other people's children...

Since I spend a lot of time complaining about my own child (whom I love dearly, BTW), I thought I'd take a moment to complain about other people's children. Or, more accurately, the crappy job that some other people do at raising their children. I fall solidly in the middle of the spectrum that ranges from "all children are awesome" to "only my child is awesome." There are moments when spending time with someone else's wonderfully behaved child--as they always are with strangers--is much more pleasant than spending time with my own child, whose new favorite activity is pooping on the floor in secret places, preferably so we can find it with our bare toes, as Bill did the other night. Makes you want to go off birth control right now, doesn't it? But there are other times when I look at children, particularly the really ill-behaved ones, and think "What possessed you to procreate? Seriously?!"

So I'm attending an expo geared towards "going green," staffing a table for Compassionate Kids, Inc., which is a wonderful non-profit that teaches children to have compassion for the earth, people, and animals. Really, what better mission can one have in this world? I'm on the board of directors, so please donate large sums of money. I digress. This is an expo with businesses, non-profits, government organizations, and a host of other interested parties, including kids' organizations such as CK. One would expect for children to be there, and there were some. What was amazing is what some parents felt it was perfectly appropriate to let their children do, including tearing around the exhibit floor, running into other people's booths, and disappearing for long periods of time leaving moi in charge of their children (might I note that I do not know these people or their children, nor were they there to assist with staffing the Compassionate Kids booth). At one point, I'm left staffing the CK booth, watching a 4 year old whom I know only by first name, and am faced with the choice of staying at the booth to guard our stuff (read: my iPhone) and letting this kid pee on the floor, or leaving the booth and taking this child to go potty. Of course I chose the latter, as it is not this child's fault that he was abandoned for over a 1/2 an hour with a stranger, but I was tempted to say "Wait until your father gets back." Knowing the short time span between "I have to go potty" and "I just went potty--in my pants," he never would have made it.

About a week later, I witnessed two women drop off a small child, I would estimate 2 - 2 1/2 years old, in a public playground and then disappear for 15 - 20 minutes. They reappeared with food and drinks in hand, chatting happily, as if they had not just committed felony child abandonment. This child was left unsupervised on a playground with a WIDE variety of neck-breaking implements for almost 1/2 an hour so these well-dressed, upper middle class, probably-have-a- nanny women could grab a bite and discuss the merits of various graduate programs for one of their older daughters. How this woman could have a child who could live to be old enough for graduate school is beyond me. The most disturbing thing was how little it bothered the little boy. He was clearly used to being left alone. Even when the mother and her companion returned, she never turned an eye to the child, instead sitting and chatting it up with her friend while drinking her $5.00 skinny latte. That is what broke my heart. This beautifully groomed, Polo-wearing, $40 haircut-sporting 2 year old was practically invisible to these women. It made me think...why did you bother? Just get a new purse next time. It's much cheaper and doesn't leave stretch marks.

Both of these experiences left me pondering what kind of parent I am. Too permissive? Too disciplinarian? Or, worst of all (and I fear that this is what I am), some wildly vacillating blend of the two, being too strict until it just gets too stressful, then giving up and saying "Fine, run with the scissors. You'll probably end up selling the story and it will become a best selling memoir in which you muse about your mother's failings" (note the Augusten Burroughs reference). On top of that, I'm reading a book called Positive Discipline, in hopes of picking up some tips other than 1) yelling, 2) retreating to the bathroom to cry, and/or 3) instituting a permanent time out until the kid leaves for college, and this has done nothing but make me feel inadequate. I find it impossible to institute any of these techniques when my kid has bolted out the door naked, laughing like a hyena as he heads directly out into the street. Calling a family meeting just doesn't seem to work in those instances. What do people think of me when they see him do that? Probably "there goes another well-dressed, upper middle class, probably-have-a-nanny woman who can't keep control of her child."