Suburban Snafu

We have lived in our current neighborhood for two years this coming August. It is a lovely neighborhood with large acre lots, trees, manicured lawns, pools (in some lucky bastard's yards) and laughing children. I love our house and we love our neighbors. Sometimes.

When we first moved in, we were the only three houses built. We live up on the hill and overlook the rest of our section of the subdivision, thus our air of superiority. Imagine our excitement when we discovered that they had each had sons who were only a tad younger than Medium Pants! He hadn't had any playmates in our old neighborhood, so we were thrilled.

The limitless possibilities...playdates, ball playing, tag, bug catching, sleepovers! Wow, it just boggled the mind. The first year was an effortless plethora of fun and sun. They played together fairly well, with only the occasional argument. These were quickly solved and it was back to playing and more fun. Idyllic, no?

This summer? Ain't so freakin' sweet. Basically, I am babysitting one of the kids almost every weekday from 5 pm until I send him home. They don't look out of the window to check on him at all. I know this because you cannot see our yard from their window. They would have to physically step outside to check on him and that must be just too hard. On the weekends, either I or the other neighbors have him pretty much all day until we send him home. We did a little experiment one Friday evening and we had him from 5:00 pm until his dad came over to visit and I pushed the kid out the door with him at 8:45pm - they ate dinner without him. I KNOW!! Can you imagine? Then they like to complain that he is being picked on and called names all the time. Well, I am out there most of the time and it doesn't happen on my watch, so.....

If Small Pants wants to play outside, one of us has to be out there with him, he is only 3 and is too young to just run the neighborhood. So, since they are aware of this, they send their's out and he immediately appears in my yard and there he is until I send him home. He asks for juice, lunch, the bathroom, etc. Bear in mind he lives two doors down. Not too far to walk if you are starving, parched or have to poop. Also, you must understand to whom this child belongs. He is the kid of the "Labelers" - read the old entry about the couple having problems for a refresher. He has ADHD in the worst way, and is not on any meds, because they don't like the way they effect him - I say pick the lesser of two evils, please. He can't focus on anything, has no self control and is ridiculously loud. And I mean LOUD. And he whines. Alot. But other than that he is a sweet natured child - he just has more energy that any superhero and simply has no idea how to channel it. And he is in my yard all the time. All the time.

So, Pants and I have been trying to figure out a polite way to say this, and could not find one. Needless to say, things have been weird between his mother and I because we were once very very close and this has made me feel used and irritated. And the added stress of not knowing how to address it has been a pisser too. She helped with that this weekend when she came over and asked why things were strange lately between us.

After trying to play dumb for a little bit I simply said there was no easy way to sugar coat the situation and I felt like I was babysitting her kid for her the majority of the time. She said she was busy with the baby, who at 9 months old, can come out of the house, can't he? And I commented that there were two parents in that household and all I was asking for was some help. I reminded her that we didn't have all the name calling and picking on "issues" last summer when she was out watching them with me, and perhaps if either he or she could come and sit out there some of the time, then maybe these "issues" would be resolved. Let's face it, he can't breastfeed, so what the hell is he doing in there? It's not cleaning, let me assure you.

So, she cried, and I apologized for having to say it and assured her that we could reach a compromise and all would be fine. I apparently spoke way too soon. She called me later and said she was sorry for crying and said she spoke to her husband............

She told him she had talked to me and sugarcoated what I had said, telling him we were asking for a little more help and wanting someone to be outside more. She said her hands were tied with the baby, so it would have to be him. He said, get this, you are gonna die," Well, they're out of luck, I'm not gonna be out any more than I already am." (Which is NEVER, oh, unless he is washing his meticulously clean car - anal retintive freak) I almost stroked out and said "Oh, Really" in my most sarcastic tone. I told her we would have to reach some kind of compromise for her child's sake, because I would not send him home everyday, but by the same token, I was going to spend some time with my children alone in my yard. And that is how we left it.

You should have seen the look on Pants' face when I quoted El Prickola. He almost had a high speed come-apart. He wasn't so angry that El Prickola just blew me off, it was that he is so unconcerned about his own child. He cannot even get up off his lazy ass and turn off Battlestar Galactica or internet porn - take your pick - and go outside and play with his son. That is so very sad to me. We are not perfect parents by any means, but we do realize that they will remember playing ball with us in the yard years from now. They will not remember how clean we kept our car.

I tried to be as nice as possible. I didn't say, keep your shit in your yard. I just asked for some additional parental supervision. They just send him out for hours at a time and then want to complain when they don't like the calls the ref makes (yes, it's always a sports analogy) and this ref is tired of doing it for free. She quits.