Or maybe I just don't know any...yet.
So, I haven't blogged in a long time, mainly because difficulties with my Middle Child have rendered me virtually humorless and without creative spark. But in the middle of all of this chaos, my sister in law sent me an article concerning a rather poorly worded law in Nebraska that has brought some unexpected problems.
In case you don't feel like following the link, I'll try to sum up. Many states have "safe haven" laws, where people can drop babies off at hospitals and not face repercussions. These laws are, of course, designed to keep people from dropping infants in dumpsters or ravines or what have you... but Nebraska's law is imprecise, and does not indicate an upper age of children that can be dropped. Consequently, people have taken to dumping their bigger children, with one man dropping off NINE children, because he didn't know how to handle them after his wife died. Another man crossed state lines to dump his 14 year old daughter.
Now before you go rushing to judgment on these parents, I urge you, spend a week with a 14 year old girl and THEN tell me you're not up for a Nebraska road trip. Or if you don't have a handy 14 year old girl, consider this anecdote, regarding a friend of a friend:
This lady I know has an absolutely beautiful, previously quite sweet 14 year old daughter. Lately, though, the girl has been belligerent and hostile, defiant and angry. She's currently grounded for bad behavior and bad grades, but the other night when she couldn't reach her mother on the phone as quickly as she liked to ask about an exception to the restriction, she just took it upon herself to decide she was off the hook and could sleep over at a friend's house. When her mother interfered with her plans, she became hysterical, crying and screaming and threatening her mother physically, saying she'd stab her in her sleep. Yikes!
The mother is divorced, but her ex lives quite nearby for the sake of helping with the kids, (although this is not really his strong suit, and she has to be pretty desperate to ask for his help), became really upset and frightened, and called her ex to come help. When the dad arrived, the girl became even MORE irrational, and took off running down a busy road, late at night, weaving in and out of traffic, with her father in hot pursuit. When he finally caught up to her, she was curled in a ball in a a ditch, sobbing. Drama much?
The mother picked her daughter up from school today, and took her out for coffee, to discuss what happened. (I'm pretty sure she was following the theory that teens are much less likely to cause a gigantic scene in public.) When she got to the part about her daughter threatening to kill her while she slept, the girl stopped her. "I never said that!" she said. Her mother assured her that yes, she did indeed say that, and the girl was all innocence, claiming no memory of it, but then started laughing, as though it was the funniest thing she'd heard all day, that her mother had gotten it SO WRONG.
"No," she patiently explained, "I said I would STAB you in your sleep."
Ahhh! Yes, of course, now it's all ok.
This story made me smile, I'm embarrassed to admit, but I promise the smile was one of empathy and understanding, with only a small dash of "Whew! Someone else's kid was worse than my kid today! Hooray!" thrown in for good measure.
Maybe I should give that mom a call, offer her a listening ear. Maybe she'd like to split the cost of a drive to Nebraska.
I had to come back and edit to add... I DID find a song called Nebraska!
Showing posts with label punishment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label punishment. Show all posts
Friday, October 17, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
You Can't Stop the Music
So, no, the day didn't start out particularly different than any other day... I asked the Man to convey to our Middle Child that I did not wish for her to stay after school, and when I asked him about it later, he said she'd told him she HAD to, she had a student council meeting. This seemed odd to me, given that she'd stayed after for a student council meeting yesterday, so I called the school.
Two guesses. You're right! There was, indeed, no student council meeting. Hmm... so I called the OTHER part of the school, and asked them to send my daughter a note that read "No student council meeting, take school bus home". I mentioned to them that the word "school" was very important, because MC is big on semantics, and could easily interpret "bus" to mean "public transit" and then wander in God knows when, feigning innocence, and I just didn't want to have to hassle with it.
And then I was off...slightly delayed by all this dealing with the high school...to a meeting about a job. My dear friend Kim, (of "4 Chambers of My Heart" fame), had graciously agreed to watch my Small One, so I basically threw the child at her as I dashed back out the door, and she invited me to stay longer on the return trip, and have lunch. This is where the day took a few rather odd turns.
For one thing, I got a call from the high school. They'd tried to deliver the message, you see, but failed, because my child wasn't in class. What?!? The lady was pretty blase about it, considering it was basically their turn to watch the girl, and they weren't doing such a hot job. She assured me that she'd look into it further and call me back. I took a deep breath (or several), went to the meeting, returned to Kim's house to pick up Small One and have lunch.
Over lunch, Kim made reference to the fact that I seemed pretty unconcerned for a mom whose daughter was MIA, and I explained that I was going to wait for the school to call me, and then go to the school if she'd not been found. But as I was explaining this, my phone began to ring, and at the same time I noticed that TWO HOURS had passed since MC had not been in class, with no word from the school. I snatched up the phone and ran out the front door, to better hear the other party without 5 children in the same space.
It wasn't the school, it was my Oldest, and as I was wrapping up my conversation with him, I noticed a car pulling up to the curb. A bald African American man, probably in his late 50s, got out and approached me, just as I was dialing the school, and told me he was from Comcast, and I directed him inside, explaining that I didn't live there. Here's where it gets weird.
He said to me "Well, is the baby still crying?" and I conceded that it was possible a baby could still be crying, as there were two in the house. To which he replied "Well, I'm about to go in there and calm EVERYONE down", in a rather lilting tone, with an somewhat expansive hand gesture. Think "conversational jazz hands". (This should have clued me in that this was no ordinary Comcast cable guy.)
Kim came to the door, with a dvr and her Littlest in tow. "Hello, Little Man!" the Comcast guy called out, and her Littlest looked at him with suspicion. Small One, on the other hand, came right out onto the front porch and looked up at him, and he said...
"Hello! HellllO! Hello, Baby! Hello, it's me... I've thought about us for a long long time... Seeing you, or seeing anyone as much as I do you, I take for granted that you're always there..."
Yes, folks, YES, he sang his entire rendition of the old Todd Rundgren song "Hello It's Me." Did I say sang? Oh yes, sang! And in fact, right about the time he said "Hello Baby" he went into a little dance, complete with step-hip action and some side to side jazz hands. The other three children came to the door. Small One was fascinated.
All the children, in fact, were fascinated. I can really only describe it as "stupefied fascination", but Kim put it a little more aptly when she said "They were looking at him like he was Willy Wonka. Like they thought he MIGHT be nice, or he MIGHT be a little crazy, and they just needed to figure it out." Yep, that's exactly right.
Small One extended her arms, and he picked her up and finished the song, dancing with her. During this performance, I was on hold with the high school, waiting for them to locate MC, but when Small started looking a little nervous, I took her from him, smiling at him as if to say "No, no, I think you're nice crazy, not dangerous crazy, it's all good!"
When he finished his song, he turned his attention to Kim's Littlest. He said "What about you Little Man? Would you? Would yooooooou... WOULD you like to swing on a star?" And he was off again. All the children stared. Kim and I attempted not to look at each other, for fear we would burst into hysterical laughter. I walked a little way away to better hear the school administrator. (MC was found, she'd only missed part of one class, and was being duly written up for that infraction.)
By the time I was hanging up the phone, the man had moved on to a song about Jack coming back down the hill because he needed love he couldn't get from Jill. Not too sure I liked where that one was going, but it was broken up anyway, by the small children losing interest and fleeing the front stoop, and the not quite as small children retrieving them, against their will, to a chorus of howling nos.
Kim and I began to herd everyone back inside, saying our goodbyes to Theatrical Comcast Man, when he said to the children, "Wait, little girls! I've got something for you in my car!" We all froze in our tracks. Kim and I looked at each other. (She later told me my eyebrows went up almost to my hairline.) The man amended his statement. "I mean, if it's ok with your Mommies, I've got some candles I'd like to bring to you from my car, if you'll just wait here." Then he turned to us and said "I used to own a Dollar Store." (presumably as an explanation)
Then he was back, with a big bag full of candles. The bigger girls each picked a candle, as Kim and I wrangled the little ones away from the bag, and the man handed each of us a candle, despite our insistance that we didn't really need one.
As we walked in the door, and Comcast Man was headed down the front walk, I turned and looked at Kim. "DON'T!" she stage whispered, "THE WINDOWS ARE OPEN!"
I stage whispered back. "You KNOW I'm blogging about this!"
And you know, we have to keep those candles forever.
Two guesses. You're right! There was, indeed, no student council meeting. Hmm... so I called the OTHER part of the school, and asked them to send my daughter a note that read "No student council meeting, take school bus home". I mentioned to them that the word "school" was very important, because MC is big on semantics, and could easily interpret "bus" to mean "public transit" and then wander in God knows when, feigning innocence, and I just didn't want to have to hassle with it.
And then I was off...slightly delayed by all this dealing with the high school...to a meeting about a job. My dear friend Kim, (of "4 Chambers of My Heart" fame), had graciously agreed to watch my Small One, so I basically threw the child at her as I dashed back out the door, and she invited me to stay longer on the return trip, and have lunch. This is where the day took a few rather odd turns.
For one thing, I got a call from the high school. They'd tried to deliver the message, you see, but failed, because my child wasn't in class. What?!? The lady was pretty blase about it, considering it was basically their turn to watch the girl, and they weren't doing such a hot job. She assured me that she'd look into it further and call me back. I took a deep breath (or several), went to the meeting, returned to Kim's house to pick up Small One and have lunch.
Over lunch, Kim made reference to the fact that I seemed pretty unconcerned for a mom whose daughter was MIA, and I explained that I was going to wait for the school to call me, and then go to the school if she'd not been found. But as I was explaining this, my phone began to ring, and at the same time I noticed that TWO HOURS had passed since MC had not been in class, with no word from the school. I snatched up the phone and ran out the front door, to better hear the other party without 5 children in the same space.
It wasn't the school, it was my Oldest, and as I was wrapping up my conversation with him, I noticed a car pulling up to the curb. A bald African American man, probably in his late 50s, got out and approached me, just as I was dialing the school, and told me he was from Comcast, and I directed him inside, explaining that I didn't live there. Here's where it gets weird.
He said to me "Well, is the baby still crying?" and I conceded that it was possible a baby could still be crying, as there were two in the house. To which he replied "Well, I'm about to go in there and calm EVERYONE down", in a rather lilting tone, with an somewhat expansive hand gesture. Think "conversational jazz hands". (This should have clued me in that this was no ordinary Comcast cable guy.)
Kim came to the door, with a dvr and her Littlest in tow. "Hello, Little Man!" the Comcast guy called out, and her Littlest looked at him with suspicion. Small One, on the other hand, came right out onto the front porch and looked up at him, and he said...
"Hello! HellllO! Hello, Baby! Hello, it's me... I've thought about us for a long long time... Seeing you, or seeing anyone as much as I do you, I take for granted that you're always there..."
Yes, folks, YES, he sang his entire rendition of the old Todd Rundgren song "Hello It's Me." Did I say sang? Oh yes, sang! And in fact, right about the time he said "Hello Baby" he went into a little dance, complete with step-hip action and some side to side jazz hands. The other three children came to the door. Small One was fascinated.
All the children, in fact, were fascinated. I can really only describe it as "stupefied fascination", but Kim put it a little more aptly when she said "They were looking at him like he was Willy Wonka. Like they thought he MIGHT be nice, or he MIGHT be a little crazy, and they just needed to figure it out." Yep, that's exactly right.
Small One extended her arms, and he picked her up and finished the song, dancing with her. During this performance, I was on hold with the high school, waiting for them to locate MC, but when Small started looking a little nervous, I took her from him, smiling at him as if to say "No, no, I think you're nice crazy, not dangerous crazy, it's all good!"
When he finished his song, he turned his attention to Kim's Littlest. He said "What about you Little Man? Would you? Would yooooooou... WOULD you like to swing on a star?" And he was off again. All the children stared. Kim and I attempted not to look at each other, for fear we would burst into hysterical laughter. I walked a little way away to better hear the school administrator. (MC was found, she'd only missed part of one class, and was being duly written up for that infraction.)
By the time I was hanging up the phone, the man had moved on to a song about Jack coming back down the hill because he needed love he couldn't get from Jill. Not too sure I liked where that one was going, but it was broken up anyway, by the small children losing interest and fleeing the front stoop, and the not quite as small children retrieving them, against their will, to a chorus of howling nos.
Kim and I began to herd everyone back inside, saying our goodbyes to Theatrical Comcast Man, when he said to the children, "Wait, little girls! I've got something for you in my car!" We all froze in our tracks. Kim and I looked at each other. (She later told me my eyebrows went up almost to my hairline.) The man amended his statement. "I mean, if it's ok with your Mommies, I've got some candles I'd like to bring to you from my car, if you'll just wait here." Then he turned to us and said "I used to own a Dollar Store." (presumably as an explanation)
Then he was back, with a big bag full of candles. The bigger girls each picked a candle, as Kim and I wrangled the little ones away from the bag, and the man handed each of us a candle, despite our insistance that we didn't really need one.
I got a faux Heineken, Kim got a faux Budweiser.
As we walked in the door, and Comcast Man was headed down the front walk, I turned and looked at Kim. "DON'T!" she stage whispered, "THE WINDOWS ARE OPEN!"
I stage whispered back. "You KNOW I'm blogging about this!"
In about 20 years, we'll stage this picture again, with real beverages, and put both shots together in a double frame.
And you know, we have to keep those candles forever.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Pants on Fire
Some time ago, I spent a few years giving birth to these creatures:
Aren't they cute? Cuddly, even. I have some very fond memories of those creatures. Sadly, they grew up to be these creatures:
Look how MAD they look! On EASTER, for crying out loud! How does that even happen? How do sweet babies become angry teens? Actually, I have a theory- I think God makes babies cute and sweet so you don't throw them out when they wake you in the middle of the night, and then he causes teenagers to be surly and difficult so it will be easier to let them go off and have lives of their own. And the reward for not killing them is that they complete the cycle and bring you cute and cuddly grandchildren. See? Not a bad plan, actually.My Middle Child is a beautiful, brilliant girl who has recently reached the stage my aunt and uncle lovingly call "Mean-ager". A fitting moniker, I think. Anyway, the Man and I have made a decision to confiscate an article of clothing every time this child is disrespectful, and make her earn the clothes back via some mundane task she'll hate. (I think the hatred of the task is an important part of this plan!)
Yesterday was the first time we implemented this new punishment. She mouthed off to her stepdad, he went into her room and removed her new black jeans from her closet, and we informed her that she could get them back by writing an essay on what it means to respect your parents. Her response? How shall I explain it? Remember that part of the story "Rumpelstiltskin", where he finds out the queen knows his name, and he throws such a big fit he ends up stomping through the floor and never being seen or heard from again? It was sort of like that, but with a less satisfactory result, because I can still see her.
I'll spare you most of the gory details, but I will say that by the time it was time to go to bed, she had not written the essay. She had voiced her opinions on people who take other people's clothes rather loudly, and she'd even written a delightful poem entitled "Ode to My Pants", which ended with the line "I WILL avenge you!", but she was still maintaining that an essay on respect was too harsh a task. She came back to my room and we had the following conversation:
Middle Child- I'm going to need those pants for church in the morning.
Me- Well, then, you should hurry up and do your essay.
MC- I'll do it tomorrow. I need my pants NOW.
Me- Well, then, you should hurry up and do your essay.
MC- That's really stupid. (here she begins explaining it to me as though I'm not bright enough to understand her position, and that's the problem) I'm SUPPOSED to wear black pants for our dance troupe performance tomorrow morning. Do YOU have any black pants you can loan me? No you do not. So you need to give me back my pants.
Me- Well, then, you should hurry up and do your essay. (Remember that scene in Dangerous Liaisons? Where John Malkovich kept repeating the same thing over and over, and Michelle Pfeiffer went nuts? That's what I was going for.)
MC- It's IMPOSSIBLE! I CAN'T WRITE IT! IT'S TOO HARD! I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO WRITE IT!
Me- I guess you're never getting your pants back, then. In fact, one more word out of your mouth and I think I may set fire to those pants.
MC- This isn't FAIR! Those are MY PANTS!
At this point... can you guess? Yes, I picked up the pants, went into the bathroom, threw them in the sink, and got out the matches. Lit a match and held it dangerously close to the fabric, at which point she became a LOT more cooperative.
She wrote a lovely essay, by the way. And no pants were actually harmed in the writing of this blog.
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