My doorbell seems to go nonstop some days. Of course it’s never John Krasinski coming to whisk me away. No, instead it’s a bunch of neighborhood kids asking if Tommy or Natalie can come out to play.
Yes. Natalie. My two year old. A bunch of third graders love to tote her around and pretend she’s their baby. This means I have to follow them even though they tell me, “You can go inside. We’ll watch her.” Um. I don’t think so. I let Natalie “play” with them because she seems so thrilled—“my friends, my friends are here!” Natalie will tell me when she sees them at the door.
Needless to say, at this point, I am sick of other people’s children. Can’t they go bug someone else?
The thing is, children seem to love me. So if they see me outside as I pretend to know how to grow things they’ll rush over and talk my ear off.
Really, I want to tell them that I could give a rat’s ass.
But I don’t. I just smile and nod as I pull out some weeds.
You know, I was planning on being a teacher. I was all set to get my degree in Early Childhood Education. But then I realized that I don’t really like other people’s children. Heck, sometimes I’m not even sure I like my own. So really, I’d have no business being a teacher because a teacher should be someone who adores children and can sit for hours listening to them prattle on about High School Musical.
I can’t even do that. The neighborhood girls, well, they all love Zac Efron so they always ask me, “Have you seen High School Musical?” even though I’ve told them no at least a dozen times.
“I think that movie would scare me,” I once said, wrinkling my nose at the thought of a bunch of high schoolers dancing around a gym.
“But why? It’s a great movie! You get to see Zac Efron,” I’m always reminded.
Sometimes I think there must be something wrong with me. There are grown adults who will happily sit and endure High School Musical. There are grown adults who actually ENJOY watching shows like iCarly. In fact, just the other day I was talking to a woman who lives on the street and she tapped her watch and went, “Oh shoot, I need to get inside. iCarly is about to start and I want to see if she ends up fighting that one boxer!”
I had to bite my tongue from saying, “Are you KIDDING me?”
I cannot stand children’s programming. If the kids want to watch, they can go upstairs.
I am just ready for school to start. It begins Wednesday, thank goodness.
Because not only do I get to deal with other people’s kids on a daily basis, I also get to hear the fighting that goes on between my own children.
Like yesterday Tommy decided that Natalie was not allowed in his room. He taped a sign to his door:
Yes, he misspelled Natalie’s name.
Of course Natalie kept trying to go into his room because usually he doesn’t care. But yesterday he’d throw a huge fit the second she stepped in.
“GET OUT! DID YOU NOT SEE THE SIGN?” he’d bellow.
“NO BROTHER!” Natalie would scream, equally loud.
It went like this most of the day. Then add the doorbell going off every few minutes.
Wednesday can’t come soon enough.