He Said She Said: Parenting the neighborhood kids

Two of our contributors are asked to take opposing stances on an issue and present a case for their viewpoint. Comment and tell us who you agree with or what you believe or think! The topics are suppose to elicit a response and start a conversation in comments. Enjoy!


TOPIC: Parenting the neighborhood Kids.


He Said:

Two years ago when I was dismissed from my job, I noticed a phenomena when I became a SAHP. As you can guess from the title of the topic, I was suddenly everyone's parent while their parents worked or basically neglected them.

No, I wasn't the cool person...I was just emotionally available to anyone and everyone. I was okay with that and I was consistent with everyone on what is and is not acceptable in terms of behavior. Wipe your feet before you come in. Say "please" and "thank you". Ask your parents first before asking me if you can sleep over.

At first, some of the kids didn't like the expectations I placed on them...but they eventually understood that if they showed respect or behaved properly, I would be more receptive to them. However, there was this one thing that drove me nuts every day.

They kept coming over at lunchtime, which meant they expected me to feed them. I tried to get their parents to feed them. Uh-uh. I tried sending my girls over to be fed by them. Uh-uh. I tried getting the kids to brown-bag their lunch. Uh-uh. That's when I had enough and I told everyone since none of them were willing to feed my girls, I would not feed them anymore.

Oh, there was a bit of a fallout all over the neighborhood, but I refused to cave in. I stood my ground and every time a kid came over "hungry", I would gently remind the kid that there is food at her/his home and point the way. One house stopped talking to me (I didn't care since their sons were nothing but trouble and wouldn't stop cussing) and another stopped sending the kids over.

The kids still stop by, but they don't expect to be fed - they play with my girls. My sanity was restored. As for my relationship with the girls, things got much better. I no longer felt anxious about the possibility of them bringing their friends over.

Do you think my decision did some damage to their relationship with their friends?

DCHY

She Said:

Neighbors are why I live forty miles from the nearest city in a gated community with a ten foot fence around my property. I'm not exactly known for my ability to play well with others. One of my biggest anxieties about having children was that I'd have to deal with other parents. Seriously. I may seem like a bundle of sweetness and beauty, and I certainly am, but I like people to keep their distance. I don't let people in. Sometimes, maybe even a lot of the time, I have difficulty with even superficial relationships.

So I get this.

I found that I even have it in me not only to dislike other people, but to dislike their children. Who dislikes a child? I do, apparently. I've had these kinds of kids at my house. They're rude, they're messy, they're always hungry, they're disrespectful, and they are teaching my children things I don't want them to learn. They don't respond well to rules. And I just wanted them to go away.

I laid down the law. The kids who didn't follow my rules were no longer allowed to play in my home. I was gentle, but firm. I tolerated them, though they made me grind my teeth and their parents made me stabby. I fed them, I entertained them, and showed them the love and attention a lot of them were looking for and not finding at home. I might have even learned to like them a little better.

And because I didn't follow my instincts, which were to erect an electric fence around my house and laugh as people were delivered a nonlethal jolt when they tried to get in, I learned that I can be someone for these kids that their parents can't or won't be. I can feed them and entertain them and let them raid my fridge and admonish them for getting dirt on my floor even if their parents aren't willing to do the same for me.

I have the choice to let it piss me off, which it certainly did at first, but instead I decided that the kids are not responsible for their parents idiocy. They can't help it that their parents dumped them off on me, expected me to take care of them out of the goodness of my heart. They're just kids and they clearly need a positive adult role model in their lives since their parents can't be bothered to be decent human beings.

So I suck it up, I take them in knowing my kindness is not going to be reciprocated, and I hope that what I teach the little heathens about behaving themselves will stick at least as long as they're playing with my children, maybe even a little longer if I'm lucky. And of course, when their parents are extra horrible, I fall back on one of my favorite pastimes. Writing letters and issuing penalties as the fictitious president of the homeowner's association.

Gucci Mama

Parent Projects... Who's the parent here?

I have always hated homework.

I hated it when it was mine and I totally hate it now that it is my kids problem.

Not to mention that "parent projects" make me crazy... you know, the ones the kids forget to tell you about until the night before.

"Um... mom... I forgot,  I gotta re-invent the wheel by morning."

On top of all this is the fact that I have no support from the "Duke" on this subject.  I doubt he ever did a lick of homework that didn't have to do with beer or training bras.

He never remembers to remind the kids about it.  If I'm gone for the night I can be so sure that when I return homework won't even be on the radar.  I think it is too much work for him to want to put up the fight.  He would rather pretend it doesn't exist.

Until of course the report card comes in and then the boys better represent.  How does that work?  Don't we have to guide them and show them what is expected?

So every night its the same thing.

Chief:  "Who has homework"

*crickets*

Chief:  "Hello?  It's time for homework"

*crickets*

Chief:  "If I don't see two kids at the table right now... buried in math books I am going to start busting someone's balls!  And Im starting with you, Duke."

and then there is a quick shuffle of papers and scratching of pencils and Duke puts on his athletic supporter for one more night of high octane parenting.

 

small print:  this is not really Duke... how I know this is Duke is bald.

Disclaimer: I love My husband for all he does that does not make me crazy.  Which is a lot.

Check in with me here, here, or here.

all photos stolen from the internet

My Favorite

This is my daughter, Aryn.

She's the one on the right. The lady on the left is the local "weather specialist." She's not a real meteorologist. She's a dinosaur. Been around since the days of dry erase weather boards. When they had to draw isobars and storm fronts by hand and simulate their movement by swaying in front of the camera and flopping their arms. I imagine she made swooshing sounds.

And always with that damn smile.

You'll notice my daughter is not really smiling. Even though she'd just won second place at the Johnny Appleseed Festival Apple Dessert Baking Contest. That weather lady was one of the judges. And my daughter? She's not convinced the weather lady is the real deal. See that skeptical glance? The almost smirk? She's not sporting that weary look because she'd stayed up until the wee hours of the morning slaving over the filling for her Dutch Apple Pie Cones. Oh, No! Behind that glare, she's calling bullsh*t.

Just one of the reasons why Aryn is my favorite kid.

There are other reasons:

1) She's the only one of my kids that will go see the movie that I want to see, even though it isn't rated G. Recently, we sat through Avatar, munching on buttered popcorn with caramel-flavored powder sprinkled on top, sipping a five gallon Mr. Pibb made complete with a shot of vanilla, and then talked afterward about how it most definitely was NOT Dances with Wolves: Redux, like everyone claimed.

2) She knows what Redux means.

3) She also knows what loquacious means; a wellspring of trivial chatter, she never fails to make me laugh.

4) Her creativity knows no bounds. Like me, she is often in the midst of a plethora (another favorite word of hers) of projects, and doesn't know what to do with herself if she has to clean up her mess.

5) She's a voracious reader. It's not unusual to find her holed up in her own special corner of Barnes & Noble, our favorite hangout, with a pile of books around her, many of them long and mostly finished before I'm ready to leave. I've never been a particularly fast reader, so I envy her a tiny bit.

6) She hasn't given up on asking questions. Unlike most kids who think they have it all figured out really early in life and so avoid staring at the grays of life, she probes deeper. She's the only one of my kids who will routinely engage me in discussions about God. Or the lack thereof. For Aryn, the pursuit of knowledge is a never-ending journey worth taking, with signposts of occasional wisdom leaning on the roadside.

I could go on and on, but I think you get the point. She is close to my heart, parallels my own personality in ways both delightful and frightening, and at this point in her life needs a father who is also a friend.

Now, I have four kids.

Aryn is not the oldest, and she's not the youngest. She's right there in the (sort of) middle, older than the little ones still in elementary school, yet younger than the sophomore in high school.

The little guys think I'm cool, especially when I take them to the roller skating rink or play the PS2 with them. They really dig me if I remember to bring home barbecue Pringles or Yu-Gi-Oh cards.

And the oldest thinks I'm an alright chauffeur for him and his girlfriend. He was my favorite once. When we played Dungeons & Dragons together. When I could still beat him at almost any game we popped into whatever console we owned at the time. But somewhere along the line, I became his father. The one who complains too loudly about his grades, or the amount of time he's spending on the phone.

Time for a cleansing breath . . .

Do I love each of my kids? Without a doubt. Would I step in front of a train or take a bullet for any one of them? In a heartbeat, and without batting an eyelid. Do I spent quality time with each of them? Moments where we hop in the car, or in my recliner, and just do stuff? Stuff they will remember tomorrow morning? Or when they're older and writing blogs about me? Stuff that is sometimes nothing at all?

I believe so.

Will Aryn always be my favorite? I can't answer that with any sort of certainty. Hormones are about to hit. But for now? She still likes to be with me. I don't embarrass her too badly. I see myself in her. In her eyes. The shape of her face. That pensive look she gets. Some people say she zones out a lot. But that's not zoning. That's digging. Trying to make it all make some sort of sense when that hardly seems possible.

She needs to be my favorite. And perhaps I need to be her favorite as well . . .

Brian

aka The Cheek of God

aka Tysdaddy