The Cycle of Bully

You might remember me from yesterday when I was about to kick the ass of one five-year-old and then take on his Mom.

Well. I decided to not pick on anyone, but to talk to the lady who's about my own size and find out what the heck was going on with her kid telling my kid he's gonna die - WHO FUCKING DOES THAT? Turns out, the big kids at her son's school does that, and he in turn did it to my son.

Do I feel bad for the kid? Yes, I do. Nobody should be made to feel bad. But I don't totally buy it. Want to know why?

This week, I was lucky enough to have the flexibility to take F to daycare and then hit the trails for a run. To make sure I to got my ass off the couch, I purposely wore my running clothes to drop him off. The first day I met this woman - to be quite honest, I don't even know her name to this day - she looked at me and scoffed "Heading to a marathon, are we?"

Um, lady, (to borrow a quote from the Maury show) YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW ME! Maybe I am training for a marathon or maybe I just fucking hate pants with buttons. What difference does it make? And, while it was tempting to point out that she was wearing her pyjamas, I smiled and replied "that's my plan!" and I left. Unfortunately, I wound up in my bed and not on my way to any marathon except a Netflix-fueled X-Files marathon with a big ass cup of coffee.

But I digress. The fact is that this kid has learned that it's OK to be snide and rude and mean to people. Was I annoyed and a little put out by that woman? Yep. I was. But that's not the issue. The real issue here is that two kids that I know directly are being bullied, and the bigger issue is that for every two kids I know directly, there's a thousand I don't know who are being bullied and it's gotta stop. The real issue here is that this kid is picking up these behaviours from his own family, his peers and then he's passing it on to others. It's a cycle, and it needs to end.

photo: bullying project

I took yesterday as a learning opportunity - a teachable moment, if you will. F had to make the little girl who he was mean to yesterday an I'm Sorry card. He also had to apologize not only to Ella - the little girl - but also to his childcare provider, because he was unfair and unkind. And he had to understand why, so we talked about it. A lot.

We talked about how important it is to talk about our feelings, and how it feels when someone doesn't respect us or treat us kindly. We talked about how to talk about the things that aren't always easy to talk about, and then we talked about cars and trucks and how they make us feel because when you're F there's nothing more important than the cars and the trucks.

I know that these are conversations we're going to have over and over again - and I'm not just talking about the cars here, people. I know that there's going to be another kid who hurts F's feelings, and there's going to be some feelings that are hurt because of F. Talk to your kids. Be an example for them. Teach them how to stand up for themselves, for others, and teach them how to treat themselves and their peers with respect. You don't need to be friends, but you need to be nice was the rule at my house growing up, and it will be the rule at this one, too.

 In one day, I watched the cycle of bully happen. That little boy who picked on F? He was told he was going to die while he was at school. He was told his Mommy would die and everyone would forget about him. So he told my son that. And F acted out and it scared him and it scares me that some five-year-old punk with a mushroom cut and the cutest dimples you've ever seen could make my son feel that way. The conversation with his Mom was a little uncomfortable and a lot helpful. She knew it was going on, and she spoke to him. The childcare provider chatted briefly with me about her plan for nipping any poor behaviour in the bud today.

And when I picked F up this afternoon, he was playing with the five-year-old sweetheart.

Bullies (and buckets of water)

Have you ever wanted to punch a child in the head?

I have.

It happened today, when I found out that a kid at F's daycare was picking at him. I was annoyed at first. I've met the Mom. She's a real fucking treat, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised that her kid is a five-year-old jerk with a bad attitude and a nasty disposition. Seriously, I'd rather have a yeast infection for the rest of my life than exchange pleasantries with this woman - it's that bad. Now - I'll go ahead and say that I'm glad this world is filled with many different people, because I'm sure that this particular person has a circle of friends and family who adore and admire and appreciate her - I just don't happen to be a part of it. I don't think she likes me either, so there's that.

(can you tell i'm still raging? cause i am)

It started when another kid suddenly dropped to the ground crying while F was trying to play with him. The daycare teacher asked him what was wrong, before explaining that the little guy is having a hard time with the upcoming arrival of his baby brother or sister. Add the fact that he'd been up since 5 am to the mix, and this little guy was just an emotional wreck in size 4 Pull-Ups. F went over to him and hugged him, urging him to play. The five-year-old immediately rushed over to me.

"Your son just pushed Sam down. He's such a little brat. You should punish him."
 
That was the exact moment I decided this kid was a twit - I WAS WATCHING THE WHOLE THING. If he really wanted to get F in trouble, he should have waited 'til my back was turned and I didn't know any better. I brushed it off, and went back to talking to F's caregiver. And then it happened.

"Just do it, splash Ella!" the shithead five-year-old said, devilishly urging F to throw the bucket of cold water he had in his hands on the not-quite-two-year-old little girl in the group. I had no sooner warned F that he'd better not do it than he threw the entire fucking bucket of water onto quite possibly the world's cutest (and now probably most emotionally scarred) toddler girl. Her whole body shook and she blinked her eyes in total shock before collapsing into a meltdown that would make a Real Housewives star look put together.

Although I wasn't freezing cold and dripping wet, I don't think that little girl was any more shocked than I was. I couldn't even move. There were no words. I said F's name over and over, before coming to my senses, taking his hand and announcing that I was disappointed in his behaviour and we were going home to discuss it. Upset by his own actions, F apologized to the little girl and cried as we started toward the car. Tagging along behind me was the five-year-old terrorist, insisting that I put F to bed without dinner and take all of his toys away for being such a bad little boy.

I suggested he haul his little butt back to where the daycare provider was as nicely as I could, before closing the gate behind me.

"I'm scared," F wailed as he got into his car seat. "I'm dying and you're going to forget me, he said I was going to die and I splashed Ella!"

HAVE YOU EVER TRIED TO EXPLAIN TO YOUR CHILD THAT HE IS NOT GOING TO DIE?

The word "fuck" comes to mind. Exasperated and sad and confused and angry, I sat as F sobbed onto my chest multiple times this evening silently cursing kids and their innate ability to be mean and unreasonable and mean. I talked him through it, assuring him that he's not dying and I will never forget him. Have I mentioned that kids are mean? Because they are.

I knew that F and the five-year-old had butted heads yesterday, too, but I chocked it up to kids being kids. I had no idea that this kid was making him feel this badly, and it breaks my mommy heart. This is just the tip of the iceberg, and I know that. I remember the hurtful words and endless taunting. I remember the broken hearts and the "you can't be our friend anymore" conversations over MSN messenger. I don't know what tomorrow will look like, but I do know that I wasn't ready to be dealing with this yet. Bullying wasn't supposed to be in our world yet.

Let me say now that I have no illusions that F is a perfect kid. He lost his TV privileges for the night after the way he treated his friend today. But, at 3 years old, F is learning boundaries and sometimes he has to learn them the hard way, through getting hurt and sometimes through hurting others. He really felt badly when he saw how sad he'd made Ella, but I know my kid and I know that he was hurting, too. Was he bullied into being a bully? I don't know. Will it happen again? Probably. And I'll be throwing a big HYPOTHETICAL bucket of water on F if and when it does.

And teaching F that life throws the biggest buckets of cold water on bullies, one way or another.

Four Letter Words

I have a terrible potty mouth.

Anyone who knows me at all can attest to this. I do my best to keep it under wraps as well as I can, but every now and again I let a handful of four-letter words fly. In my house, there are a number of other "four-letter words" - the bad ones, the ones I don't like to hear. Monday, for example, is a four letter word. My toddler might tell you that bedtime and toothbrush also fall into this category, though we aren't quite seeing eye-to-eye on that.

Dad is also on my list of four-letter words.

Last week, I was filling out the registration forms for F's new daycare teacher and chatting with her about his favourite foods, his routine and his personality (I probably should have prepared a book). After signing my name for the umpteenth time, I scanned through all of the paperwork again to make sure I hadn't missed anything. "It's all there, we'll see you on Monday!" I said as I handed her the booklet. She asked me to wait until she signed it, and told me she had something else to send with me. She flipped through the pages and then stopped, looked at me and told me I "must have forgotten" to fill out the Father's Information.

So I told her about my list of four-letter words. I don't think she liked it much.

For all intents and purposes, in spite of a pretty diamond ring and a fancy wedding ceremony, I have always been a single mom. F's dad was never totally involved, though I can give some credit for the times he made an effort (which is wasted on the almost year that's gone by since he last saw his own child). It might not have been my dream, certainly raising a child alone wasn't the future I had envisioned for myself but I own it and I love it and we do just fine, F and I. But I definitely don't forget about the Father's Information on anything.

I don't forget about the fact that F's dad has nothing to do with us. I don't forget that I pay every bill, every childcare hour and every last expense from socks to car payments without a single penny in child support. I don't forget about the awful hurt that I feel when another kid asks F why his Daddy doesn't pick him up.

And F won't ever forget that he had a Mom who did it because she loved him that much.

Kidcation

I am kid-free for two weeks.

There is a bittersweetness about my apartment without F. On the one hand, it is so nice to come home and turn on a grown-up movie and lay on the couch filling out job applications and writing in peace and quiet. I'm tired. In the morning, there is just me. At bedtime, there is just me. It's so easy. There are no toys to pick up, no crumbs scattered across the floor, and I haven't tripped over a rogue shoe yet. But, in the silence and cleanliness of my apartment there is such an absence that it feels unnatural. It's a flashback to when F and I were apart over the winter.

Last night, I left work tired. I'd had a monumental wake up, and I was looking forward to getting home and making a light dinner. Maybe a cup of tea. I sat in my car and turned on the radio. I turned onto the street, and made my way for about 3 minutes before it dawned on me.

I was on my way to F's daycare.

I did a U-turn on the quiet, residential street and pulled over. I could blame it on tiredness, or I can blame it on the way the sun was hitting my eyes but they filled with tears. I miss him... and that's a blessing. I am fortunate to be given the opportunity to miss him. I'm lucky to have parents who are so happy to hang out with their grandchild that they've given me two weeks to be a "free" agent.

And as much as I miss him, I know I'm going to enjoy a quiet week.

Unless of course the cat wakes me up at 5:05 am with a monumental crash again. #notokay

Chapters

Today was the first day in a new chapter for F and I.

The good news is we survived it. The bad news is my baby is all gone.

When I got up at 5:00am this morning, two things crossed my mind, the first relating to how sore my legs were, the second relating to the fact that the boy in my bed was a lot smaller than usual. Red's been away over a week, and while I miss him dearly I'm pretty glad to have my numero uno to snuggle with. Last night marked the first solo night for F and I in a very long time.

A year ago, I was slowly settling into work again after spending my winter as a single, stay-at-home-mommy. If chapter one was my marriage, and chapter two was singlemomdom, I think we're at about chapter 5 right now and I love it!

F was up an hour later, at 6:00am and ate the breakfast I'd set out for him, brushed his teeth and got ready for his first day at daycare. After spending some time at home with him, I can honestly say that I miss it a little, but the whole SAHM thing just wasn't cutting it for me. I love having a career. That said, I still felt a twinge of Mommy guilt leaving him at daycare.

We were 15 minutes ahead of schedule this morning, and I stood in the porch watching him pacing with his backpack on. "Come on, Mommy!" he'd say with one hand on the doorknob and the other holding Ellie, his stuffed elephant. Where did my baby go? Did I miss him while I was trying to sort out being a grown-up?

He had a great day, when it was all said and done. We came home and made dinner together, none of which he wanted to eat, and he's playing with his trucks watching Dora the Explorer. He's already talking about going back tomorrow to play with his friends, wondering what toys they will play with and if he can have a Kinder Surprise for dessert.

Meanwhile, I'm still trying to figure out where my baby went.