Other People's Kids

At some point, you are actually going to venture outside of your house with your children to visit someone else with children approximately your kids' ages. Yes, I know you think that this will never happen. But believe it or not there will come a time when you are actually able to get each child (and yourself) fed, cleaned up, and dressed and out of the house in a reasonably organized manner. If you're really good, you might actually remember to take the address and directions of the person you are visiting. Or, you might be lucky enough to have someone in your neighborhood so that you don't have to remember their address. All you have to do then is remember approximately where their house is located, and the tricycles, swingset, and minivan in the driveway will shine out like a homing beacon for a carrier pigeon.

I recently went on such a visit with my three children, having been invited over to "see her new kitchen". So, off we went with two on bikes, one in the stroller, and me in my walking shoes. Upon arrival, my children immediately set to with our host's toys. And man, were they something. The latest Thomas the Tank Engine stuff, the best Legos, and a really cool collection of Play Dough. The visit would have been a lot of fun, had the resident toddler not taken such an active dislike of my 1 1/2 year old.

This vicious little guy attacked my kid at every turn. I had to admire the little gangster. He was smart enough to not try anything with my 6 year old, whom we've taught that you don't start a fight but you sure as heck can finish one. And he apparently didn't like the odds of tangling with my 3 year old, who despite his small stature has the heart of a lion. Andrew is also a master of ninja stealth attacks, which I learned when a 35 lb. bundle suddenly hurtled out of the closet and landed on my back while innocently cooking dinner. No, the little future Scarface-in-training figured he could take on someone half his size, correctly assuming his superior firepower would carry the tide of battle.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Mama Bear's rounding her cubs up because somebody dared to look at her little darling sideways. But seriously, this little punk was way out of line. In the space of a 20 minute visit my baby was kicked, punched, grabbbed, pinched twice, and pushed down the steps. And honestly, Luke wasn't even messing with his stuff. I mean, I could understand if he objected to sharing his toys, but he followed my toddler from room to room, just to torment him. I finally despaired of parental intervention and hoisted Luke onto my shoulders, where he spent the remainder of the visit tearing my hair out of its moorings.

The little demon's mother, between pointing out various details of her new kitchen occasionally noticed her offspring's transgressions. Her response was to ask him in a soft, honey sweet voice to, "please don't do that baby" or "that's not very nice".

As a former Army officer and current mother of 3 males, I was tempted to mention the complete ineffectiveness of her wishy-washy requests for acceptable behavior. The suggestions running around through the back of my mind involved some rope and a cage, so I bit my tongue and decided to treat the visit as an educational experience instead.

After the pushing down the steps incident, I gathered up my troops and went home, not caring what my hostess thought. My shoulders were beginning to go numb from the weight of my little guy, and my scalp was burning, but there was no way I was going to leave him in the stroller while rounding up the other two.

Oh, and by the way, the kitchen was gorgeous (I think).