Am I Over-Reacting?

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.

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

It's not like I didn't have good intentions. After a lovely hour and a half at the DMV yesterday, I took the kids to the park. The kids did not actually have a horrible time at the DMV, what with the snacks, the people to play peek-a-boo and exclaim over their cuteness (to which Ironflower responded, "I know."). I got my new license and the new license plates (better late than never, right?) and we drove to the nearest park.

This park has a lovely sandbox, lots of swings and two climbing areas. One of the climbing areas is adult-sized, I swear to Goddess. Ironflower can climb only parts of it safely, so the deal is that when we go to this park without Daddy we only do the swings, sandbox and toddler-sized climbing structure.

All was fine until Lovebug realized that he was hungry and needed to leave RIGHT AWAY. Snacks would not do. Ironflower could not care less about lunch, so I had to bribe her to leave. I suggested to Ironflower, as a compromise, that she could do a bit of climbing on the way to the car. She took this to mean the super-sized climbing structure. I told her she could climb on the actual climbing wall (since I can reach to the top of it and Lovebug can be entertained at the bottom), but Ironflower had other ideas. She ran to the most dangerous ladder and started going up. Lovebug, seeing his chance to leave slip away, began to cry. I asked her to come down. She kept going. I told her it wasn't safe and that her brother was upset and I needed her to get down RIGHT NOW!

No dice. So I lifted her off, right before she got too high for me to reach. I tried to explain why I had taken her down as I picked up Lovebug to comfort him. Ironflower charged at me and started hitting.

In two and a half years of parenting (and ten years of teaching), I have never hit a child. I smacked Lovebug's hand once when he wouldn't let go of Ironflower's hair, but that's it. We don't hit in our household. Ironflower has never been spanked or even hit by another child (Lovebug is a hair puller and the few playground brats we've met have been pushers).

So I did not smack Ironflower when she started hitting me as I held her sobbing baby brother. I did not push her away. I did not start screaming at her. I did pick her up (and not very comfortably, she is too big to grab with one hand and get onto my hip these days) and march out of the park. As I stormed to the car, I repeated that it was not okay to hit and that she was showing me that she couldn't handle the park. I told her that she was being a bad girl.

In short, I lost it. I can't believe I said the "bad girl" thing. It doesn't teach her anything. I feel like all of her future self-esteem problems will stem from this episode. But the other part of me says that my children are not going to grow up thinking it's okay to hit when they're angry.

What I can't believe is how angry I felt. It was gone before I even pulled the car into the garage but it was sure ugly while it was there. I think I need a mantra before this happens again.