The One In Which I Parent Poorly

I like people to use proper grammar. My parents, my siblings and I were all English majors. When one of us would use an incorrect tense or poor grammar, my parents would either not respond to our question or correct us immediately. Sadly, I inherited this little trait. I correct my children and I correct the neighbors' children when they are in my house. I don't correct Pants, ummm..... usually. I don't correct other adults, unless they are of the smartass - knowitall variety.

The other day, the boys were playing in the front yard with some other kids. We have a big front porch with rocking chairs and big brick steps, so we usually sit out there on the steps and watch them (and officiate, if necessary). One of the boys lives up the road from us, and while he's as sweet as he can be, he is not the most brilliant of the bunch. I must be honest here, sorry if I offend, but it's part of the story.

The neighbor and I were sitting on the steps and apparently the kid said something rather stupid as he was leaving. I didn't hear it, so I don't know what was said but Medium Pants came up to the steps and made the following comment to the other boys:


"Well, if he was, he's an idiot."


I must segue here and say that sometimes I am quite guilty of allowing things to pop out of my mouth. I think it is commonly referred to as letting your mouth overload your ass. It doesn't happen too often - I have trained myself fairly well. I think. OK, back to topic...

As I was sitting there, with the neighbor don't forget, it happened. I said:


"Son, the proper grammar would be 'If he were, he's an idiot' not was."


A few seconds passed......... OK, Maybe it was minutes. Anyway, shut it. Then, thank God, apparently some parenting chip in my brain kicked in and I said:


"And don't call people idiots. It's not nice."

See??? I Never Said They Were Perfect!

Medium Pants has issues. Everything in his world must be even, equal and fair. The world must revolve around him. It is written. I was told by a friend that this was just a stage - I surely hope so. He isn't spoiled and we are quick to discipline, so I don't know where this came from and why it exists.

Here is a wonderful example that made my eyes pop out and me drive home with him in COMPLETE silence. Those of you with kids know that never happens. Ever. We went back to school shopping at a local store and the boy racked way up. They were having a big sale and I did very well with my purchases AND used my 20% off coupon. I got him 5 pairs of pants, 4 pairs of shorts and 7 shirts - for $68. Amazing - I was so proud. And I let him pick out what he wanted, within reason, so I thought I was being a good parent. I didn't buy anything for either of the other Pants. Just Medium Pants. It was all about him.

As we were leaving, after a restroom break, we had to pass through the purse section. Yes, I know. I know. Like a moth to the flame. I said I was going to look just a tad since they were having such a superb sale - he just rolled his eyes and laughed (even my kids know how I am about purses...) . I found a lovely little purse that fit so perfectly on my shoulder and was marked down to $17 from $45 - Dear Lord, that's criminal!! He asked if I was going to buy it and I said I thought I might.


He made a strange face and then asked "What do I get to get?"

I said "What?"

He said "What do I get to get? You are getting something."

I said "I believe that bag of $70 worth of crap is what you are getting."

He said "But I didn't want this stuff. Don't I get to get something I want?"

I said "Ummm. You are kidding, right?"

We stood and stared at each other.

He said "It's not fair. I want something too."

At that very moment - with the mention of the "It's not fair" mantra - I think my head exploded. Splattering brain matter and blood all over the lovely purses on sale.

I just turned and walked out of the store and to the car. With no explanation, no comment and no emotion (even though I was now headless). He ran along behind me dragging that bag loaded down with things he didn't even want. We got in the car and he knew he had messed in his nest as my daddy would have put it.

He said "But, Mama, I just wanted something I want since you were going to get something you wanted."

I said "I suggest you keep your mouth shut. Do not even speak to me because I do not want to hear a word you have to say."


We got home after a fun filled 40 minute ride of death and Pants knew immediately upon seeing my face the shit was about to hit the fan. I filled him in and let him handle the lecture and all. I was far too angry and would have said something I regretted. It wasn't just the selfishness of his behavior, it was also the fact that I didn't buy that purse! $17 people!! Holy Crap.

Pants said afterward that I didn't need another purse anyway. Idiot - doesn't he realize that I have to assist the economy and that purse will never be that cheap again?!?!

Just to prove my point, I am going by that store on my lunch hour later this week and buying the damn thing. I just dare one of them to say something about it. I will splatter brain matter and blood in their faces! That'll show them!

Fallout

I don't know if you read the Suburban Snafu entry - you should have. In it I briefly describe the Labelers. Mr. Labeler is one of those poor souls that is never happy. He was talking about moving before they even finished closing on their house now. He demanded a particular style of door, and then, two weeks later, wants to buy a different kind. He does this about everything. What he says tomorrow will directly contradict what he said two months ago or will say one month from now. I can't keep up with his cockamemie schemes. And I don't know how to spell that word. Keeping that in mind, he has mentioned a few times over the course of the two years we have been neighbors that he wants to move away. Last month it was going to be when Spazzie started High School - he will start first grade this fall. The month before that, he loved our neighborhood and was never going to move.

Things between his wife and I have been fine, but a little different since the Snafu was addressed and handled. They have been spending a ton more time with him (their son) and a little bit more time outside. With all this, she had a revalation - he is out of control and she is stressed way the hell out. Those are her own words. I guess they ignored or overlooked how uncontrollable he is before because he was on his own in the neighborhood so much. Now that they are trying to reign him in and having to be around him more, they see it. He screams at them when he is asked to do something and has fits and tantrums every day. They don't believe in spanking, so there's that to chew on. Oh, and she's a child therapist........... a CHILD THERAPIST, people! Hmmmmmm. Good luck with that, and I will not be contacting you if my child ever needs one.

Anyway, Mr. Labeler is a band teacher and is switching to a different high school this year in a better part of town. Mrs. Labeler told me last night that if he doesn't like it (as if), they are going to put the house up for sale and move far away.

cricket....cricket...cricket...

I assume this is because of one of the following reasons:

1) She is still pissed off at me.
2) She thinks a new setting will make her marriage and child issues better.
3) She has given up fighting him on every back and forth opinion he has.


I am leaning towards #1. I think she knows that while things are okay between us again, they will never be like they used to. I think she is also concerned, after seeing her child in action, that he is very difficult and thinks moving away will help. I don't think either of these "reasons" are valid, personally. You cannot live in a subdivision, let your child run free and not have compromises that must be made with the neighbors. And I seriously doubt all others would be as kind about it as me. If you child is out of control, moving will not change his behavior.

While I would hate to see her go, things have changed between us. I have lost a great deal of respect for her. She allows that child to scream at her, hit her, break things and throw fits and nothing is ever done - there is no punishment or consequences. It's like she has just given up - and he is only 6 years old. Things are only going to get worse. But yet, she is so very quick to dissect another child's personality traits and condemn the parenting if she sees a "flaw." Weird, huh.

Anyway - given her husband's penchant for blowing in the wind, he may decide not to move. Who knows? But for the time being, I will just sit back and watch it all unfold. At the very least, it provides Pants and me some good topics to discuss.

Not In His Job Description - Until Now

I am back from being out of town. I had to go to Myrtle Beach - on business, people, I swear. Do not take into consideration that I was there for three and a half days and attended only 3 hours of meetings. There were also dinners and lunches and networking and schmoozing. It was a difficult few days of work, I assure you. I am just exhausted. Really. And it's not just because the sun and the beach were so draining. Really, I promise.

I flew out Thursday morning to Altanta and then on to SC. I got up and took the boys to their respective places for the day - both were in good moods. I was eager for a few days of relaxation, ummm, I mean work, but I still knew I would miss all my Pants. Nature of the beast.

While I was standing in the Atlanta airport (which I think might just be what hell will be like - complete with rude employees and smelly travelers) my cell phone rang. It was Pants with the stellar notification that preschool had called him. Small Pants was running fever. 103.5 to be exact. Pants had left work and was going to get him.

I immediately felt very guilty. He was fine when I dropped him off and had not been the least bit whiney over the past few days. I am always the one who takes off and retrieves the sickly children or stays home with them. Not because Pants isn't capable but because he doesn't get paid if he doesn't work. Besides, boys want their mama when the don't feel well. I don't think that changes much as they reach adulthood either.

Here I was - many miles from my precious baby and he needed me. I needed to hold him and tell him it was going to be okay. I needed him to sit in my lap and watch Power Rangers three or four times. I needed to pump him full of fever reducers and give him a cool bath. I needed to be home. I was suddenly overcome with nausea. My child needed me, but more unsettling....was the fact that Pants might do just as good a job taking care of Mr. Sickly as me. What then? Would he still cry for me when he was hurt or sick?

I knew that Pants would do just fine. He is a wonderful father and just because he doesn't usually take care of that portion of parenting, it's not because he can't. Anytime they hurl anywhere but the toilet? I always make him clean up the barf - I just can't do it. I would end up adding more to the pile - I just can't even hear it happening. Ick. Pants - What a Saint. But I was always the one to hold them and let them sleep in my lap and baby them.

It felt so very strange to be so far away from home and my responsibilities. I longed to be home and taking care of the puny one, but also, there was no way my ass was getting up from that beach any earlier than it had to. This was the first time I had been alone and able to relax in 10 years. Sweet. I could lay by the pool or beach and not have my heart jump in my throat when I heard a splash - I didn't have to check and make sure it wasn't my kid drowning. A slice of heaven.

I needn't have worried. Pants was a warrior and babied that child and took his temperature (rectally, even. Dear Lord - I told you that man is a Saint) and watched his fever go down. He even let him sleep in our bed so he could keep an eye on him throughout the night. And so it turns out, Sweet Small Pants is/was fine, just a weird fever. Although I keep checking for chicken pox - any spots yet? Let me see your belly. OK, how about your back?

They were at the airport to pick me up and Small Pants was so excited to see me he was dancing. Again, I shouldn't have worried - he still loves me.

So now I know, and so does Pants, that he can handle the day to day crap. He is still the Uncontested Champion Barf Cleaner-Upper though. I ain't doin' it. Eww, I just can't. even. think. about. it. Double Ack.

Things That Make You Go "What the hell??"

I am going out of town yet again, so I won't be around until next week. Miss me!

But I will leave you with a description of a sighting on my lunch hour. It will make you shake your head.

Picture: Two-door Yugo, circa early 90's (maybe). Back quarterpanel smashed in. Ceiling cloth hanging down. Rear windows broken out with plastic and duct tape covering them. Dear Lord, this vehicle should have been put down years ago.

This lovely ride was pulling out of the local "Auto Radio" place here with a set of speakers in the back that had the car's ass almost dragging the ground. I could see them through the rear window, that's how big they were. He was blasting out some Kanye West crap or maybe it was Snoop Dogg - sorry I am not really up on the rap scene. Anyway, all you could hear was the bass and expletives.

This idiot just spent twice as much on a sound system than his damn car is worth. He must have traded in his "grill" on it.

A Reunion Of Sorts

Many many moons ago, when I was in my late teens and stepping out on my own, I formed a friendship with a guy named Pete. Yes, dear, it's you. Our friendship was very cool in that he would take care of me when I was too drunk to take care of myself and I protected him from a frighteningly unattractive girl we worked with. She had the hots for old Pete and for the life of me, I can't understand why he didn't reciprocate. Perhaps it was her overabundance of chest hair, or her bad breath, or the fact that she was just plain scary - she could have crushed any one of us like a bug if she had wanted to. Whatever it was, he never did go out with her. Largely thanks to me as I would run cover for him whenever we all went out after work. I think we succeeded in making her think we were a secret item, so she eventually left him alone.

We were only friends; however, and great ones at that. We made each other laugh and also understood each other. He was like a brother to me and will always be one of the best friends I have ever had. Truly. I moved away and we only slightly kept in touch - enough so that we knew what the other was doing.

Later in life, when Medium Pants was very small, I moved back home and went to work for/with Pete. We picked up right back where we had been. He became great friends with Pants. Golfing pals with stories I do not want to hear. I adore his wife - she is perfect for him. We were all friends. And so life rumbled along - I enjoyed work and had a good time while I was there and all was well in my world.

I could make this entry really really long, but I won't. In a nutshell, things transpired that were beyond either of our control and I took another job. It was a hard decision, but I felt it was best. Things were very uncomfortable from then on out. We lost touch and didn't speak for about 5 years. We ran into each other at a business function and it was weird. But not so weird that I didn't miss our friendship and maybe even regret my hasty actions.

I sent him an e-mail about a year ago letting him know how we were, a picture with all the Pants and an indication that I would be open to communication. Thankfully, he responded and from then on, we e-mailed almost every day. Catching up with each other's lives and stepping right back into the comfort level we had before. I was laughing my butt off at his jokes and things I had forgotten. It was like we used to be - sorta. We still had the safety of e-mail - no face to face and the option to delete.

This past Friday we all four attended the funeral of another dear friend. And there we were - face to face. I will admit I was anxious because I hadn't seen him since we renewed our friendship. The cautiousness of the e-mail relationship was even more apparent when I knew we would all see each other. And without the option of liquor as a confidence provider - it was scary. But as soon as we all saw each other, all the nervousness and uncertainty were gone. He was the same guy I had practically grown up with and I felt completely at ease.

He and Pants went and played golf Sunday and he stopped by our house afterwards. He had never seen Small Pants and had not seen Medium Pants since he was four except in pictures. Medium Pants is now ten for an idea of how long it had been - really long. It was absolutely wonderful. I realized how much I missed him and our friendship.

We have plans to all get together and cook out, drink beer and visit. I am excited. It is going to be great to be able to banter with him again - I have really missed that. But more importantly, I feel like I am getting part of my life back. He was a huge part of my life. You must consider we have know each other for 20 years. That's a long damn time. Sadly, I feel like I wasted some of that because of foolish pride and uncertainty. I could kick myself for doing that. I think there are still some things that might need to be said or ironed out - nothing bad, just clarifications and reassurances, but I know it will be okay.

Oddly enough, after seeing Pete this weekend and talking with him, I feel a bit younger and a bit wiser. He has reminded me of my youth and also reminded me of my shortcomings. That isn't a bad thing - I know what they are already, but now I know that I can deal with them. Maybe not in the timeframe I would like, but I can do it. Seeing him again gave me a weird strength - I think in part due to the uncertainty of what had happened between us. It was so useless to allow a misunderstanding and hurt feelings to come between us when we were so close. Now that I have acknowledged to myself how I should have handled the whole thing, I can move forward. The dissoloution of our friendship has always been hard for me to talk about and accept. I feel shame for allowing something so many people are never fortunate enough to have get cast aside.

So thank you, Pete. Thanks for being open minded, forgiving, allowing our reunion and restoring some of my youth. Now, if I can just get you to help me a little bit on the damn crow's feet, we will be back in business.

The New and Improved Bubble Boy

You may recall my tales of the neighbors I call "The Labelers." They are the parents of Spazwad, whom you might remember from previous posts. We have another set of neighbors I call "The Bubble People" because they live in a bubble and are oblivious to just about everything. They let their 5 year old son watch The Exorcist. The original one with Linda Blair that I still, at my sad and old age, cannot watch without covering my eyes in some parts.

Their son is now 6. He got caught trying to dissect a toad in their back yard a few months ago. I explained to Medium Pants that I was not ok with this and he was not to be a party to hurting any animal (other than spiders and mosquitoes, of course) and that I thought it was mean. I know he will have to do it in 9th grade biology, but that one is already dead and it will be done under his teacher's instruction.

Apparently, according to Mrs. Labeler, he was finally sucessful in his mutilation endeavors just last week. Her son ratted their kid out. I asked Medium Pants about it and he knew it happened, but left when the plan became clear and told Bubble Boy that he thought it was mean. I am very proud.

Anyway, Mrs. Labeler brought the dissection to Mrs. Bubble's attention the other night as we watched fireworks. She then, being a child therapist and all, explained that animal mistreatment and mutilation was an indication of sociopathic and psychotic behavior. For example, most serial killers started out hurting and killing defenseless animals just for entertainment. I almost fell out!

Mr. & Mrs. Bubble asked me about it later, and I just stood there. I mean, how could I say that I think he's a weird kid, but I don't know if he intends to kill the family while they are sleeping. She asked me what I thought about the toad dissecting, and I said I thought it was kind of mean, but I was no therapist. I just think it is wrong to make an animal suffer, sorry. She said she would talk to Bubble Boy about it. We'll see.

Then, after a few drinks, we both agreed that the Labelers should perhaps psychoanalyze their own child before they begin on ours.