We have lived in Finksburg for almost three years now, and I have yet to meet a couple of our neighbors. I think it has something to do with the distance separating all the houses, which are on around two acres each -- we don't just happen to see each other on the way out of the house.
For the same reason, the kids don't just happen to see each other playing in the front yard, so Skyler doesn't have regular playmates in the neighborhood. But recently, some of the neighborhood kids have been coming over and ringing the doorbell to ask if Skyler can play outside. Randy and I were pleasantly surprised by their overture, and we were more than happy to let Skyler play with them. Our enthusiasm was, of course, curbed by my public-defender-job-and-CNN/HLN-addiction-triggered paranoia about all things bad that can happen to little kids. Nonetheless, we let Skyler play with her new friends on her playset in our yard or in her basement playroom, and we didn't think about the fact that the kids were much older than Skyler. There is a boy who is in the 7th grade, and two girls who are in the 4th grade.
The other day, Skyler came running up from the basement to announce that one of the girls was having a bonfire at her house and wanted Skyler to come. It was going to start at 9 pm. Although Skyler was still on summer vacation, I told her she couldn't go because (1) it would be past her bedtime, (2) she is five years old. What I did not tell her is that (1) I don't know the people who would be at said bonfire, and (2) five year olds have no business going to bonfires unless they are camping with their parents. Skyler went downstairs and loudly announced, "Bad news, guys. My mommy won't let me go to the bonfire." After a noticeable moment of quiet, Skyler came running back upstairs and announced, "Mommy, I'm going to the bonfire, and you'll just have to punish me for it later."
I remember reading an article about the Academy-Award winning actress Gwyneth Paltrow (yes, I say that with some sarcasm) who grew up in Manhattan with her director dad and movie star mom. Gwyneth said that when she was in high school, she would sneak out of her house by climbing out her bedroom window and go party all night. She used to leave notes for her parents that went something like this: "Dear Mom and Dad, I'm going to a party and then clubbing afterwards and won't be back until tomorrow morning sometime. I'm prepared to take whatever punishment you deem appropriate."
I don't think Skyler came up with her remark on her own. But it doesn't matter, because she still said it, and I'm sure she will learn things from other kids in the future. Randy and I have never really talked about how to handle in-your-face defiance from our children. Frankly, we didn't think we would have to think about it quite so early in our parenthood. Also, we were lulled into a false sense of security because Skyler has always been a pretty compliant child who liked pleasing her parents. We don't spank our kids. So, when Skyler said that to me, I just gave her my sternest expression and said in an authoritative voice, "Excuse me? Where did you learn to say that? The answer is no."
That time, it was enough to persuade her that hers was a very bad idea indeed. Afterwards, I explained to her as patiently as I could that she would not be allowed to do certain things until she gets older, and that I'm just trying to keep her safe and healthy. I also explained in terms that a five year old would understand that there is no way on God's earth that I would allow a child of mine to behave like Gwyneth Paltrow.
I have to say, I don't know if I'm cut out for parenting an older child.
Randy and I are starting to talk about how to handle situations like that with Skyler, who is growing up really quickly. For starters, we aren't going to let her play with much older kids (my sister, a 3rd grade teacher, pointed out that there is a reason why older and younger kids are segregated on the playground -- they are on different developmental planes.). We are going to make a point of planning playdates with the other kids in the neighborhood who are around 5 or 6 years old, rather than the 10 and 12 year olds she was playing with that day. I'm also explaining certain decisions to her, such as why she can't walk around the neighborhood in the evening with the 6th graders who invite her out. Fortunately, she hasn't rebelled.
The other evening we were driving home after dark and we saw those same kids riding their bikes near our house. I reminded Skyler that she would not be allowed to go outside if they came and asked for her. She explained that they would not be coming around. I asked how she knew, and she said that she told them not to come during school nights because she is not allowed to play with older kids on school nights. It's not totally correct, but it's close enough and, therefore, good enough, for me.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Forget The Farmer's Almanac -- Ask The Yellowjackets
Jagger tried to eat a dead bee that he found on the morning room floor the other day. I was able to fish it out of his mouth before he could swallow (I know, big ick factor) but didn't even think twice about how a bee got into our house. A couple of days later, our nanny said she had smooshed about four bees in the room, and she believed they were coming in through the wall. I pooh-poohed this notion. We had never had bees in the house before, and I didn't know how they could possibly have gotten in through the walls.
The next day, I got home from work and she said that there was a beehive hanging off the frame of one of the windows of our basement. (For you Californians, basements are not merely the basements that you hear about on TV -- scary storage spaces where boogeymen hang out. Basements on the East Coast are part of the living space of your house). Again, I dismissed this.
The following morning I thought to mention it to Randy so he could look at it. He came in talking about needing to call an exterminator. I thought he meant "at some point in our lives." But as soon as I got to work Randy called to say an exterminator was on his way to our house and Randy was leaving work to meet the man. When the exterminator arrived, Randy wasn't home yet, so I had the pleasure of talking to the exterminator by phone. Evidently our house was the scene of an attack of the Yellowjackets. They had made a humongous bee hive at the window, and they had infiltrated our house -- they had built hives inside the walls and were coming into the house through the vents. Just in the few hours that I had been at work, the nanny had captured nearly a dozen from just one room.
Apparently, the number of bees in the summer is directly correlated to the inches of snow in the winter. The exterminator said that last summer he was extremely busy attending to bee calls. This summer it was even worse. The last call he got was for the same problem as ours -- bees in the walls. In that house, he forced "safe" chemicals into the walls to kill the bees. The bees tried to escape, and THOUSANDS of them came out of the vents and into the house. It sounded like a horror movie.
At our house, the exterminator duct taped plastic trash bags over the vents on the floors to catch any bees that escaped. He then put on his bee suit (I haven't forgiven Randy yet for not taking a picture for my blog of the exterminator in his bee suit), took down the hive outside, and sprayed the "safe" chemicals into our walls. (Check with me in 20 years -- if I'm alive and don't have an extra arm, that will be the proof that he was right about the chemicals being safe). The exterminator said that there would be a lot of bees coming out over the next couple of days. If it got bad, we were instructed to call him for a second shot of the chemicals. Fortunately, thousands of bees did not come ito the house through the vents. It was more like around one hundred, not all at once and not all through the bagged vents. The bees kept coming for a few days afterwards. One day, Jagger tried to eat one again. (Yes, Mama, we are feeding Jagger enough. He just likes to put things in his mouth.) Unfortunately for Jagger this one was not dead, and it stung his lip on the way to his tongue. Jagger's lip swelled up to about five times its normal size, and he screamed bloody murder. But he was okay, and Benadryl brought his lip back down to its usual sweet shape.
Our lives have not turned into a horror movie about bees. But according to the exterminator, it will be a very scary-cold winter.
The next day, I got home from work and she said that there was a beehive hanging off the frame of one of the windows of our basement. (For you Californians, basements are not merely the basements that you hear about on TV -- scary storage spaces where boogeymen hang out. Basements on the East Coast are part of the living space of your house). Again, I dismissed this.
The following morning I thought to mention it to Randy so he could look at it. He came in talking about needing to call an exterminator. I thought he meant "at some point in our lives." But as soon as I got to work Randy called to say an exterminator was on his way to our house and Randy was leaving work to meet the man. When the exterminator arrived, Randy wasn't home yet, so I had the pleasure of talking to the exterminator by phone. Evidently our house was the scene of an attack of the Yellowjackets. They had made a humongous bee hive at the window, and they had infiltrated our house -- they had built hives inside the walls and were coming into the house through the vents. Just in the few hours that I had been at work, the nanny had captured nearly a dozen from just one room.
Apparently, the number of bees in the summer is directly correlated to the inches of snow in the winter. The exterminator said that last summer he was extremely busy attending to bee calls. This summer it was even worse. The last call he got was for the same problem as ours -- bees in the walls. In that house, he forced "safe" chemicals into the walls to kill the bees. The bees tried to escape, and THOUSANDS of them came out of the vents and into the house. It sounded like a horror movie.
At our house, the exterminator duct taped plastic trash bags over the vents on the floors to catch any bees that escaped. He then put on his bee suit (I haven't forgiven Randy yet for not taking a picture for my blog of the exterminator in his bee suit), took down the hive outside, and sprayed the "safe" chemicals into our walls. (Check with me in 20 years -- if I'm alive and don't have an extra arm, that will be the proof that he was right about the chemicals being safe). The exterminator said that there would be a lot of bees coming out over the next couple of days. If it got bad, we were instructed to call him for a second shot of the chemicals. Fortunately, thousands of bees did not come ito the house through the vents. It was more like around one hundred, not all at once and not all through the bagged vents. The bees kept coming for a few days afterwards. One day, Jagger tried to eat one again. (Yes, Mama, we are feeding Jagger enough. He just likes to put things in his mouth.) Unfortunately for Jagger this one was not dead, and it stung his lip on the way to his tongue. Jagger's lip swelled up to about five times its normal size, and he screamed bloody murder. But he was okay, and Benadryl brought his lip back down to its usual sweet shape.
Our lives have not turned into a horror movie about bees. But according to the exterminator, it will be a very scary-cold winter.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)