Kathleen McCall:
Occasional�� Muse�

2002-07-19 - 11:33 a.m.

Pots and Kettles

I'm generally not a judgmental person, or I try not to be, anyway. I try to remember that the aspects I see of people are only the tip of any iceberg, and that no one died and left me in charge, as my mother told me regularly. But when it comes to raising kids, I kick into this kind of eagle-eye bitch mode. Where are your parents? What are they thinking? Do I want my child associating with you at all?

Older Daughter has been asking and asking to go to a friend's house. I finally said, "No, I don't know her parents. She can come HERE," although of course her parents don't know ME either, so if they let her come I'm already one up on the parenting scale, aren't I? But I have to do it this way, because I have all these important questions before I can let my own kid venture out. Will my daughter be safe in this home? Can I leave her in the care of these people? Will they parent exactly the way I would, which is of course the one and only correct way to parent? And when exactly did "parent" become a verb?

So I have her invite her friend for an afternoon of swimming, and it is all arranged. Except Older Daughter did not get an address, so she must call back, at which point the sister that answers the phone says, "She's not here, she's at your house." Ummm. Well, no, she isn't. DO you KNOW where the kid is? Oh, this is not so good.

I tell my kid not to ask if her friend can stay for dinner, because there IS no dinner. It's going to be tuna sandwiches. Hey, I cooked a few days ago, don't look at me like that. Tuna is nutritious. Fruit is nutritious. The Cheezits they ate after dinner probably weren't, but what the hell.

I go to pick the girl up, and she's waiting in the driveway, ready to hop in my car. I get out and ask to be taken in to meet her father. Hey, don't you WANT to meet me? Don't you want to note the make of my car so you can at least tell the police what it looked like when I never show back up with your kid? Father is in swim trunks in the back yard, scrubbing out the hot tub. He can't take my proffered hand because he's covered with soap. Okay, yeah, great, whatever, he says, embarrassed. I offer a time frame in which to return his kid; he says whenever, they'll be around. I forget to offer a phone number or address.

Older Daughter, knowing that her friend will have to sit in the back seat, frantically shovels crap off the seat and into what we call the "wayback." The wayback slowly fills over time with assorted papers, trash, stuffed animals, bank receipts, and sweatshirts. On an annual basis I back it up to the dumpster and start heaving armfuls of stuff up and in. I call that housekeeping. If it's been in the wayback for months and months, we probably don't need it.

In the car, I tell my own kid, "Don't you EVER EVER bring anyone's PARENTS back to meet me when I am wearing a swimsuit and scrubbing the back deck." I feel bad for the guy, but not so bad that I don't file away the fact that he now has no idea where his twelve year old is for the afternoon.

I notice their cat has an abscessed paw. "What's with your kitty?" "Nothing, why?" I kneel down to look. Don't you take your cat to the vet? Why are you going swimming with us when your cat needs medical attention? Hey, what about your CAT? Older Daughter tells me later I embarrassed her by paying attention to the cat. Shoot me, I can't walk by a cat with a paw that's twice normal size and that it can't put weight on. Family seems unperturbed.

"Mom, I don't have any clean socks." "Yes you do, look in the drawer." "No, there aren't any!" "Damn! Why didn't you tell me that last night! Wear your flip-flops." "I lost one, remember?" "Okay! Okay! Get dirty socks out of the hamper because I'm LATE TO WORK!"

The girls have a pretty good afternoon, marred only by the fact that I was unable to find a playmate for Younger Daughter, who is having a hell of a time adjusting to the fact that Older Daughter snubs her pretty completely when in the company of other middle-schoolers. She wants her to play Mermaids, and Older Daughter not only refuses to play Mermaids, she refuses to admit that she ever HAS played anything as babyish as Mermaids, which of course she was playing quite happily the day before when she had no friend over.

Young Friend is pleasant enough, although I note that she has no manners at all, and says no thanks or goodbyes when we drop her off. She decides to go in the house through the garage, leaving me unsure if there are any adults present or whether or not she actually GOT in the house, but because I am sure I have humiliated Older Daughter enough for one day, I let it go and drive off. I hope they take care of that cat.

"Why don't you call that nice Jessica next?" I say on the way home.

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