Never Trust an Eight Year Old Devil in a Dress

Ever meet a kid you wanted to punch in the face?  I have.  An eight year old girl no less.  Up until the point I met her I had been labouring under the delusion that people are supposed to always like children because they are children.  If they are acting like assholes, it's okay.  They're children.  If they're screaming and throwing a fit, it's okay because they're children.  We must excuse all their bullshit because some day they will outgrow whatever phase it is that is making them act repugnant and become model citizens and tax payers, just like you.

Yeah right.

Her name was Towelette.  For a long time I couldn't pinpoint what it was about her that made me not like her.  Perhaps it was some kind of visceral, instinctual reaction.  Like maybe there was something about the chemistry of her pheremones that triggered an antagonistic response in me.  Everything she said, every way she engaged with those around her, set my teeth on edge.  I couldn't get far enough away from her.

The concept of so strongly disliking a child was foreign to me.  Frick had been friends with obnoxious kids before and I found a lot of their antics kind of charming.  I liked their energy.  I knew they were going home to their frazzled parents and it gave me more patience with them.  So what was it about this girl?  I was soon to find out.

One day, Towelette and Frick decided they should have a playdate at my house.  At that time I usually wanted 24 hours notice for any playdates that went on at our house after school.  I needed to get "psyched up" in order to deal with more than my own kids plus that kid's parents when they came to pick her up. They just sprung the idea on me last minute.  I explained to both of them that it wouldn't work for me that day, what about the next day? But the pushy little snot just wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

"Please?  Please, oh please, oh please?"

"No, I'm tired and I haven't had enough notice and I have other plans and also what about your mother?  What does she think of this?"

"Oh she's not home, it's my babysitter.  She doesn't care."

(Extremely skeptical) "Well all the same, I'm not comfortable with the idea.  You ask your mom when she comes home tonight and she can give me a call and we'll make plans."

"Oh please, please, please???  Just this once?"

"I don't think so."

"Why not?"

(Are you serious?) "Because your mother doesn't know and she might not be okay with it, and because I just don't want to."

"Please, oh please, oh please?"

I'm going to stop there to be polite because the conversation kept going like that until her babysitter picked her up from school.  Ugh.  It's bad enough dealing with my own kids but now I've got to fight and negotiate with other people's kids, too?

The next day I went to pick up Frick from school and there he was waiting for me with Towelette.  She didn't wait for Frick to ask but immediately started begging and pleading in that whiny, grating little voice of hers.

"So can we play?  Please, please, please?"

"Did you ask your mother?  Because she never called to talk to me about it."

"Yes.  Yes, I did and she said okay."

At this point the babysitter showed up.  Towelette announced to her that she would be going to my house instead.  This was news to the babysitter.

I gave Towelette a sharp look and asked her if she was sure her mother was okay with this?

She insisted such was the case but the babysitter looked distinctly uncomfortable.  I handed the babysitter my phone number and address and told her that if there was any problem at all to just give me a call.  The babysitter accepted this pretty reluctantly and I was beginning to get a sense of foreboding in the pit of my stomach, but I figured I had done everything I could to cover my ass and we didn't live far from each other.  How bad could it be?

When we got to my place Towelette immediately started begging for TV.

"Can we watch iCarly?"

"I don't really let Frick turn on the TV when he has a guest over."

"Please?  Oh please, oh please, oh please?"

"No."

"(Sigh).  My mom lets me watch iCarly when my friends are over."

"Well, I'm not your mom."

"This is boring.  You got anything to eat?"

"Sure, I'll fix you guys a snack."

Just, wow.  All I could do was hope that Frick never acted like this when he was at someone's house.  Unless it was Towelette's house.  Then I hoped he was even worse.

Because at that age Frick was very constipated I'm such an awesome mom I feed my kids high fibre snack foods.  I made up a plate of carrots, apples and some crackers and brought it into Frick's room.  Towelette was disdainful in the supreme.

"Oh.  Is this all you have?"

"This is what I serve Frick, yes."

"(Eyeroll)  My babysitter usually makes me pizza pops."

(Well, fucking go home then!)  "Is that right?"

"Yeah.  I don't like carrots."

"Then don't eat them."

(Frick) "Do I have to eat the carrots?"

"Yes, you do."

"Aw, man!"

The phone started ringing and as I went to answer it I could hear Towelette complaining about the hospitality around here to Frick as he giggled.  I picked up the phone to hear the voice of a very irate Mrs. Towelette wanting to know just exactly where her daughter was.  Taken off guard I tried to let her know her daughter was fine but she cut me off.

"What on earth would make you think it is okay to take my child to your home without having spoken to me?"

"I thought you knew.  Towelette said-"

"No, I certainly did not know.  I don't even know where you live!"

(She did know.  She lives just around the corner from us.  I walk past her house everyday when I go grocery shopping.  Also, it was written on the same piece of paper I wrote our phone number on.)

"We're not far.  If you like we can bring Towelette home-"

"Yes, I want her home immediately!  The next time your son wants to play with my daughter ask me first!"  And then she slammed down the phone.

Holy shit.  That little bitch lied to me!  I didn't know if I should be mad at her for lying to me or mad at myself for being stupid enough to buy it.  I did know that I wouldn't be in a hurry to be arranging playdates with Towelette and her snarling velociraptor of a mother any time soon.  You'd think that in the time it took us to return her daughter she might have calmed down somewhat and taken Towelette's propensity for stretching the truth into consideration, but no.  She glared at me like I was some kind of errant teenager that had just taken her car out for a spin.  While drunk.

Since that time I have deftly managed to avoid all contact with little Towelette.  I'm always finding excuses to not let Frick go there anymore and I will not have her in my house ever again.  It's not that I want to pick my son's friends for him.  It's just that I don't think I can trust myself not to punch her in her lying little mouth!  After all, she's just a child.

Smug Dad

Remember back when you were in school and there was always this kid in your class who never really talked to you until after a test came back or something?  That kid would come up to you and feign interest saying, "So, how'd you do on the test?"  And no matter how you answer they always say, "Oh. Well, I did better than you."  Wasn't that kid a treat?  Well it turns out that kid grew up and became a parent and now his kid plays with mine. 

Awesome.

Frick met Preston in kindergarten.  At first I liked Preston because he favored quiet activities like drawing and puzzles when he came over to play.  For this reason he seemed to have a calming effect on Frick.  I even kind of liked Preston's parents at first.  They were young, hip and cool and most of the other parents we had met so far were at least a decade older than me and Daddy.  Those older parents seemed so smart and responsible that Daddy and I always felt juvenile and inadequate by comparison.  Maybe we would fit in better with parents who were younger like us and so we made the mistake of trying to socialize a little bit.

After a few conversations Daddy and I began to mutter to each other that there was something about Preston's Dad (let's call him Chet) that we didn't really like.  We couldn't really put our finger on it because Chet was always friendly and chatty but I noticed that Daddy would hide in the basement whenever Chet came to pick up Preston from a playdate.  There was just something about that dude that rubbed us the wrong way but we tried to ignore it because Preston was a pretty good friend to Frick and it's not like the little guy got to choose his parents. 

It wasn't until the track meet that I finally figured it out.

Frick's school participates in this city wide track meet involving all of the elementary schools.  At the age of six the boys would be participating in the race for the first time.  The kids who placed in the first twenty would go on to the semi-finals.  Frick was very excited because, like all little boys, he believed he had magic super-speed.  It was very disappointing to him to find out how wrong he was.  He was one of the last boys in his grade to cross the finish line.  He came to me after looking frustrated and disappointed with himself and as I was trying to comfort him with some speech about winning not being everything and doing better next year, Chet approached us with Preston.

"Hey Frick, how did you do?"

I was immediately on the defensive when I heard the tone of voice.  I recognized that tone of voice.  I should have been able to predict what he would say next.  When Frick answered him the reply was:

"Oh, well better luck next time.  Preston came in twelfth place, so he'll be going to the semi-finals.  Maybe he can help you with your running."

I stood there fuming at him as he walked away after having blithely destroyed my efforts to make Frick feel better about himself. 

What a dick! 

After that I started noticing just how much he pulled this shit.  How he would ask what extra-curricular activities Frick was enrolled in so he could brag about how much more Preston had on his plate.  How he would ask about Frick's plans for the summer so he could point out how very busy and unavailable Preston would be.  How he would go on and on about volunteer coaching Preston's soccer team to Daddy, who can't coach because he's too busy trying to pay the mortgage. 

And then there was the time we were at the park and Frick had a meltdown over whose turn it was to go down the slide.  When Frick has a tantrum it is truly atomic in proportion.  Apparently it is a symptom of his ADHD that he has a hard time regulating his emotions.

The only response when he's like this was to remove him as quickly as possible.  This however is easier said than done.  Frick was a strapping seven when this happened and I was pregnant with Frack so trying to get him to leave was no small effort.  As I fought and wrestled with my kid to get him into a standing position I could hear Chet saying:

"Preston, you should show Frick how a good boy behaves."

Oh man, them's fightin' words. 

I was literally shocked with rage.  This asshole was standing there all fucking superior because he really thinks he deserves credit for the fact that his kid happens to be super mellow.   I desperately wanted to punch him in his stupid smug face right then and there.  I prayed fervently that Preston would grow up into a juvenile delinquent and plague his parents with crime sprees and face tattoos.  And then I felt bad about that and asked God to just make him obnoxiously mouthy instead. 

Since then I notice the boys have grown apart.  Preston stopped inviting Frick over for playdates and birthday parties and Frick found other boys to pal around with.   I'm sorry Frick grew apart from his friend, especially since I liked him so much, but I have to admit I don't miss Chet. We've been lucky enough so far that Chet and his wife were the only friend's parents we haven't liked.  Since then we have learned not to make friends with people just because our kids happen to hang out.