I must start by saying that I'm sure my neighbors are nice people who love their children very much. And who (fortunately) do not read my blog.
But. (You totally knew that was coming, didn't you?)
I'm not sure how I feel about my kids actually playing with their children. They gather at the cul-de-sac that ends our street. At first, I was pleased that the parents seemed so nice and so willing to share their kids' myriad toys with my kids (we live about a block up and mainly come down with our bikes and some chalk).
Ironflower was enchanted with 2 little girls, slightly younger, who share her penchant for princesses. ChunkyMonkey just loved that I let him out of the stroller outside of the house. Lovebug was not as thrilled, as one boy was too little and the other little boy is really, really into sports (What can I say? We're so afraid of becoming psycho sport parents that we've sort of forgotten to teach our kids the rudiments of T-ball. Oops. Also, we'd much rather go for a walk.)
Lovebug changed his tune when the motorized Barbie Jeep and the motorized Mustang came out. Each of Ironflower's new little friends has her own car (Did I mention that they're younger that she is? And she's 5?). Well, he did until he realized how hard it would be to actually get a turn.
Not that the girls used the cars a lot. But just because they weren't using them didn't mean they wanted to let a BOY use them. Their parents cajoled and begged and bribed and Lovebug was allowed to play. Which I thought was nice of the parents. And bitchy of the children. A bit later, one girl threw a huge hissy fit about not having the right princess shoe. She demanded them and demanded them and finally her mother went home to get them. A bit later there was another tantrum that resulted in another child getting what she wanted.
And another and another and another until my children were just kind of staring at them in fascination. When it was time for us to leave, Ironflower was riding in the mustang with one girl. Before she could get out, the girl started the engine. I followed, half jogging while I pulled Ironflower's bike, pushed ChunkyMonkey's stroller and kept an eye on trike-riding Lovebug. I told them to stop, told Ironflower to ask the girl to stop but nothing worked. The girl's dad caught up and also told them to stop.
They didn't until they were at our driveway.
Now, if Ironflower had asked, I would have been fine with this. But there was no asking ., . . .and no listening. Which is not like my kid. The dad was unsurprised and unconcerned that his daughter didn't listen and had driven off without permission. He didn't say anything to her about it, just asked her where she wanted to go next.
And I was horrified. I was horrified by the whole experience. I've avoided the cul-de-sac at peak times ever since.
But now I'm thinking. . .what if it's me? What if I"m the bitch? What if I'm being unduly harsh by giving consequences for temper tantrums? What if it's not a big deal when my kids don't listen and obey? Why should I care how they talk to me?
But I can't help it. I don't want my kids to act like that or to treat me like that. And I'm not sure if I want them hanging out with parents who do.
