Your kids are your mirror

My son is his father.

It's actually quite hilarious. He seems sulky but actually he's just as happy as can be. He plays alone and is absolutely fine about being alone, he usually prefers it.

He really doesn't talk much, unless he finds something very unusual or interesting or wants to tell a joke. Social situations allude him and it's like pulling teeth to get him to join in.

He conforms to nothing that society might think is odd or unpopular. Yesterday he tried to wear pajama pants to school and looked very confused when I told him to change.

The compromise was that his long black socks were with shorts. Not only did he NOT care, he had no inkling that it may look strange.

Today his socks did not match. It was effortless on his part, finding socks. It was also effortless to put them on.

When I mentioned to him that his socks did not match, he said, quite put out, "You told me to go put socks on."

It's quite endearing, to have 'Shawn' here, although he is far away.

I've called Blake Shawn multiple times, because he looks soooo much like his dad, especially since his Uncle Neil cut his hair the same. But Haydon has Shawn's demeanor, which is even harder to separate.

His teachers call him "Mr. Happy". Too funny.

Influence

I have an amazing friend who blogs all the time and reading it lifts my spirits. Every time I read her posts I feel close to her, as if she doesn't live thousands of miles away. My new goal is to blog more, not only for my husband to read since we have so little time to talk, but also so that my friends who are far may feel closer to me. Aww, sensitive moment, sigh, sniff.

Now on to the nitty gritty shit of life...

We have indirect neighbors who seemed nice when they moved in but, alas, I am not a great judge of character. These kids are assholes, and, with that note, so are their parents (if/then). My direct neighbors have had many encounters with the kids and, yet, the parents are never home to talk to.

A couple of weekends ago Blake was playing with a boy from the street behind us. In NM, we don't have "fences" per say, but block walls, which the kids walk on to move from house to house. This boy's backyard is diagonal to our backyard. One lazy Sunday I was still in my pjs at 3 pm, happily cooking our meals for the week while the kids played in the backyard. My kitchen faces the backyard, so I can see everything that is happening. Of course, I did not see what happened this particular day.

Blake runs into the kitchen: Mom, look how cool this is!

Me: What? It's just a plastic, broken plate with holes in it.

Blake: No! I let my friend shoot it with his pellet gun! Isn't it awesome?

Me: You let WHO DO WHAT?!?!?!?!

Deep breaths. I did not let on to Blake how upset I was. As I looked up I see said child, one year older than Blake, walking the wall back to his house with I can only assume is a rifle. No, it had no orange tip.

So, I find a neighboring adult (not asshole parent) to watch my kids while I walk my happy little ass over to the house of artillery (HOA). When I arrive, I see two older boys, one being an indirect neighbor asshole-child, and the other is the rifle-carrying one's older brother. These two older boys both have pellet guns in the backyard and are shooting them into the sky. In a neighborhood. With homes not 10 ft away. With my 5 year old twins right behind that backyard.

So, more deep breaths and I tell the mom the story. She totally doesn't care. She actually tells me that on their 3rd warning from the police about the guns (b'c they have no orange tips so they look like real rifles) that they mentioned there would be no more warnings and that she would start being fined. Grrreeeaaat.

She then tells her son he is on restriction, and he almost immediately starts throwing a silent fit, kicking things around in the garage, and this is her response to him-

Mom: Don't be so hard on yourself.

Kid: *silently* kicks around more things in garage

Mom: It's over, no one got hurt. It's ok. Don't beat yourself up about it.

Kid: still kicks and hits things in garage

So, I walked home in stunned silence. Stunned.

Later that night I had a talk with Blake and grounded him. I laid it on thick and showed him the plate and asked what his brother or sister might look like with a half-dollar sized hole in them. Finally, he cried and I felt triumphant. Then I went a step further and asked him how he thought his dad would feel if I called him in Afghanistan and told him that his son had let a boy in our yard with a gun...with his little brother and sister outside around that gun. He sobbed.

I felt much better.

I think I may be turning into Kenny Russell. I never once raised my voice. A little scary.

On a happier note I put Blake back into MMA. Just in case he has to kick the kid's ass from the HOA. Just sayin'.