Overheard

While the eldest children are making pumpkin pie in the kitchen…

Devon (14)- “WHAT! WHY are you biting my sleeve?”

Olivia (11)- *laughs hysterically* “I don’t know!”

Devon- “You can’t just go around biting other peoples sleeves!”

Olivia- “Well, you can’t just go around biting other peoples wrists!”

Devon- “I don’t.”

Slightly maniacal laughter from both follows

Mom- (from the other room) “Have you two been drinking?”

Adjusting (or not)

I find it difficult to get used to this place. The next door neighbor is a single mum with three young kids, and from my point of view the kids are out of control, the whole family constantly screaming at each other (and worse on occasion). Though her youngest and mine rarely play together- the pervasiveness of their life is starting to affect my kids. Rafe, who is normally incredibly good natured, has started screaming at me. I have long learned how to handle that type of behaviour and can nip it in the bud with a stern word of warning, but it disturbs me just the same. My daughter,11, occasionally plays with the other girls on the street, and afterwards she is belligerent, demanding and snotty. Trying to manage these new behaviours is demanding as they are not part of my kids normal makeup, and are the result of influence. I find that I have to be even more strict than usual and can’t let them get away with it for a second. My eldest is son is thankfully not yet affected, he is not allowed to hang out with the few boys his age on the street as I know they smoke and drink. He’d like to go to the skatepark but the kids there are nasty little cretins and Dev finds that instead of just being able to play, he has to spend his whole time arguing or standing up for himself. Never mind that he is bigger than the kids and could easily lay them out if he decided to let them have it, that’s not in his genetic makeup and I think they see that.

The nights are difficult. Though we are fairly tucked away, our road is some sort of bus through-fare and they come and go at all hours. People come and go all night as well, usually loud and drunkenly. The dogs of the neighbourhood wake me up early every morning with collective howling and barking. During the day the street is full of kids, normally just playing, but when the neighbor kids are about you can be sure their mother will turn up soon and they will all start screaming again, usually just outside our windows. The little one, only 6, will inevitably start crying and there will be more screaming and I end up pacing the floor, wondering what I can do and usually just taking my kids to the park so they don’t have to listen to it anymore. Once I could hear her sobbing through the walls with occasional screaming at the kids and I gathered up all my courage and went over to ask if I could help, maybe by taking her kids to the park or something, she pretended not to be there, and when I pressed said she was fine, thank you.

Her behaviour disturbs me, especially as I worry about her kids, and the effect on mine, and initially I was very judgemental about her. I softened though when I remembered being a single mother for 8 years with two kids, one of which would later be diagnosed with a “social communication disorder”, which just means he screamed a lot as a kid, and occasionally jumped out of moving cars on busy roads because he couldn’t control his anger. It took me a few years to get the hang of this parenting stuff, and I remember being so hard on my son for silly things. I want to help my new neighbour, but she clearly does not want my help. She struts around the neighbourhood, wine class in hand, screaming at her kids or sobbing about some transgression to the adolescent girls that make up her entourage. I find myself less sympathetic and understanding and more irritated and disgusted. When the screaming starts I twitch the curtains, worried she will strike one of the children and knowing that if, when, it happens I will not be able to stay out of it anymore. My family knows this, and while I don’t think they would truly want me to stand back if she were beating them, I know they want me to be quiet, mind my own business, not get involved. I feel embarrassed that they feel this way, that I am some big mouth always getting involved in things that they don’t think concern me. I feel ashamed of them, too. We once came across a man and a woman fighting in the back of the van at a red light. We could see him punching her, could see the blood on her face and clothes. Instinctively I got out of the car, started to shout at them but was dragged back in by the sounds of my family shouting at me. I knew it could end up with me being hurt and didn’t want my kids to see that, so I got back in, and called the police instead. I thought perhaps I had taught my kids an important lesson that night, but now I wonder. Could it be that I am raising kids, and am married to a man, who can stand back and do nothing while others are hurt or treated badly and worse, believe that is better somehow than getting involved?

I long for our detached house in the tiny little cul-de-sac, where the cats could sleep all day on the road outside without ever being disturbed, where the nights were mostly silent and the only noise on a Sunday morning are the church bells in town, which I opened my windows wide to, so that we could hear them better, especially in the winter, when they chime Christmas carols.

fa la la la la

So, the router is finally fixed and I’m back up and running. There really isn’t any good reason to not be blogging. In fact I have started some posts. People profiles, of friends I had many years ago, are some of the posts I’ve started. But, time has a funny way of distorting memories, and I find that actually, I can’t remember enough about these people to fill up a whole post.  Which is sad in so many ways, not least because for the short time I knew them, they meant so much to me.  Part of me wonders if it’s really that I don’t remember, or if it’s more like I never really knew much about them at all. I decide that instead of simply telling you about these people, I should really be telling you our stories. I like that idea, so I’ll be working on that for awhile, and hopefully they’ll start appearing here soon.  In the meantime I’m hard at work on my Psychological Development and Early Childhood course, with my Social Psychology books waiting in the wings for their turn.  It looks like my husband will be returning home soon, for a trial run, though he may be losing his job, due to his industry being in a virtual free fall currently.

Another disaster? Universe, you do spoil me.

I leave you with this  picture of the wall behind me as it is right now, the 20th of January. Almost a full month after Christmas.

 

Also of note: Six red and gold pillar candles and the 2 ft. tall fiber optic Santa on the printer shelf next to me.

Riding in Rockets

So, when you’re 4 it can be understandably difficult to let go of Christmas. I mean it really is just a two week long ego feeding frenzy. Cookies! Cake! Presents! Attention! Balloons! Presents! Cookies! Parties! What self respecting small child wants that to end?

Rafe has recently entered a new “Why?” phase. “Who do peoples have legs?” “Why do we have food?”  “Why do we need brains?”. A few days after Christmas Rafe asked me “Why is Christmas have to be over?” . I answered in some appropriate manner which gives Santa Claus way more credit than he deserves and keeps the magic alive for my child. Thinking that was that, I turned back to what I had been doing. He wasn’t finished though, and a moment later Rafe said from behind me “But, mommy  Christmas isn’t over because you havent let me ride in a rocket, yet!!”

As amusing as that was, and sweet to, I was more struck by the thought that the idea of him riding in a rocket isn’t just a small child’s pipe dream. He is of a generation which will view going into space as simply a tourist, most definitely possible. For a price, sure, but still- possible. ME, I know I will never get that opportunity. But, he may very well. That is a wish I will hold close for him while he grows up, I never want him to lose it.

2 days until Christmas

team work

not shown: the gingerbread man zombie army