Can We Blame the Parents and Teachers, Not the Victims?

I've seen a lot of articles recently about how to help your child avoid being bullied or what to do if your child is being bullied. And I'm not saying that those articles don't have value, but talk about blaming the victim. The same with Dan Savage's wonderful "It Gets Better" movement. It's great, but how sad is it that we have to convince gay teenagers to not kill themselves? What kind of country are we living in?

Well, I think we're living in a country where some parents and teachers are perfectly content to let their kids be assholes. Kids aren't born to bully, but they are born to be clique-y and distrustful of those who are in some way "different." If that goes unchecked, you get bullies.

For example, a friend's daughter recently started a new preschool and daycare. It has a good reputation and my friend was impressed with the curriculum and teachers. The daughter, let's call her G., is a sweet, friendly kid. So she went up to kids at her new school and asked them to play. They said no. Day after day, they wouldn't play with her, wouldn't share toys with her, called her a baby and wouldn't let her sit at the table with them. And the teachers did nothing. (Don't worry, G. is going somewhere else now.) Did I mention that these little darlings were 4?

I watch it on the playground at Ironflower's elementary school every day  - kids telling other kids they won't play with them, or name calling, or being unfriendly to new kids. Most of the time parents try to stop the name calling or physical aggression, but they don't seem to notice exclusionary practices at all. And I really think that bullying starts when we make it okay to view some kids as "other".

If we don't correct them, if we don't teach them to play with the new kid or include everyone, we are setting them up to be bullies some day.

On the first day of kindergarten - and yes, I remember it this clearly - a little boy's sister walked him to where we were all lined up. We had seen their progress from the house they exited next door to the school and some of the kids were quite appalled that this boy had had to be walked all the way to the line. That just wasn't done then. So he got teased.

He didn't know how to handle it - being 5 and all - and got enraged. It was exactly what the other kids were looking for. They started tormenting him then and they never stopped. I don't remember a teacher ever doing anything about it. I don't remember anyone even talking about it as a bad thing until I was in high school.

I didn't tease him myself, but I didn't befriend him. I didn't even defend him until he was in my history class in 10th grade and 2 boys that we'd both known since kindergarten started picking on him AGAIN. By then he was big and awkward and friendless and paranoid and I was totally shocked when he didn't thank me for getting those boys off of his back. He probably thought I was setting him up for worse.

I always think about him and feel bad when I hear about bullying. The teacher in our history class heard the whole thing, as I'm sure all our other teachers had. But none of them did anything about it. And neither did any of the parents who overheard - people didn't feel right saying anything unless their own child was involved.

I think we all need to get over that. And we need to stop bullying when it starts - in preschool.

Yes, I am Brave

Today I ran into my neighbor at the grocery store. Not so strange, even though we were not at the grocery store located several blocks from our respective homes but at one several towns away which has lower prices. And is always SO. DAMN. CROWDED. Usually I just split the difference and go to the slightly closer, slightly cheaper and significantly less crowded one that's located one town away. But what also had to buy Lovebug a boogie board, or as I used to call one, a kickboard. His sister has one and there were savage fights over it during our last trip to the pool.

Plus, it was only $5.

Which I probably saved shopping at the super crowded grocery store conveniently near 5 Below, aka, the shop where they sell cheap kick boards.

So I see my neighbor and she almost stops in her tracks. Which is dangerous at super crowded store, because those bitches will run you over. We smile and say hi and as we race in opposite directions, she calls, "You're so brave!"

She was child-free - apparently I should have been friendlier with her so that maybe she would share her baby-sitter with me. Because I had all 3 kids with me.

You would think that because I had them all corralled in the genius contraption known as the car cart (that's right, my kids are so close together in age that all 3 of them fit on a car cart) and that generally they are well-behaved kids, shopping with all 3 of them shouldn't have been such a big deal.

I should, in fact, be using this post to scoff at being called brave for taking 3 kids to the grocery store. Because, I mean, really, it's not like going to war. It's not even like dealing with them for 2 weeks straight by yourself. Which I have done.

But I am not scoffing. Because I loathe unfamiliar grocery stores. Add in construction and rearrangement, aisles not meant for the super-size car cart and the fact that ChunkyMonkey was hungry and I"m surprised we all survived.

So, thank you, neighbor. And thank you for complimenting the kids' behavior when we ran into you at the check-out. True, you may have been complimenting because the pinching fight Ironflower and Lovebug had just finished left no marks, but I don't care. It's your kind thought that counts.

Now how about sharing that baby-sitter?

The Godless Heathen Heads to Bible School

This week I am volunteering at Vacation Bible School.

My kids' preschool is housed in a church and there's some crossover. Like VBS. We don't belong to the church, though. We don't belong to any church. We're a mix of secular humanism and Unitarian-Universalism; we  don't believe the Bible is the word of God.

I never went to Vacation Bible School. Or Sunday School. The first time I read the Bible was in college, as an history major who took everything regarded as historical fact with a grain of salt.

Although the first time I heard about the Bible was 9 or so years before,  from a neighbor whose family was EXTREMELY dysfunctional. She told me I was going to hell because I hadn't been baptized. I asked if her (extremely violent) brother would go to hell also since, you know, he was evil. She said no, he was baptized. (I realize that this was faulty, but I"m trying to explain my thinking)

I had no way of arguing with her, I barely knew what "baptized" meant. And that's exactly what I DON'T want for my children. I want them to understand what Christianity is so that it can't be used against them. When the time comes, I want them to make an informed choice about their religious and spiritual practices. (I would, of course, prefer that choice to be like mine, but I'll settle for anything short of Quiverfull, extremism of any kind or Satanism).

So, anyway. VBS.

Yesterday's lesson was that the Bible is the word of God. Fortunately, I am volunteering in the nursery so that I don't have to have a lot of theoretical discussions about the lessons. Or, really, any discussions about the lessons. Which is good, since I don't actually believe most of the lessons.

Ah, the lessons of VBS. They make me think of  cult indoctrinations. That and the songs of praise/dancing/clapping sessions twice a day. We don't take the nursery kids to those sessions, we just play the CD over and over and over. And over. Isn't that a part of an indoctrination methodology?

All of my children are having a grand time. They loooooove VBS.

The older two recount stories to me, and I repeat, "That's what some people believe". I wonder if they'll have VBS detention if they repeat that to all of the believers. I wonder if letting them go to VBS  just because it's fun, cheap and filled with friends makes me a total hypocrite.

I wonder if I can listen to that CD for 3 more mornings straight.

I wonder what your thoughts are on sending your kids to religious education classes or camps. Do you expect your kids to believe what you believe or to make their own decisions?

Also, do you think I"m a total hypocrite?

A Deep Post. . . .About Jamie Lynn Spears

One of my New Year's resolutions was to no longer make fun of Britney Spears on my blog.

Fortunately I never said anything about Jamie Lynn.

Presumably you've heard that copies of a photo of Jamie Lynn breastfeeding were made and some sleazebag is trying to make money from them. Since she is only 17, the photos are considered child porn, so both the seller and his buyers are going to be in big trouble.

But I can't help but question what other new mom celebrity would be dumb enough to try to get her pictures developed at a Wal-Mart in a hick town? Isn't that pretty much asking for the pictures to wind up on the internet? Or in the private collections of creepy old men who like underaged girls?

Some might say that 17 year olds aren't exactly known for their great decision making skills. I would agree. Except that we allow them to raise children. I mean, they can't vote or drink or get tattoos without parental permission. In some places their driving is restricted. I don't think they can rent apartments on their own. Nude pictures, or even partially nude pictures of them, are considered child pornography.

How can pictures be considered child porn when the subject is being allowed to RAISE A CHILD?

Don't get me wrong, I think people who even look at child porn should be chemically castrated. But if, as a society, we say that it's okay (or even admirable) for a 17 year old to raise a child, than should we still be calling that 17 year old a child? Parenting is a challenge that confers instant adulthood, isn't it?

Any thoughts?

Can I Sue The Medical Profession For Emotional Trauma?

When Ironflower was about six months old, the pediatrician started freaking out about her weight. She wasn't gaining enough, apparently. I reported what she ate and the good doctor suggested that I add formula to her baby food to make it more fattening. She also suggested I nurse more, because apparently following my daughter's lead wasn't good enough. Ironflower, already asserting her Ironflower-ness, retaliated by eating less of the fattened baby food. The pediatrician started to look as us suspiciously at our bi-weekly weigh-ins, as if we were starving her on purpose. It didn't seem to matter that her head size and height and developmental milestones were all great. She sent us to a nutritionist at the children's hospital. The nutritionist took one long at our long, skinny, happy beautiful baby and laughed. Our baby was fine - just blessed with a rapid metabolism. Although she did explain that mashed table food was MUCH healthier (and more fattening) than either baby food or formula and that baby food was actually pretty pointless. We switched to table food, but Ironflower remained skinny. She still is, but we've quit worrying about it.

When Lovebug was a year old, Hot Guy asked the (new) pediatrician about the bumps on his skull. The doctor felt them (why hadn't he done it before? I don't know) and became very concerned. Long words were thrown around and we were given a referral to a pediatric neurologist. I spent weeks  researching on the internet, believing that because of the bumps on Lovebug's head, which the doctor said came from early closing of the plates, my poor baby would have to have surgery and possibly have neurological damage. Even though his head didn't look anything like the ones I'd seen on the internet. The neurologist laughed at us. He explained that Lovebug's healthy (ie LARGE) headsize meant that he couldn't have all of those problems that I'd read about. He showed us pictures. He played peekaboo with Lovebug. And then told us that we'd never see him again.

So last week, when I had my nuchal translucency test (used to be only for women over 35, but now it's for everyone. I hadn't heard of it and Lovebug's only two!), I felt torn in two when they said there might be a problem with the baby. This test involves a detailed ultrasound that measures the fluid on the back of the baby's neck and a blood test. The combination can indicate if there's an increased risk for chromosomal abnormalities like Down's. The ultrasound measurement was on the very high side of normal (although NewBaby didn't cooperate and they had a very hard time getting the measurement) and the doctor suggested that I come in and meet with the genetic counselor to get my bloodwork results. She said that the baby might have a heart defect. She said that she thought there was an increased risk. I began to shake.

But I couldn't tell if it was with anger or fear. Of course I was afraid that there might be something wrong. Some of these chromosomal things can cause very late miscarriages or babies that die very young. But I was also angry, because I kept remembering all the other times doctors have freaked me out in my years of motherhood. And I felt in my gut that this one of those times (except when I didn't and I started to cry).

My gut was right. My bloodwork was so good that the chances of NewBaby having a chromosomal abnormality are actually FAR LESS than the chances of most women of my advanced (that's what they call it) 36 years.

So I spent the last several days in a fog of terror, not blogging or even reading, for no good reason. However, I'm back now.

Happy Thanksgiving

I am thankful that Ironflower ate half of a chocolate bar this morning (Hubby left it on the counter after using it on the chocolate pie and she pulled a chair over to the counter to get it) without getting sick to her stomach.

I am thankful that Lovebug enjoyed watching the parade this morning, especially when he danced with the Rockettes.

I am thankful that I don't have to cook all of this stuff.

I am thankful that NaBlowMe (or whatever) doesn't have length requirements.

Yep, I'm Going To Blog About This

Hot Guy: That girl was dumb. Don't ever be dumb, kids.

Ironflower: But Daddy, I'm not dumb!

Hot Guy: Of course not, I think you're very smart.

Ironflower: But you're dumb, aren't you, Daddy?

Hot Guy: Actually I think our whole family is very smart.
Ironflower: Even you?

Hot Guy (looking at me): You're going to blog about this, aren't you?

I swear I have no idea why Ironflower thinks her father is dumb. Really. I mean, I may have complained about him "not knowing how to put his clothes in the hamper" in front of her once or twice. And he may have mentioned how difficult it is for him to dress them according to Mommy standards. But I never thought that Ironflower would draw such conclusions from it. She's only two and a half - she's supposed to need a lot more repetition before she can draw conclusions.

I wonder when she'll figure out that I can't see through walls?

Mean Kids

My daughter pushed a little girl out of her way yesterday. I had her stop playing and apologize (though I am well aware she didn't actually mean it) to get the message across: NO PUSHING. But she wasn't trying to hurt or bother the other girl, she was just determined to get to the slide. My son is experimenting with hair-pulling; will his sister cry every time he yanks on her hair? At not quite fifteen months, he doesn't really understand why he gets a time-out when he makes his sister cry, but he is doing a lot less hair-pulling.

So it's not like I'm the mother of perfect children who are never aggressive. Kids are selfish little creatures, it's natural that knocking other children over or grabbing their toys if fine with two year olds. But what about the three year old who hits and pushes just because? Twice this week at the park (not the one with the Stepford mommies), Ironflower has been pushed and hit repeatedly by slightly older boys. Who did not stop when she asked, did not stop when I said something and whose hands I hand to move away from her. One boy's grandmother was across the park on her cell phone - she watched the situation but did nothing. The other mother didn't notice until a few incidents later (Ironflower was not his only victim) when Hot Guy said something very loudly to the boy. Then she made him get off the jungle gym and sit on the bench for awhile, at least.

It wasn't the hitting and pushing that shocked me per se, preschoolers can be pretty rough and tumble. It was her scared voice telling them to stop and those boys ignoring her. If my daughter or son did what those boys did, we would leave the park (or playdate) immediately. And my kid would know that I was angry.

I taught preschool for two years. And first and second grade for nine. There's the thoughtless aggression common to all small children, and then there's what I call mean kids. The kids who go out of their way to hurt others. The kids who would rather push the child holding the ball than play with the ball.

I don't know what makes some kids mean kids. Their parents usually don't notice or care until late in elementary school, where fights and suspensions force them to deal with the problem somehow. Depending on the parent, the response seems to be either spank and punish the child every time there's a physical altercation, or to find counselors and medications to excuse the child's behavior. And I always wonder, what if those parents had dealt with the meanness when the child was four - would it still be a problem?

It seems to me that too many parents wait to discipline their children these days. Limits and boundaries are shaky and parents never express real reactions to their children's behavior. It's always "S/he's too little" until they've got a teenager who's a complete mess.

Conversations With My Children

Yesterday, 6:30pm:

Me: Ironflower, do you think you could be quiet for a moment so I can talk. . .

Ironflower: I DON'T WANT TO BE KWI-ETTT! I HATE KWI-ETTTTTTT!!!!!

Me: Ironflower, how about using your whisper voice then?

Ironflower: I DON'T HAVE A WHISPER VOOOOIIIIICE!

This morning, 7am:

Me: Good morning, Lovebug! I'm so happy to see you.

Lovebug: Nnnnnnsssss (that means nurse).

Me: Okay, let's nurse.

(Pausing for nursing time)

Lovebug (pulling himself off) : yeah,yeah,yeah, yesssss!

I Can't Befriend Perfect Pollies

When I was in high school, I had a lot of friends. I was in a lot of activities and had a fair amount of fun. Of course, I still felt terribly insecure. Who doesn't, in high school? But because I had a lot of close friends, I knew that breathtakingly beautiful girls still felt insecure, that brilliant girls had moments of doubt, that the talented and funny girls still spent time crying in their rooms. I never had any illusions that anyone was without faults or angst or embarrassment.

Until I had eleventh grade English with. . .hmmm, let's call her Polly. She was attractive and smart and very popular, all of which didn't bother me. What bothered me was that she never had a bad hair day, or said something stupid in class, or even dropped her pen. When we had to write an essay about our two most important possessions, one of Polly 's was her iron. I mean, I still don't iron and this 16 year old girl ironed her whole family's clothes (in addition to sports teams, good grades, lots of friends, etc.). Polly never got stains on her clothes, never seemed to sweat or get flustered or feel sad. . .she just glided down the hall, kind to everyone, living in her bubble of perfection.

Of course, I've met women like her since high school - Erika in college, Jen at my first teaching job. But no one really matched up to the Real Polly until I moved back to Bergen County and tried to meet other mothers. Every time I see a mother in the park, I swear she's been taking lessons from Polly.

These other mothers never have their children's handprints on their shirts. They have lost of their baby weight and wear a size I couldn't even wear before I had baby weight. Their clothes are fashionable - and ironed. Their hair is styled (or at least not in my usual ratty ponytail). Their children never fluster or frustrate them. They seem serene and organized as their children willingly eat organic tofu cookies. Standing near them, I feel the exact same way as I did sitting next to Polly in English class.

I remind myself that I am an adult now. I tell myself that it's pretty pathetic for a 16 year old girl to count an IRON as one of her prized possessions. I explain to Hot Guy that the women at the park probably don't talk about the things I like to talk about anyway (books, politics, sex lives of acquaintances). I tell myself that no one is perfect and no one's life is perfect - no matter what it looks like to an outsider. I lecture myself about being a kinder, less judgmental person. But I still don't want to befriend anyone of these Pollies.

However, as soon as one of them shows up with stains on her shirt, messy hair or pretzels for snack, I'll be all over her. I promise.

My Talking Prodigy

My daughter is almost two and a half. She is beautiful (no, really, strangers tell me so all the time), spirited and smart. I love her to distraction. But sometimes I really, really wish she would stop talking. Just for five minutes or so.

Last summer we visited my cousin, who has a son about ten months older than Ironflower. He was two and a half to her twenty months, and I remember being so glad that Ironflower didn't talk all the time like G. did. I actually thought it was a personality thing, not a developmental thing. Haha on me.

Someday she will be a sullen teenager and I will not be privy to every thought she is having. I will look back fondly at this time, as I try to unobtrusively eavesdrop on the conversations she has with friends. But that time is not here yet. And today I'm rather looking forward to it.

My daughter doesn't merely have monologues about the Backyardigans and the challenges of putting up with her one year old brother. Ironflower likes her monologues punctuated with appropriate one-liners from me. Always reminds me of helping Hot Guy practice lines for one Shakespearean tragedy or another. Miss those one or two lines from the other characters and poor hubby's practice is all messed up. Ironflower, too, feels messed up if I miss a line. If I have the audacity to ignore her (however briefly), she will just get louder and louder until I come up with the right response.

Sometimes I imagine that when my son learns to really talk, he will be able to take over these duties from me. I can see why Ironflower isn't satisfied with ess (yes), uh (up), dada, ice (rice) and ns (nurse). But then I think, what if he likes to talk as much as he does? What if I have to start listening to two toddlers' monologues ALL DAY?

My Son, Svatopluk

I was reading American Baby magazine last night (hey, it's free and sometimes it has good articles. . . and it was the only thing left in the bathroom). I can't remember which article I was reading when I read the words "My son, Svatopluk . . .". I put the magazine down. I figured I was too tired to read. Surely I had misread. But I couldn't get the thought of "Svatopluk" out of my head. After washing up, I cautiously opened the magazine again.

It was still there. "My son, Svatopluk. . .". Now, I am not naive in the world of unique names. I taught in a . . .um. . financially challenged neighborhood for eight years. I have known students named Dejiab (pronouced Daysha), Marcia (pronounced Mar-see-a), Keng Kong (I lived in the mid-west, it sounded the same as the movie character here), Power, Precious and Quindelliam.

But Svatopluk? I continued reading. It was really just a short quote from a woman in Oregon whose Czech husband used songs to calm their son down. Maybe Svatopluk is a common name in the Czech Republic. Maybe it's their version of Aidan or something. But this child is not going to grow up in the Czech Republic, he's going to grow up in Oregon. And while kids today are much more easygoing about non-traditional names then kids were in my generation, I can't believe that Svatopluk isn't going to raise any comments.

Why would you do that to your child? I resented my mother calling me Jennifer, as there were at least 3 of us in every class I was ever in. I'm going to call her and apologize for complaining as soon as I finish this blog.

What's the worst name you've ever heard? I never used to be able to answer that question with just one name. But now I can. Svatopluk. Anyone agree?

Ah-Ha!

My son has a huge bruise on his forehead. He whacked his head on the floor hard enough to leave a bruise. I would feel bad about this, if he had fallen or run into a table or something. But the little bugger whacked his head on the floor ON PURPOSE.

Seeing as he's only 13 months old, I hugged him and soothed him anyway. He really is an adorable and engaging child, unless he's pissed off. On this particular occasion, I had the audacity to sit him down on the floor so I could make lunch. Lovebug wanted to be held, or to eat immediately. With those options not available, he whacked his head on the floor.

He does this every few days or so, though not usually hard enough to leave a bruise. I have talked to pediatricians and grandmas about this and all they say is, "He's a boy." No one seems surprised that when my son is confronted with the normal frustrations of toddler life, he whacks his head on the floor.

Does this explain why men can't remember things like anniversaries or where the diaper bag is? Is it because they've all damaged the memory part of the lobe during toddlerhood?

My Children Are Underprivileged

My Dad keeps sending me articles from the Wall Street Journal about modern parenting. Apparently, my toddlers should be in language classes, music classes and Little Gym. They should have a $1200 swing set and a climbing wall in the basement. And we should be saving up to take them on safari.

Look, I wish we had the swing set and I'm looking into music classes (though I'm really not going to worry much about extra-curricular activities until they are actually following a curriculum). But we're not going a safari. Even if I win the Lottery.

The Wall Street Journal interviewed parents who took their elementary school-aged kids on African safaris, vacations to Hong Kong and Panama and camping in the Brazilian rainforest. It even listed resources for "Adventure Travel with Kids" - and medical warnings.

Helloooooooooooo? These are the same parents who make their kids where helmets, who make sure playground floors are comfortable enough to sleep on, who complain if a teacher marks their child's paper in red (yes, this is true, most school districts do not allow teachers to correct in red anymore), who spend their lives making sure their children suffer no consequences or disappointments. . .but they're willing to shell out thousands of dollars to take their children places that lack safe drinking water and medical facilities?

I believe in travel. I think children should experience the world around them - and not just the sanitized Disney version (though I can't wait until my kids are old enough to appreciate Disney World). We even travelled to Alaska last summer - with a 19 month old and a 4 month old. But I believe that one of the best things about having kids is encouraging their sense of wonder - at even the simplest things. For most kids, a (reasonable) ride in an airplane is almost as good as the destination. What are 7 year olds who have seen tigers up close going to wonder about anymore? What's going to be exciting and wonder-ful to ten year olds who have canoed down the Amazon?

But setting aside safety and spoiling concerns, I still have a problem. One of the parents in the article suggested that, "You can't save the world unless you know what's in it." I agree with that, theoretically. But shouldn't we start with our own country anyway? Have the kids whose parents are showing off ever more fantastical vacations ever been to a farm? Have these kids been to New York City and compared it to Kansas City? Have these kids walked on a glacier in Alaska? Have they been to the Grand Canyon? To Gettysburg? To Washington D.C.? To Mount Rushmore? To a working cider mill? To a rocky beach in Oregon? To a smooth beach in Florida? To New Orleans? To the Freedom Trail? To Las Vegas? To Santa Fe? To Iowa City (I'm not kidding, it's a wonderful town)?

Before we can ask our children to save our world, we need them to save our country. And if we raise them to think that there's not much in our country worth seeing, what are we teaching them? They're not going to save something they don't respect.

Sorry kids, you're going to have to go on Safari on your own time. This summer we're hitting the Jersey shore, Ohio, Illinois and Kansas.

I Hate Your Kids

I spent twelve years teaching other people's children. I taught preschool for a year and then spent eleven years teaching elementary school. With a very few (two actually) exceptions, I have liked all of my students. I always saw myself as a person who likes children.

I wasn't disabused of this notion until I started taking my children to the park. Last summer and fall, we went to the park nearly every day. Two or three times a week I would meet children I absolutely did not like. They would push my toddler down, nearly knock my stroller over, thrown dirt and rocks all over the climbing equipment, push each other and yell obscenities. None of these children ever apologized. . . and neither did their parents.

As a former elementary school teacher, I sometimes have trouble keeping my mouth shut around misbehaving children. But when attentive and responsible parents are around, I don't have to restrain myself - the parents make the children stop the inappropriate behavior. Unfortunately, I don't meet those parents that often.

Yesterday we went to the play area at the mall. The area is for children five and under - and it's not that exciting for five year olds. But there were a bunch of seven year olds there. Running around, knocking other kids down, pushing, hitting, etc. The mom in charge of them didn't say anything to them or to their victims. She didn't say anything until after I told the wild pack that they couldn't run around like that in a small space made for little kids. I explained to them that they might get hurt (one had just tripped over a man's feet and done a nosedive) and that they might someone else.

This inspired the mom to get up - "Did you tell them that they couldn't play?"

"No, I told them they couldn't play like that anymore because it wasn't safe. There are a lot of toddlers here who can't get out of their way. Also, one of them just tripped and landed face first."

"Oh, I just wanted to make sure you didn't tell them that they couldn't play."

WHAT???????????????? Lady, your kids are obviously terrorizing the other kids here and none of the other parents will talk to you and you're worried about what I might have said?

I didn't say that, though. I just began talking to my daughter, praising her for taking turns on the slide. The other mom walked away to talk to the gentleman who her son had tripped over.

Soon after that she and her darlings left.