I Like My Kids, Not Yours

I don't like other people's kids.

Oh my gosh. You've no idea what a huge relief it is to admit that. It's like a 24 ton Komodo Dragon has been lifted off my chest.

As a mother, I am supposed to love children, right? Well, guess what? I love my children. Yours? Not so much.

Wait, that's not entirely true. Let me clarify. Many of my friends and relatives with children read this blog. Let me assure you that I'm not talking about relative children (most of them) or my children's closest friends. I am talking about children that I don't know well or at all.

I walked into my kitchen a few weeks ago and there's a kid rummaging through my refrigerator. My daughter and her other friends were in the back yard.

"And, um, who are you?" I asked the little boy.

"I'm so and so's cousin," he replied, continuing to search for a snack.

"Who is so and so?" I ask.

It turns out that the kids cousin, so and so, is a friend of a kid down the street, who happened to be playing with my daughter in our back yard. How this child ended up inside my home and drinking my 3 dollar Capri Suns is beyond me.

"Well, kid, you need to go to so and so's friend's cousin's great aunt twice removed and added back once's house to get a snack. I don't know you."

"I just need a snack," he argued with me.

What if he was allergic to nuts and dove into my Nutella? The horror! Do you know how much Nutella costs!?!

"Look, asshole, get out of my house," I thought.

"I'm sorry. Please go away," I said.

See? This is the kid I can't stand. I can't stand his parents because they don't know where he is, and I can't stand him because he has no manners and thinks he can bust up in my house and eat my kid's food.

What about that kid in the restaurant throwing hush puppies at my head while I'm trying to eat my catfish in peace?

His mother giggles, "No, no, little Leroy. That lady doesn't want hush puppies in her freshly highlighted hair."

Little Leroy's horns poke through his summertime buzz cut, and he throws another one at me.

His mother giggles again, his father tucks his testicles in his butt crack, and they both let little Leroy run the show. I can't stand little Leroy.

"Look, asshole, I wish I could spank you myself," I think. 

I can assure you that if my little Leroy was throwing food in a restaurant, which he has been known to do, a spanking would take place, and I would apologize to everyone in the establishment, including the busboy. 

A little girl, who I've met once or twice in passing, pulls my daughter aside at church and says, "Tell your mom I'm coming to your house this afternoon."

"Mama, can Ashley come to the house this afternoon?" my sweet, always innocent child asks.

I assure you that my children never get on anyone's nerves. Seriously. Never.

The little girl interrupts, "My name is Allie. Not Ashley."

Do you see how well we know this child? My daughter didn't even remember her name.

"No, sweetheart. Allie can't come over this afternoon. We have lots of errands to run today," I smile kindly at this child.

"What do you have to do," little Allie asks.

"A lot of things. Not today, honey. I'm sorry," I nod politely.

"Then when?" she asks me, attitude showing.

"Some other time," I smile, annoyance beginning to rise within me.

"When?!" she demands.

"Look, asshole, get out of my face," I think.

"Some other time, dear," I reply, as I drag my children away from this demanding little hellion, with a Children of the Corn haircut.

I don't like little Allie. I don't like children demanding my plans and inviting themselves to my home. I don't like Children of the Corn. 

I've written three measly examples of disliking other people's children. I could talk about those little bullies that boss my kids at the park, or the snot nosed whiny turds that complain about my kids' toys, my kids' swing set, my kids' everything (take your ass home), or the ones that somehow manage to find me and yell loudly in my vicinity while I am enjoying "me" time at the pool. But, you get my drift.

Assholes. Yeah, I call other people's kids assholes. Gasp! 

However, it isn't really the kids fault, is it?

If stranger kid had been raised with manners, he wouldn't be robbing me of my foodstuffs.
If Leroy had been raised with discipline, my hair wouldn't smell like a bank on the Mississippi River. 
If Allie had been raised with manners or discipline, she wouldn't be inviting herself to my house and wanting to know my agenda for the day.

So, it isn't really the children, is it? It's the parents.

I don't like parents.

Oh my gosh. You've no idea what a huge relief it is to admit that. It's like a 24 ton Komodo Dragon has been lifted off my chest.