All Kinds of Bad Mommy Blogger

Today's post will entail a list of the numerous ways numerous people, to my face, all but tell me I am a bad mom. Following that, I will give you a piece of my mind - though I haven't much to spare.

Part I - Brandy Complains.

Exhibit A: Pants are NOT optional.

Canon has a thing with pants. He doesn't like to wear them, and I don't care. If we go out, I usually (but not always) throw him in a pair, but at home, meh.

Today Greg declared, "Pants are NOT optional."

Pshaw, as if.

Exhibit B: The Landmine Neighbors.

The next door neighbors are the easily disturbed type, like landmines, y'know. I tell my kids to never touch their lawn, stay off their driveway, don't climb on the connecting fence, don't throw toys or anything over or through the fence, don't make eye contact with the dogs, don't bug any of them in anyway, shape, or form.

Recently, Neighbor Lady knocked on my door to see if I could confirm that the cable company had broken her fence, as her dogs had gotten out and she had to chase them down (I KNOW how annoying that is, which is one of the many reasons I am not no longer a dog owner). She had called the cable company, the utility company, and the police, and wanted me to be aware, in case I'd seen anything. Sorry, no idea.

Later that day, the kids "accidentally" throw their beloved Anakin Skywalker action figure over the fence. "Go knock on the door and see if they'll let you get it." 5 minutes later, kids come home, sad little faces, she won't let us look for the toy. Sorry guys, maybe the Easter Bunny will bring you more Anakins.

That evening, in the middle of dinner, she knocks on the door again to explain to me that she didn't want the kids to go looking for the toy because her dogs poop over there (gross, but thanks, I guess) and she'll throw it over if they find it, assuming the dogs don't chew it up (as dogs do do).

But that's not all she has to say to me. Me, with a jar of baby food in one hand and the baby spoon in the other, the family (minus late working dad) around the table, she proceeds to tell me how she sees my kid (the oldest - 7 next month) running around all over on his own, how her sprinkler and fence were broken, now suggesting my kid, while asking to get his toy, had told her HE broke them (mind you, my kids was still in school when she mentioned the broken fence the first time), and how she was worried because things just aren't safe.

I take a deep breath. She's renting the house. She's from California. She gave me overly generous baby gifts when Sagan was born. She voted for Obama and even had the yard sign. She gave, by far, the most extravagant neighbor Christmas gifts of the whole neighborhood. I try to take what she is saying (which is basically that my kid is a hooligan who needs more supervision and is responsible for acts of destruction at her house) and pretend she is being kind, concerned, and helpful. I graciously thank her for her concern and for taking the time to come over and talk to me. I touch her arm as I say it because Dr. Laura told me to be more touchy, and she eventually retreats.

I go back to the table and rererereitterate to my kids how they must not every disturb any aspect of our neighbors' lives ever again. I hope, eventually, they move/buy a house/move/move.

I don't know about that whole Love Thy Neighbor thing sometimes ... did Jesus ever have landmine neighbors? Where was he, Jerusalem ... well, maybe he did.

Exhibit C: Swear Words

I have a habit of saying "freaking." I say it a lot. It's really the only colorful euphemism I use in front of my kids, and even so, freaking is maybe like a pale reddish orange (whereas the real f-word is black like Black Hockey Jesus, whatever that means. I also say, "Shut your cake hole." Sometimes, "Shut your freaking cake hole." And I say it to my kids. With a smile. Most of the time.

If my kids say something rude, I say, "You better smile when you say that," because my kids are kind of jerks sometimes and I'm hoping if people see that they are "just kidding" they won't get beat-up.

My area is really very conservative. At school, kids tell my kid not to say "the S-word," y'know, "stupid." Stupid is not a freaking swear word. Stupid is a perfectly appropriate and useful adjective. We don't say, "So-and-so is stupid," but we might say, "[This particular behavior] is stupid." Like a group of teen age boys J-walking in front of my car. "Oh my, that was stupid." Except that's not even a good example, because I am set to a sarcastic default setting and I don't know how to turn it off, so I would have to say, "Wow, that was really smart, their parents must be so proud."

Even so, at my house, you can say just about anything these days, if you say it with a S-M-I-L-E.

Because nothing makes mommy L-A-U-G-H more than children swearing:


Wait ... where was I going? Oh yes. So my kids will be the ones other parents squat down on their knees, hands on shoulders, look into their big blue eyes and say, "We don't say that word at our house. If you want to come over and play, you can't say bad words. Okay?" At which point, my kids hearts will break because they think they've done something bad, when really, people are too sensitive.

Part Two: BRANDY SPOUTS CRAP

Look. My 6 almost 7 year old can walk home from school, over to a friend's, around the neighborhood, or where ever in America he wants as long as his mommy knows where he is and said it was OK. Alright? So, you might not let your kid walk home from school, next to a busy street, but we're ok with it. We've taught him about traffic rules and stranger danger; and he's more likely to be abducted on a lonely backstreet than the busy street and he's not the kind to play in traffic. Plus, he's a gentleman, walking a little girl home every day, way out of his way, and just because y'all like to sit with your SUV's on, waiting at the school for 20 minutes so your kid doesn't have to walk 4 blocks, you do what you need to do and I'll do things my way. I don't want my kids to be scared of life, I want them to have adventures and I refuse to pour all my fear and concern into their hearts. Be not afraid, only believe, right? Right.

And pants may very well be optional, sorry husband and sorry neighborhood. There might be a kid running around in his diaper and maybe naked. It's not a big deal. I'll catch him.

And finally, words are just words. Stupids and F-bombs, when you're angry, are pretty hard for anyone to hear, but especially kids. And me. So, let's just be generally more creative and smile when we say it, if we have to swear. (and if you click the link, please leave that kind blogger nothing but flowers and rainbows as she often makes me laugh).

Mostly, here, I just wanted to rant about how my neighbor made me feel like a sucky mom because my parenting style is concertedly less hover-mom than she would like to see. However, me ranting here totally takes away any good-neighbor points I might have accrued for not getting offended during the confrontation. Also, can I get on that "don't judge other parents so much" band wagon everyone talks about, but I mocked ala Octomom (poor girl, such a nickname). Except moms who are afraid of little bugs, I will still judge them pretty harshly because I used to be afraid of bugs but somehow realized I am a million times bigger and faster than them, I can destroy insects with tissue paper (gentle-est of all things in my home). So bugs aren't scary, slightly disturbing and annoying, but nothing to scream for rescue about.

I done. I'm gonna go play Ninja + or N+ where I will bounce around and try not to get blowed-up.

Amen.