Middle School Rant 2

I've been holding this in, and I ain't gonna hold it in no more!

Our middle school is like the sweaty armpit of the district. Sure, in every school there are crappy teachers, and crappy principals. Horrifyingly lazy substitutes and self centered oblivious parents. Mean OPK and weird OPK and just OPK.

But the middle school is like hell. Right here, easy to find, just off the Boulevard. So far, I like the school nurse.

The school itself is set up in pods, or "teams." There are 3 teams for each of 3 grades. There are 5 rooms per pod. If imagining just over 100 students scrambling thru the "hallway" between these 5 rooms wasn't horror enough, you get to live it by going to Open House.

The science teacher, described as "yelly" (she yells a lot) by the Howler is downright grumptastic. She had nothing to say to us, really, beyond a greeting as we introduced ourselves and the 150 other parents for Team T that were also crammed into the small "hallway." It's my opinion, as someone who could never ever make an effective teacher, that if, as a teacher of 11 and 12 year olds, you spend regular time at the beginning of your day yelling at the students, you don't have control of your classroom AND you're not a morning person. I'm not impressed by that.

I don't understand why these teachers were so damned determined to stand in the "hallway" crammed, jammed, and hammed up with all those parents and students instead of being INSIDE their respective rooms so that they could actually be approached by parents (I walked into her homeroom/science room and had no clue WHO the teacher was--and the Howler couldn't see her either. We found her, by accident, when leaving the room before I started spouting off about how much I hate the middle school) and could actually focus on the parent(s) she was speaking with.

I was also totally annoyed by other parents. Miss Priss is, of course, on Team T--I couldn't be lucky enough to have FINALLY ditched that little bitch and her self involved smugass mother and step grandmother. I spent part of my evening trying not to trip Granny, since, as oblivious to anyone else around her meant that every step I took meant she was dodging in front of me. She was one dodge away from going down.

Also on Team T is the Princess' daughter. I work with the Princess, and honestly, I get enough of her own junior high attention whoring ways at work. I don't need to see her flip her hair, bat her eyelashes, cut me off when I'm speaking to someone....and the bitch sure as shit did not need to walk in front of me & mine as we waited in line. Apparently, she was absent the day the rest of us learned those lessons we all supposedly learned in kindergarten. When trying to talk with the Howler's social studies teacher, the Princess actually made it a point to direct Mr. Social Studies attention to her by flipping her hair and swinging her fat ass as she left. I can't find a way to even laugh, since her fat ass has been negatively impacting my life all over the place these days.

The only saving grace of Open House was that the Book Fair was also being held that night, and of course, we had to go look. I was happy to do that, as my love affair with libraries has FINALLY FINALLY carried over to the Howler (who has never been impressed with any room full of books before.) While waiting in a very long, slow moving line to pay for the Howler's choices, after being almost knocked over repeatedly by a very chunky monkey & her spawn, I spied the the Troll.

Yes! My Sweetie's ex-wife, which the Howler now knows about. The Howler is not impressed to finally be getting to have a good long look at the thing. When we finally make it out into the hallway, she has successfully located My Sweetie and is being sweet-as-sugar. She's dragging her latest victim husband and her beady eyed, rat faced, blobby daughter with her.

As cruel and unChristian as it is, seeing the Troll (she's really showing her age, btw) made the horror of Open House almost worth it. I say almost, because the aura of pure misery coming off her latest husband (#8, I believe) was enough to kill any happiness--much the way dementors are described in the Harry Potter books. I don't feel guilty about it, because we have mutual friends and thru his family and friends he was warned to get away while he could, and he willfully and knowingly married the succubus anyway. (Hint:  when everyone who knows you, and even her own family warn you to run far, far away from her--and they make it clear they are NOT in any way kidding--and you marry her anyway, you got what you bargained for. And you'll get little sympathy from me for it when you discover your mistake.)

I never said I was a nice person.

The Stand

Elementary School morning drop off = NIGHTMARE.

That, right there, could be the entire post, but I feel the need to be more specific.

Way back when the Howler was in Kindergarten, morning drop off was a free-for-all. Parking in the drive/drop off lane, no adult supervision any where near the drop off area....the cleaning out of car trunks while a thousand other people tried to unload the children in their morning care.

Things improved...if you call 10% less stress and the addition of 2 aides to supervise unloading an improvement. I did.

When the aides actually DO supervise and AIDE the unloading, it's not nearly as bad as it was just a few years ago.

But what we have now is the same 2 aides, obviously very much over the AIDE part of their jobs. I thank God every morning that my daughter does not have contact with either of these two women during her school day.

When it's arctic cold, they huddle in the doorway. When it's not so arctic cold, they stand, chatting with each other (my paranoia says that they're actually talking about those families currently dropping off children) and ignoring the stupidity that could be avoided. If there were actually AIDING going on during unloading.

Today's particular rant is inspired by the fact that once I finally get into the drop off lane, I'm waiting....and waiting....and waiting to pull forward.

Dunno what's happening, and I'm too far back to see. Finally, one of the unaides moves forward a few steps. She stops and the vehicle--with it's passenger side door still hanging wide open, is pulling forward.

I pull forward far enough to unload the Howler--remarkably enough, not late yet--and as I drive away, that car door is still wide open, Mom is on the passenger side with her child....and the unaides are still just standing there. The vehicle in question is still mostly in the lane, and those leaving have to swerve into the already narrow path of those incoming.

Am I being ridiculous to think that A) if you're old enough to have a driver's license and a school-age child, you're old enough to know that driving any distance with a child in the seat next to the wide-open door is flat-out a Darwin Award looking to happen and B) any adult being paid to actually HELP families unload their urchins should actually be HELPING. Even if it means moving quickly enough to get that door closed, and have the idiot driving pull into an actual parking space.

I want so badly to let the school know that their unaides are part of the morning drop off problem, but I've already had to complain about ceiling tiles in the Howler's classroom becoming water logged and falling...

Somehow, I think I hear "off the deep end" being spoken in my near future.

Road Trip

Okay, not really. 30 minutes away isn't really a road trip, is it?

Today was the field trip for the Howler's school. 30 minutes away, and thank God for smallish miracles, I did not even have to ride the bus. I did, however, get to haul ass with my friend and neighbor, who as of yet has no nick. After this post, though, I'm sure to think up something totally vile to call her. She is Evil with Caffeine.

Actually making it to the point where we load ourselves into the vehicle and leave town was hilarious, mostly because we both spent a lot of time saying, "Dayum, I have to get one more thing." and ending up forgetting several things we thought we'd need for the trip: like our sanity.

She worked last night (over night) and was prepared with a sputtering urn of coffee. Which vomited coffee into the plastic bag she brought for it. She apparently felt she needed 48 gallons of coffee to make it through the day.

While at the park, she tells me, at one point, "You know, you're more attractive when you don't talk." Lovely. I'm your ride home, baby, play nice.

On the way home, she's like some loopy half drunken dingbat, totally mishearing what I'm saying...but in the meantime, she begins playing "Who'dja Rather?" and lists the endearing couple Loser Boy & his Lover. I, of course, throw up in my mouth a little. We then discuss Loser Boy, how disgusting he is, and, exactly, which objects and animals he would "rather."

At this point, after discussing various barnyard animals, she mentions that they have a dachshund, and how lucky it is to be a small dog.

I have a mouthful of water at this point, and I am driving...Thank God, again with the smallish miracles, that we were only going 40mph. I had to roll down the window and spit. I know, so very attractive, but really, we're lucky I didn't end up in a field!

She's such a good friend, she did ask me if any came out my nose.

Purple Heart

Right now, I'm pretty angry.

I'm angry that as soon as we get one child in the neighborhood to settle down and behave like a human being, another one (or really, several of the little beasts) begins to drive us over the edge.

It doesn't help that I'm still in pain, and still feeling exhausted most of the time.

Today's insanity was inspired by my being made a butler. I spent about 15 minutes opening a door, for no reason at all.

First, it was "OPEN THIS STUPID DOOR!" because it was locked--as it should be, since we had just gotten home. Then it was because there were bugs out there. Then it was because the Howler left the front and went to the back (a bug free zone.)

I would have just enough time to sit down and get started on what I was doing, to have the bell sound and the pounding start...so I could get up and open the door again.

And let me tell you, when your elbow feels like it's twice the size is actually is and is achy and sore like you've just loaded a dozen 80 pound bags of Quikrete into a truck bed that's taller than you are, you still forget that, and since you're right handed, open the dammed door with your right hand.

Being greeted by little faces asking "Where's the Howler?" doesn't improve your mood. Then when the Howler re enters the house through a different door to whine and complain about God-Alone-Knows-What, the screaming and yelling that commences is probably going to be embarrassing when you next make eye contact with the neighbors.

And knowing the this scene is going to repeat itself several times over the course of the next two days...well, screaming bloody murder now really is just a warm up.

Add to all this the fact that, as annoying as OPK are, your own flesh and blood child is over the top annoying--what with the whining and pouting that you know, beyond a doubt is in your future...

If I shoot myself in the foot, will they send me home from this war?

Butt...

It seems that I am doomed to look at ass crack the rest of my life.

The crackorama at work has finally (knock on wood) ended, but now, in the neighborhood, there's crack.

The Urchins are back (Waif & Loser Lover moved out last fall...then came back in late winter) and the Urchins are officially not allowed in my house. Two weekends ago, they were rooting through my cupboards and 'fridge, helping themselves.

Now, I do not begrudge a child food when they're hungry, but these two have taken to showing up "just in time" to ask "can we eat with you"? In other words, they ain't getting fed at home, and it's now my responsibility to feed them, since last summer's free-for-all has ended.

So, they come to my house, and help themselves. A bag of chips lasts minutes, and short of using the stove, it's anything goes. It doesn't help that they've helped trash my house with toys, then disappeared. And Sunday evening, began systematically emptying the sand box into the parking area for the tenants.

Oh, I so do not think so.

Anyway, Dolly is now wearing pants that don't fit--they're too big. I'm guessing that Loser Boy is too cheap (and too busy at the bar) to buy his daughter clothes that fit. Her butt hangs out of them almost continually. She's not wearing panties with them either, so I have choice A) they're dirty and laundry ain't getting done, or choice B) those don't fit her either, or choice C) both A and B.

It's frustrating. Because it's the Howler who is sharing the 411 on what it's like at the Urchin's home, not them. If it were them, I could reasonably document and deal, but since it's my 7 year old spilling the beans, I can document, but there's not much anyone can, or will, do about it. It's also sad to think that even this kind of neglect is low on the Needs-Investigated scale, since, they attend school, get infrequent meals, and have a roof over their heads and clothes on their bodies.

Some bleeting heart will probably tell me that I'm too harsh, these are children. But you know what? I'm not responsible for opk. That's why they're OPK--they're not mine, and it's not my job to raise them. And, I don't think I should have to put up with the disrespect and mouthiness I'm now getting from said OPK.

If I am feeding you regularly, and you're not actually blood related to me, then the least you can do is not trash the stuff I paid for, follow the rules at my house, and speak to me with a minimum of respect. Don't shoot me dirty looks when I tell you about it, either.

So anyway, now that the majority of my wise cracking (HAH! Get it?) is handled at work, I now get to come home and look at it.

The only difference is, I can tell this one to pull her pants up as often as I want.

Christmas Crazy

I'll put the disclaimer at the top:


I do NOT like Christmas. Especially since I started working retail.


But, there are some things about Christmas that I love: most of the music; finding the perfect gift for one of the Spawnlings; Christmas Eve service at church. And, all the truly insane things that people will do, or buy, at Christmas time. It's like the whole wide world goes insane and stupid, and then comes to see me.


A little background on the crazy 'round here: My neighbors aren't really all that bad, but over the years, they've convinced me that they are utterly insane. At one point, shortly after they moved in, the entire family was spotted, at various times, peeing in the yard. Mom & Dad, too.




Now, however, it's too cold for those kinds of annshinnigans, so they just do this: (I apologize for the blurry pics, but honestly, it looks BETTER this way.)

They have a small yard--if it were square, you'd call it a postage stamp. And every year, there's more and more for me to be utter amazed by at Christmas time. And it's RIGHT. OUTSIDE. MY. WINDOW.

This travesty of utility abuse is brought to you by Burgh Baby's Christmas Crazy. (It's the only crazy I got that's specifically for Christmas.)

Little Buggers

Before I begin, if you're of the Old School Opinion that head lice is a *dirty* thing--skip this. I don't need to hear it.





This is apparently the Summer of the Bugs.





First, the Howler and her friends were collecting them. Creepy, and the only thing that saved me from having the house infested with some of them was the many-uttered edict "NOT IN MY HOUSE!" and violent heaving out the door of anything bug-like.





Second, there's head lice going around. Joy. As if that's not ewwww enough, I have to know people whose children have gotten them. Those people whose children have played with mine in the preceding three days before discovery. Double Joy.





Like I want the stress and inconvenience of it all.





But this rant is more about the absolute dysfunction of some of the people around me. I've ranted enough about OPK, now let me explain about OPKP (Other People's Kids' Parents).





It sucks to be a sane, rational person in a neighborhood with a Village Idiot. Seriously.





These people, who respectively, have one daughter each, are morons, and prove, yet again, that most people should be tested and approved before conceiving.





In the past 3 months, Loser Boy/Village Idiot #1 has, for no reason whatsoever, called me a "slut." My responses (as no one else has heard him) kept to the *sweet smile* "Like your loser opinion matters to me." It's not snappy, but there were children around, and I was not going to have him thinking that HE has any power in my life-I also knew that no one else could hear him, and making a big deal of it would make ME look like some sort of nutjob. Ignoring everything he has to say thereafter seemed to drive the point home. I can tell you that if it happens again, he's getting the full Mumple treatment--and I guarantee you, he's not gonna like it.





Village Idiot #2, his *wife*--she's not much better, parenting wise, than Loser Boy. Lazy about it. Counts on the compassion of others to help her take care of her children. She's hauled her daughter, or his, to work with her, and had them duck down behind the counter or into the back room because neither of them could figure out how to get a freaking babysitter. I ended up with HIS daughter one afternoon because my husband stopped in, felt bad for the little girl, and called me to help out. I said, "OK" but made sure that I repeated, many times, what time I had to leave for work that day. I would not be late, nor would I call off--not to cover their asses. They tried, though--I ended up taking their child back to work on my way to work. I also told my husband that I would NEVER AGAIN agree.





I don't like kids, and, rude as it sounds, this wasn't MY daughter. I make sure MY daughter has supervision and care when I need to go to work, and it doesn't involve locking her out of the house and hoping that the neighbors cover for me. (Yeah, they've done this one, too.)





Considering that Loser Boy's Squirrel Bait mother lives right next door and refuses to babysit these little girls for them, it's most definitely NOT my problem.





But on with my rant: One neighbor & friend calls us last night to tell us that Village Idiot #2's daughter has head lice. They called HER, wanting HER to do something about it. She called to warn us.





Next thing I know, I get a call from Village Idiot #2, not to tell me to check my daughter and be prepared, but to mention repeatedly how she was at work, Squirrel Bait has the victim, and Loser Boy is at home. Between these geniuses, they have 2 cars and all 3 are capable of driving. NONE of them can go get the RID to treat this little girl's head. VI#2 says she's a work and *can't* on top of the fact that she has no money with her besides.





Loser Boy and Squirrel Bait can't go either. I assume they're both using the "It's not my daughter" excuse. Never mind that there's a little girl, who is part of their chosen family, infested with the buggers.





None of them can "figure out" where she got them, either. My Sweetie knows--Loser Boy's Psycho Sister's kids had them two weeks ago--and they spent a few days visiting Squirrel Bait. Psycho Sister is a vindictive, selfish wench, and she's sent the kids to school and babysitter with infectious things before, so I would guess that head lice and MY neighborhood wouldn't be that much of a problem for her.





So, they drop hints at me--like I'm going to ensure my family's vermin exposure to be the grown up they need. These people are supposedly adults. And they're calling me to come play "Mommy" for them, and to them. He was in the Marines. She was in the service also--Army, I believe. Squirrel Bait raised children. Like I said, supposedly adults. She even dropped hints that she needed someone she could trust to wash the girl's hair for her.





I am astounded that these people think that I'm going to drop everything and rescue them. I apparently strike these people as a *mother hen* type--or a rescuer. Or something along the lines of a doormat, who will do whatever it takes to help them out. They're obviously not paying attention.





I'm so hoping they ASK me about it...oooo. Yes, I am.

Vindication!

Thank you, Red!

http://lifestyle.msn.com/mindbodyandsoul/

Against a Growing Trend

I have to say that I think there are some pretty insipid toys out there--especially for girls. My Little Pony is not the least of the things I hate in the toy aisles, but have been found in my home and life recently.

I've even bought the damned things. But I don't have to like them. I have a daughter who loves horses of any kind, and if a MLP with braidable hair is what she wants, well, that is what preschool girls like--dress up, ponies, and princesses.

But, I digress.

Specifically, I have to say that the whoring-up of our daughters is very much out of hand. The younger the girl, the worse, it seems, it is. Size 6-6X dresses that bear more midriff than I did while in full-on labor (and believe me, THAT was no small midriff); glittery makeup marketed to 5 year olds; ultra low rise jeans with pre-manufactured rips; skin-tight tops that read one size but are actually the same size as toddler clothing; high heels and seam-up-the-back hose... it's the Whorification of Females in America.

"Mary Kate and Ashley design a new line of clothing for your WalMart shopping CrackHo preteen--ON SALE NOW!"

Geez.

Along with the whole children's clothing What Not To Wear train wreck, the toys marketed to little girls are trashy too.

Let's take a look at the Bratz phenomenon. They wear enough makeup to be seen from outerspace. They shop. They go on dates with boys. They are visions of fashion--if you see fashion as underpants and tank tops--ONLY panties and tanks. The problems do not end there. There are Bratz Babies. They are the diaper wearing bling set--literally. The dolls come with a diaper, earrings, painted faces, and pouting bee-stung Molly Ringwald kissable lips. These are a pedophile's dream. A *come hither baby*--LITERALLY. The ones that are "Kids" and "Teens" aren't any better.

This is action figure porn for our daughters.

There is no way, NO WAY, I can look at these things and NOT see my daughter and yours, dressed and painted, walking the streets looking to score. I don't care what anyone else believes, there is no way these dolls do anything except give our daughters the message that only her looks are important; she's only good for one thing and that one thing is sex; that she only has worth if she has a boyfriend.

If you say that "I don't let my daughter dress that way" or "We don't have those values" but "I buy them for my daughter"--WHY? If you don't like the *fashion* they project; you don't like the values they offer, WHY would you allow them in your house?

WHY wouldn't you strap on a backbone and have a conversation with your daughter detailing WHY you don't like them? Any age girl is able to understand "I don't think [little] girls should dress that way." or "I don't think girls your age should wear make up like that. Actually, I don't think ANY girl or woman looks good dressed or made up that way." or if she's older, use it as a conversation starter--"What do you think a girl who dressed that way would be like? Why?" or "Would you want to dress that way? Why?"

At my house, I want my daughter's self-image and self-esteem to be about HER, not what or who she has with her.

My example to my daughter may not be a "lady" in any classic sense, but at least I will be doing everything in my power to keep my daughter from equating "lady" with "lady of the evening".

Barbie never looked so good, did she Gloria? Unrealistic measurements aside, give me Barbie--decades old Barbie. Barbie who has clothes that actually fit her and cover her body; Barbie who actually wears underpants as underpants; Barbie who rides horses, has her license to practice two kinds of medicine, flies airplanes and is lucky enough to NOT work retail. She even recently dumped Ken--the beach bum eye candy who never held a real job, trashed the Town House with weekend parties, never helped with the kids, laundry, housework, grocery shopping, and who never refilled the gas tank on that spiffy pink caddy on his little jaunts 'round town.

Barbie, my Women's Lib friends, is becoming more and more the kind of role model we want our daughters to have.

My soon-to-be 5 year old can and does understand that we do not allow the Bratz in my house. She's not to ask for them, the answer will be "No." I'm sure there are those who think that my "hard line" about this is uncalled for--possibly even damaging to my daughter when it comes to her relationships with her peers.

If all the other moms jumped off a bridge, should I jump off too?

I think the answer to that is pretty clear.

The Never-Ending Peanut Debate

First, we got *the letter* from preschool.

It reads, in part:

-Please note that our classroom must be a nut-free environment due to the life-threatening allergies of one of our students. It is our desire to create a safe and healthy environment for this little one. There are other food products to which the child is allergic, but to a lesser degree. We appreciate the kind care that we know you will all display on behalf of this child. If you send a snack for a special occasion, please be sure it free of all nut products. It would also be very helpful if you would send a list of the ingredients in the snack, including brand names, so we may be sure it does not contain one of the other food intems to which the child is allergic.

I used their exact wording, including italics and bolding. I thought is was a decent way to get the message to parents (the letter is the monthly newsletter the school sends).

Now, I posted this on one forum, and while there has been MUCH MUCH MUCH debate, and many heated discussions, I posted it as a possibility of how the situation could be handled in a polite, pleasant way. Parents are apprised of the situation, and ASKED to cooperate in helping the school and family manage this allergy--which is, in part, how the child in question will learn to deal with his or her allergy in time.

My premise is that a child of 3 or 4 years of age simply CANNOT deal with this entirely on his or her own--even the most mature and capable child is not going to be able to police all products he or she comes in contact with on their own--a 3 or 4 year old child.

Certainly, a child of 4 can be expected to know that he or she cannot eat these products and can even be relatively relied upon to communicate to others--children and adults--that he or she may die because of it due to an allergic reaction. BUT, he or she is still a child, and a child of that age cannot be relied on to have the reasoning skills and ability to be as viligant as an adult.

It's up to the adults in the world to realize this.

In all honesty, it effects us very little, as the Howler doesn't eat nuts. She doesn't eat much chocolate and she doesn't eat cake, or most pastry. So, barring the numerous other products that she might eat that would contain peanut oils and such, I'd have to say, geez, louise, this is was a fairly decent way to make me aware, and to ask me how I can help.

If it were my child, I'd hope that others would respect it, and understand that my goal would be to have help in teaching and protecting my child.

I would not expect to have my child ostracized or not allowed to attend schools and such based on it. No one would consider it silly if it were a disease or disability.

While I also think, generally speaking, America has bent over backward to accommodate a few with needs out-of-the-norm and we've made it so that any nutjob (pardon the pun) can come along and inconvenience whomever he or she pleases because "It will make me sick."

I think that, for adults, you need to understand that while *you* are special, I'm not your mama and I'm not going to adjust my entire life to suit *you*. Learn to deal with life and people and the public, or stay home.

But when we're talking about a child, one who could die because of stubborn pig-headedness, I think we need to evaluate WHY we're being so self-centered.

If my child had special dietary needs, I'd hope that the school would be able to help work with us.

Again, it's not fair to ostracize a child, and it's not right to expect a 3 or 4 year old to manage their own condition.

IF the Howler were still in need of breathing treatments, I'd expect that the school would be having an aide or someone learn how to help her administer them, and they'd use it as an opportunity to teach the other children as well. We haven't been in that position, but if we ever were.....

It's a shame that I can't post something, like that paragraph from a letter, on a topic like that with out it becoming a debate about the "nut free environment" instead of a discussion about how the school CAN help families teach their children about managing medical conditions.

I'm also appalled that the people doing the loudest braying about this are the very ones who shriek for special treatment for their own reasons...

OPK

I know you're disappointed that I am producing a OPK Rant. Everyone has one....or it seems like it.

But really, why not? I mean, I didn't like OPK before I knew they were OPK. And in all honesty, I don't always like MY kids, why in the world would I expect to be enamored of OPK?

Mostly, it's just the hassle of OP in general. If they're at my house, it's my job to make them comfortable and all that. Spare me. I like doing that gig about 4x a year--Quarterly sounds about right for how often it should happen.

But if OPK are over, I need to be with them, supervising. Supervising children I have no authority over. Isn't that like having a traffic cop who isn't allowed to tell people to stop? It's self-torture. I can't make them listen to my rules and they don't have to listen to my rules, but yet, I want them at my house? Why?

On top of that, they usually have bad habits that my children pick up. Lovely. Of course, my child's bad habits never end up at OP houses. I don't get that exchange either. They get time off from their kids; they don't have the consequences of OPK bad habits moving into their houses....yes, I can see why the OP are always thrilled to have the little noise makers come to my house.

Don't get me wrong, I don't mind having kids over to my house. It amuses the Howler. It's not a problem, per se.

But lately, the child comes to my house, and seems to think that she has rights and authority to how things are done, or whether or not rules are to be followed. We really don't have many rules. Don't ride bikes without shoes and helmets. Don't scream. Don't tell me what to do, or how to do it. Don't have tantrums, don't call names, and don't be mean. Don't throw sand out of the sandbox, or move the sand into the wading pool; don't empty the pool into the yard or the sandbox. Help pick up what you've gotten out to play with. Pretty much a common courtesy kind of thing--you know, the "All I Needed To Know I Learned in Kindergarten" kinds of things.

We, however, seem to attract children whose parents never attended Kindergarten, or who totally missed the point of most of the social skills exercises. And who don't understand that as adults, their responsibilty includes, but is not limited to, teaching their children that the world does not revolve around them.

What we get is annoying at the very least. Parents who don't seem to even know where their child is, never mind how she is behaving. It means that I have to choose between allowing a child who doesn't live in my home to change the rules of my home, allow my children to have power and authority that, in my opinion, children should not have, or to send OPK home and deal with the annoyance of a bored and lonely preschooler.

I don't like any of these options, and without having contact with the parents, I have no way to make it clear to them that there ARE rules at my house; and all children who are at my house are expected to know them, and comply.

I do not wish to be mean or ugly to any child. BUT, the incessant screaming, the inappropriate-again, my opinion--mannerisms or ideals or comments are getting tiresome. And they are starting to show up in my child's behavior.

I will not totally blame the OPK for the bad behavior, because I do believe that my child has to learn that he or she is responsible for his or her own choices and behaviors, but if I can trace certain words or phrases or actions to my child having contact with said OPK, I have no choice but to be more vigilant in supervising contact or, worst case, suspend contact entirely.

Which, I hate to do in the current situation because I don't see that there is real abiding harm being done to my child.

The other thing that irritates me about it is that this particular OPK seems to either live at my house for hours on end or disappear for days. It's almost like they turn her out and hope to not see her (Of course, if my child were doing that much screaming and yelling and tantrum throwing, I'd think I wouldn't be too opposed to some peace and quiet--but that's another rant: deal with your child. Don't tolerate the manipulative behavior. Be the grown up.) The *turning out* of her takes place regardless of weather--one evening, in a full blowing thunderstorm, I am having to escort this child home--and no one was even wondering where she was. They apparently handed her a jacket and sent her, and her bike, on their merry way. Why is OPK on my patio, in a raging thunderstorm at 8pm?

Gnerally, she'll leave, in a huff, if she is not getting the 100% undivided attention. She'll leave if she doesn't get her way. She'll leave if we tell her not to do something. Which, of course, the Howler is starting to get a handle on....but, it's always hurtful to be told, "I won't be back for forever!" by someone who you think of as a friend, especially when you're 4. I also don't like to see someone try and manipulate the Howler, or to hurt her feelings. I also don't like being around a child (mine or OP) who thinks that I can be manipulated by tantrums and the like.

It's a no-win situation for me--I can learn to live with a child setting rules at my house, or I can stop that by keeping that child away, but deny my child one of the only playmates in the neighborhood.

I can't wait for school to start. *Sigh*

Gender Differences

Let me say before I begin that I understand the "nature v. nurture" arguements and can honestly say that, barring some cataclysmic event, it's not something that is going to be black and white.

But, this meander through my psyche is not about that. It's about noise.

Little boys like booms and yells and bangs. If they're outside, there may even be whistles and thumps. It's not too bad, really. They keep their noises on the lower end of the spectrum and you never envision neighborhood dogs howling when those boys are going about doing boy things.

If they are happy, it's booms and bangs, whistles and thumps. Maybe some yelling or hollering. But it's obviously happy.

Little girls, on the other hand, like shrieks and screams and giggles. If they are outside, the volume simply goes UP. And the neighborhood dogs howl, and if it's not the dogs, it's actually the girls.

If they are happy, how can you tell? My point is, You CAN'T. You cannot tell from the tone, volume, or duration of the shrieking and screaming. You have to go LOOK at them, and that is painful, because the closer you are to the sounds, the more likely you are to have an eardrum burst and/or bleeding in your brain. You may even begin, if exposed long enough or often enough, to flinch and twitch, much like an involuntary muscular tic.

The ONLY exception is the giggling. Which, in and of itself, is one of the most delightful sounds on this planet. Giggling does usually mean happy, BUT, it can be deceiving also. It can degrade quickly into crying, whining, shrieking or, God forbid, all three at once. There is absolutely no guarantee that if you have a gaggle of giggling girls on your hands that your eardrums are not in immediate danger.

Next up: Toddler and Teen--All the Attitude I Can Stomach EVERY Single Day