Then enters my family. Mom and her girls - all four in matching outfits, all with smiles, and all with devilish little plans for destruction. The baby, Jamison, not yet able to physically act on her scheme. Jonah, old enough to know the horrific consequences of misbehaving in this setting. Josie, still strapped into the stroller, waiting for her chance. And then there is Jorja.
Oh, Jorja. Impeccably dressed, smile that can melt a heart, and a mind that could burn down a country.
Now imagine one distracted mommy, checking on the baby, talking to friends, making sure her oldest was close by.
And then the deafening noise. Decibels that could cause bleeding ears.
Everywhere.
No escape.
Why? Is the building on fire? Is this World War III?
No, no one is running, trying to save the lives of their children. No one screaming "women and children first!"
Only looks. Looks in my direction. Looks at the wall behind me. The wall where there was once an in-tact fire alarm cover. Where there is now a fire alarm lever, pulled by one Jorja Carrie.
The scene now changes. The once happy families are glaring at mom, covering their ears and walking calmly, angrily toward the doors. The perfect, happy Saturday afternoon is now fodder for stories of the cute girl who pulled the alarm and the mother who stood red-faced apologizing to everyone who walked out of the exhibit. The mom who thinks her kid is awesome for giving her something to blog about.
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