Yesterday, I came to  understand how some parents cross the line.  That line that separates discipline from abuse.  It's because SoS has developed this habit of, how should I put it to not offend any one's sensibilities and to portray the true nature of his crime... he's been, well, FUCKING PISSING ON MY CARPET!  Now, I have no idea if this is defiance, laziness, or a feeling of Lebowski simpatico with El Duderinio in our house, but it's ridiculous and needs to stop.  He's done it several times and each time, it ends with tears and promises of not doing it again and GROUNDING, SEVERE, SEVERE, GROUNDING!!!!  Last night I went in to check on him, as I knew he was probably reading instead of sleeping and, just as I opened the door, I heard the ending stream of pee hitting his carpet.  FLAMES!  SHOUTING!  FEELINGS OF INSANITY!  Seriously, I wanted to play handball with his head and then throw him through a wall.  As it was, I jerked everything out of his room, off his bed and made him clean his carpet while I stood over him like a Centurion overseeing a slave on a Roman ship. All I would have needed was a cat o' nine tails.  What could possess someone to start something like this at 7 1/2 years of age??  Except being possessed, of course.  I went in to his room  after he cried himself to sleep (while I'm in my room thinking, "Good! You should cry yourself to sleep!"  Not my finest moment.), and I marveled at how I could love someone so much and want to beat them all week long at the same time.  He will be the death of me, I'm almost sure of it.


Ever have a friend of your kid's that you just can't take?  When my brother was in middle school my dad hated  two of his friends; he thought they were little junior criminals.  As it turns out, my dad is a psychic genius, because those two yahoos are in prison right now.  FB has this friend that just seems to rub me the wrong way.  He's a sweet kid, really, and polite..almost too polite.  Almost, but not quite broaching that Eddie Haskell level of obsequiousness that turns adults stomachs as he tries to weasel his way into their good graces.  Of course, the kid is only 11; give him time, he may reach the zenith of Haskell-ness.  He's very imaginative and loves to relay his stories in great detail.  Like, constantly.  At some point, this kid needs to take a breath.  And he really needs to stop showing up at my door at 8 in the morning.