokes about the Worst Outings right now, including joining the Polar Bear Club.)

The most upsetting news by far is from Jessie, who just found out she has Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia. It started as a cyst, which they then decided was a tumor, which they then discovered was cancerous. I’ve been following it from the beginning, since we read each other’s blogs religiously (she was the first person to email me about Brad Renfro’s death). She’s an extremely strong, kick-ass person, and I know she’s going to beat this, but this is the last thing you ever plan to happen at 25. I’m going to call her mom Monday and see if there’s somewhere I can send a care package. (I know she’ll be in bed quite a bit, so– books? movies? Any ideas would be appreciated.) Sending you so much love and hope, Jessie. We’re all pulling for you.