I hate parents.
Monday, April 30, 2012
A Big Bad Band
My week of stress started on Saturday with the arrival of the kid.
Let’s face it, it was always going to be stressful; how could it not be when asking for basic manners and/or a little bit of good old fashioned respect creates angst between the Squeeze and I.
I; who had been pretty damned fair with my kid/step father relationship, was now in the alien land of “you can’t win”; and I’m not that keen on it actually.
So I sucked it up; bit my tongue and attempted to spend a whole weekend without actually asking/telling the kid anything at all. On those moments where it became impossible to keep silent, I deferred to the Squeeze and asked that he rectify the matter in a way that was acceptable to him. These were kept to “the toilet” and “bed time”.
I’ve got to say it; I am at complete loss as to why there is no “button” pushing or hand washing when the kid goes to the loo. We have mentioned it several times over the last year or so, but on the next visit, he reverts to it again. I shudder to think what the loo in Velvet Land looks like... Either way, staring down at someone’s pee when I walk into the bathroom is nauseating; ditto re opening the fridge or touching anything with ‘wang’ flavoured paws. Given that this will start again on his next visit, I asked the Squeeze if he could discuss it with the Harridan and question why she is not reinforcing good hygiene. I don’t think I’ll hold my breath.
As for the Squeeze, he went to bed relatively early on Saturday night and I stayed awake reading, waiting on the girl to return home from a night out. (It’s always easier when they are at their own place; somehow, you don’t worry as much...) At twelve thirty when I was thinking about rolling over and attempting sleep, I woke the Squeeze from a deep sleep and asked him to go out and turn the television off and tell the kid it was time for bed. Eleven hours of nonstop television and internet surfing is enough for anyone in my book. He probably didn’t like being woken, but since I’m unable to instruct the kid, that was just too bad for him.
Sunday, we took the kid to his “big band” gig. Given the Harridan’s deliberate rudeness to me the last time, I was prepared to sit and ignore her, getting by with just the odd chant in my head to say: “are we there yet..?” We walked in and took a seat strategically positioned for ‘early exit’.
It started with a text. “Why are you sitting over there? Aren’t you allowed to sit with the other parent?" I wanted to reply for him to say: "because we are not friends and she doesn’t like you...” but the Moodle would never just go with something as simple as honesty. She followed this up with a text that called him strange since anything I go to, he is distant. Obviously, when I’m not there, they sit and chat like ‘besties.’
Power to them; I couldn’t care less; but nor will I ‘pretend’ that she isn’t the bitch that she is. Why berate his fathering skills time and time again, only to pretend she doesn’t hate him because she is in front of people. Besides, you only get the opportunity to be rude to me once so even if he had of sat next to her, I’d have chosen to sit in another section.
So the Harridan sat like a “scott-no-friends” on the opposite side of the room and I forgot about her and proceeded to count down the tunes until we could leave.
The first lot of kids filed out onto the stage and took their seats. I watched them traipse past. Either this was the ugliest school on the planet; or nothing has changed over the years. The beautiful still didn’t join band, debating or the chess club. I didn’t see the kid in sunglasses that caused me to snigger the last time, but that could be because it was day time.
And the tunes just rolled on...
I’m not a fan of jazz. Never have been; especially the variety that sounds like a whole bunch of instruments vying for attention; just a brass cacophony. So my untrained musical ear probably doesn’t know what it’s talking about; still, the saxophones sounded too quiet for a solo (it was certainly no “Baker Street” sax solo). The trumpet guy in his solo, sounded like he was short of breath which made him out of time. After the tide of junior’s rolled out and seniors rolled in, it moved briefly to swing which I could handle. It was like a scene from dirty dancing, minus Patrick Swayze to look at. Swing didn’t last; it moved back into brass cacophony.
And even when it was bad; they clapped.
I hate parents.
I hate parents.
Posted by Mistress at 2:05 PM