Do-Re-Mi
My daughter sent me this link, and I absolutely LOVE IT!
Things Nice People Already Know: Willy Wonka Had The Right Idea
Mamacita says: I simply do not comprehend the mentality of parents who view the toy department of a store as a daycare center for their children. Sure, shopping is a lot easier without the kids, but unsupervised children tend to make a mess, not to even mention the predator factor. I bet these are the parents who complain and sue the store if their kids get hurt, and who become outraged if someone complains or says something to them.
Besides, who wants to purchase obviously played-with merchandise? My children were never allowed to open a package until it was paid for and we had exited the store. Before it’s paid for, it’s not theirs! My children also knew how to behave themselves in a store, and if either of them had ever pitched a fit of any kind melted down in a public place, there would have been hell to pay and they knew it.
I wasn’t a mean mommy, either. I was, however, one of the adults in charge of my house, and the kids weren’t. My children weren’t perfect by a long shot, but in public, they knew they had to toe the line. People of ALL ages should toe the line in public; I’ve seen a lot of adults behaving badly in public and it’s disgusting. One can only hope that such people never find anyone willing to breed with them, but unfortunately there’s usually someone for everyone. Sigh. It isn’t rocket science to understand that small children who are tired or hungry do NOT belong in a store. Go home and take care of your kids, and THEN go to WalMart. Sheesh. What’s that? You’re tired and rushed yourself, and you want to pick up the kids, make a few stops, go home and stay home? Too bad. You owe the world better than that.
And what kind of people put a baby wearing nothing but a cloth diaper, in a shopping cart? I guess we all know what kind of people do that, huh.
Today, it seems as though far too many homes are being run by the kids, not the adults. This isn’t a good thing, parents. This doesn’t mean you’re NICE parents; it means you’re suckers.
I know parents who fix four or five different meals every night. I find this laughable. I am not now nor have I ever been a short order cook in my house. Dinner is served. There was always a choice: take it or leave it. Parents who insist that Mackenzeigh or Gahbrielleigh is “picky” are not being the adult in their own home. Let your child get hungry enough, and he/she will eat what’s put before them. If your kid is so stubborn that he/she passes out rather than try one bite of something, you’ve got a far worse problem than food. You’ve got shrink material.
Few things in society are sadder than a household being run by the children. If you look around these days, however, you can’t help but notice that, sadly and tragically, an awful lot of homes revolve around the kids.
Oh, young parents, wake up and smell the chicken nuggets and french fries. Your home should be a welcoming, loving place, with sections devoted to the welfare, safety, and cuddling of children, but please don’t ever forget that the house belongs to YOU, not them, and that if your children are not required to respect that, you’ve got real trouble on your hands. There should be places in your home that are off limits to the kids, and there should be behaviors that are absolutely forbidden under any circumstances.
Don’t be the family that makes all the employees groan when you walk through the doors. Don’t be the parent who lets the kids fill the cart with toys and candy to keep them busy, and then piles it at the register or hands it all to the cashier because “I’m not going to buy this stuff.” Smile smile, grin grin, with that “entitled” look that makes the planet cry and everybody in line behind them raise their eyebrows and hope that family doesn’t move in next door. I said “cry” and I meant “cry.”
As does the universe when those spoiled, picky kids grow up (if indeed they ever really do) and enter the world believing it owes them a living, by which they mean their own terms on everything. An adult who lives on chicken nuggets, fries, and corn, and who won’t even TRY anything new, is pathetic. And those habits were no doubt nurtured by adoring parents who had a picky child and accommodated him/her in demanding and getting his/her own way.
Laura Ingalls Wilder’s mother, Caroline Ingalls, said it like this: Hunger is the best sauce.
Let your kids get hungry. Let their only choice at dinner be “take it or leave it.” You might just discover that your picky child, once he/she is absolutely starving, will take a bite. He/she might even like it. But whether he/she likes a food or not, if that’s what’s for dinner, that’s what everybody should be eating. Or at least trying to eat. It’s a good idea to serve at least one food that you know everyone will eat, along with whatever else is on the menu.
Breakfast, after all, is only twelve or fourteen hours away. Dessert and snacks are for people who ate dinner first.
Come on, parents. Be the adults in your house. Please? Shhh, I think I hear the universe clapping.
Be honest now. Wasn’t it really, really satisfying when all those dreadful children got exactly what they deserved in Willy Wonka’s factory?
. . . And Your Little Dog, Too. . . .
Mamacita says: Halfway through class this afternoon, we heard the city tornado sirens. These sirens go off every Friday at noon, but today isn’t Friday, and 3:30 isn’t noon.
We’d all been watching the weather closely through our tiny classroom window. Spring is prime tornado weather here, and it’s been absolutely pouring down rain all day – raining so hard, we couldn’t even see the cars in the parking lot a few yards from that window, and the rushing water was so loud, we felt as if we were inside a big hollow drum and people were dancing on it.
Suddenly, as if a gigantic spigot had been turned, the rain stopped and the sun blazed brightly. The air grew VERY still and heavy. The contrast between the booming of the thunder and the surf-like sound of the rainstorm, and this silence, was ominous. When you live in southern Indiana, you know what this kind of weather can mean. We waited for the hail.
The building director came in and sent us to an inside windowless classroom. Once there, my students whipped out their cell phones and began calling their children’s schools to find out what was going on there. A few of the children had already boarded their buses and were on the road – those parents became frantic and I told them to go ahead home. The other children were being held in their schools’ bottom floor.
Anyone who lived south of town was held in the building. Those who were going to be driving north were allowed to leave. I stayed, because even though my students aren’t children, they are still my students, and I wasn’t going to leave while any of them were still in the building.
Luckily, the funnel missed us, but the radio did say* that the state park south of town was hit, as were the towns just east and south of here. The rumor mill is forever grinding away, so I don’t know yet how much of that is true, but I guess I’ll know soon enough.
All in all, it was a scary afternoon. I’m glad to get home.
I’ve blogged about tornadoes before, but it’s been a while since I was part of an official tornado “procedure.”
It would be very nice if I have to wait a good long time to be part of another one. Forever, even.
* That’s how my grandmother talked, after her stroke. “Radio did say.” “Your daddy did say.” My Cousin C and I still giggle over her grammar sometimes. And a lot of other things. She’s not just my cousin, you know; she’s also one of my bestest friends.
