Vibe #697, Judgmental Parenting Division
All three of us were at the pool in our condo complex yesterday, me, Jack, and Jackson. It was about five o'clock and the fog had finally burned off and it was warm enough to strip down to my baby blue Weasel and board shorts.
To our left: two thirtyish couples, one in the possession of two small children, divided thusly: women on blanket with adorable infant, men in pool with dog-paddling, pot-bellied toddler in a Little Mermaid one-piece.
The mom was low-key, occasionally you'd get a burst of babytalk out of her but mostly she was just having a grownup conversation with her friend. The dad, however. He was young and fit and bobbing around talking with his man friend, but when he'd switch over to this higher-pitched, exaggerated tone I could tell he was talking to his daughter. Since I talk to children without trying to pretend that I'm Barney, seeing an adult do anything else never fails to make me feel a little icky. It wouldn't have bugged me normally, when I'm reading I can tune out just about anything, but the pitch of his voice was killing me so I stopped and watched him for awhile and I noticed a couple of things.
1. He was ignoring Jackson's attempts to break in and play with his daughter
2. Until I guess he realized that Jack and I were sitting there staring at him wondering what the fuck his problem was
3. So he perked up and said, "You're a good swimmer!" as Jackson paddled around him, and "She's three!" and a few other facts that satisfied Jackson's curiosity about his daughter, I guess, because Jackson went back to throwing his Schleich horses into the water and then diving under to get them. Though after doing this about a hundred times he swam over to the edge and yelled, "Mom, come into the pool with me!" And I yelled, "Uh, no!" back.
4. This was superdad's cue to ramp up the fatherliness to Cirque du Soleil levels, tossing his screaming daughter in the air and demanding she show everyone how she jumped off the edge of the pool and into his waiting arms until she shrieked "STOP IT!" and the women by the side of the pool paused to watch and wonder perhaps at what delights this fantastic father was showing his little girl
5. as he frolicked with her in the pool while that poor, lonely boy, desperate for anyone's attention, played his sad game of fetch while his self-involved, probably hungover parents read their trash and lounged in the sun and probably didn't even put any sunscreen on their boy, who might as well be an orphan for all the attention they paid him, he probably had to make his own dinner and tuck himself in at night while they drank champagne and had sex until they passed out naked on the kitchen floor.
6. So I turned to Jack and said, "Get in the pool with him." To which Jack responded, "Go fuck yourself. I'm looking at Kate Moss's butt." To which I rejoinded, "I just spent twenty minutes in the Jacuzzi with him, AND I spent four hours at the water park yesterday:
Exhibit A
Exhibit B
7. To which Jack responded by ignoring me.
8. So I hoisted my ass out of my chaise and went over to the steps in the shallow end, put my feet in the (surprisingly warm -- whoops, maybe I should have gone in when Jackson first asked me) water, held out my hand for the plastic horses, and then threw them into the six foot zone, about which Jackson complained loudly, reminding me that he still doesn't like to go that deep
9. Marking me as a lazy, inattentive parent who has no awareness of her child's limits.
10. Yes, that's what those smug smiles said as they trooped past me en masse to the Jacuzzi.
It's amazing that I can milk so much drama out of a few sideways glances and a strained "Hello." Truly, parenting has made me insane.
To our left: two thirtyish couples, one in the possession of two small children, divided thusly: women on blanket with adorable infant, men in pool with dog-paddling, pot-bellied toddler in a Little Mermaid one-piece.
The mom was low-key, occasionally you'd get a burst of babytalk out of her but mostly she was just having a grownup conversation with her friend. The dad, however. He was young and fit and bobbing around talking with his man friend, but when he'd switch over to this higher-pitched, exaggerated tone I could tell he was talking to his daughter. Since I talk to children without trying to pretend that I'm Barney, seeing an adult do anything else never fails to make me feel a little icky. It wouldn't have bugged me normally, when I'm reading I can tune out just about anything, but the pitch of his voice was killing me so I stopped and watched him for awhile and I noticed a couple of things.
1. He was ignoring Jackson's attempts to break in and play with his daughter
2. Until I guess he realized that Jack and I were sitting there staring at him wondering what the fuck his problem was
3. So he perked up and said, "You're a good swimmer!" as Jackson paddled around him, and "She's three!" and a few other facts that satisfied Jackson's curiosity about his daughter, I guess, because Jackson went back to throwing his Schleich horses into the water and then diving under to get them. Though after doing this about a hundred times he swam over to the edge and yelled, "Mom, come into the pool with me!" And I yelled, "Uh, no!" back.
4. This was superdad's cue to ramp up the fatherliness to Cirque du Soleil levels, tossing his screaming daughter in the air and demanding she show everyone how she jumped off the edge of the pool and into his waiting arms until she shrieked "STOP IT!" and the women by the side of the pool paused to watch and wonder perhaps at what delights this fantastic father was showing his little girl
5. as he frolicked with her in the pool while that poor, lonely boy, desperate for anyone's attention, played his sad game of fetch while his self-involved, probably hungover parents read their trash and lounged in the sun and probably didn't even put any sunscreen on their boy, who might as well be an orphan for all the attention they paid him, he probably had to make his own dinner and tuck himself in at night while they drank champagne and had sex until they passed out naked on the kitchen floor.
6. So I turned to Jack and said, "Get in the pool with him." To which Jack responded, "Go fuck yourself. I'm looking at Kate Moss's butt." To which I rejoinded, "I just spent twenty minutes in the Jacuzzi with him, AND I spent four hours at the water park yesterday:
Exhibit A
Exhibit B
7. To which Jack responded by ignoring me.
8. So I hoisted my ass out of my chaise and went over to the steps in the shallow end, put my feet in the (surprisingly warm -- whoops, maybe I should have gone in when Jackson first asked me) water, held out my hand for the plastic horses, and then threw them into the six foot zone, about which Jackson complained loudly, reminding me that he still doesn't like to go that deep
9. Marking me as a lazy, inattentive parent who has no awareness of her child's limits.
10. Yes, that's what those smug smiles said as they trooped past me en masse to the Jacuzzi.
It's amazing that I can milk so much drama out of a few sideways glances and a strained "Hello." Truly, parenting has made me insane.
39 Comments:
Yes, truly. But you do it so well. What a great post.
Love,
Another Insane Parent
I hate that you post so well after all these years. I mean, you said "cirque du soleil" levels. Now go fuck yourself; I'm looking at Kate Moss's butt.
I have to admit, I ingnore other people's kids in public places all the time when I'm playing with my kids. My own progeny is enough for me to deal with, I normally don't feel like dealing with children not blood related to me.
This is a fantastic post, though. I like the sequential unfolding.
Yeah, but if a kid asks you a direct question do you ignore him, or do you give at least a perfunctory answer?
I bet you talk like Barney, too. ADMIT IT.
Doesn't parenting make us all insane? I keep telling my husband that I feel like I'm losing it. He told me my brain was gone the second the sperm hit the egg. He's probably freakin' right.
I hate people who talk to their kids in other voices. Followed very closely by people who do it to their pets.
Well, yes, but are they HAPPY?
K.
Chookooloonks
Emerald Market
You know, I'm not a parent, but once while babysitting I told my screaming charge (age 3) in a store: "You know, you might as well buck up, because things only get harder from here."
No babytalk at Camp MG.
You should have shouted at Jackson across the pool "Be a dear and go fetch my cigarettes, and while you're in the house, please make me a gin and tonic, you know, just how i showed you."
If they're going to be judgemental, even if only in your mind, let's give then something to work with.
We call that Parenting On Your Ass. We're charter members - wanna join our club?
Excellent. Are there meetings, or do we just recognize each other at the liquor store?
The sidelong glances were probably just them checking out your tits in the weasel.
I checked out their site (always happy to shop on-line) and am now really considering yoga if you can march around those. I was going the ask the name of your waxer too, until I reread the part about the board shorts.
I would have been the mother to the left of you reading a trash magazine, also probably hung over.
I am so totally not about waxing. Except the upper lip. Weasel tops are cool, but the bottoms require fortitude.
menoblog: Is there something wrong with teaching the kid to make a good G&T?
Mrs. Kennedy: Will you take my boy to the pool with you next time? Because I never ever get into the water. Wouldn't want to set a precedent. But as you already have... ?
This post reminds me of a top tip I read in Viz Magazine some years ago.
a. In a supermarket, fill your basket with nappies, cigarettes and vodka.
b. When asked to pay, express dismay at the amount required.
c. Apologise audibly that you don't have that much cash, and put the nappies back.
I can't stand baby talk. One of the elements of my upbringing I've always been very grateful for is that my mother always talked to me like an adult. And she taught me how to roll a mean joint.
Awesome. Just awesome, Mrs K.
Superdad from the pool has a niece. I met her at the park yesterday when she approached me and blurted out, "good job," because I actually left home with two kids in tow. My smile was insufficient. She reiterated her praise, becoming clamorous until I said "Good job," while desperately glancing around for Tommy Lasorda, or whoever brought this bugaboo. Turns out to be the same folks who brought my daughter over with bleeding knees. Pish, what's a little blood? Uh, er, good job?
Good Job, Mrs. K.
but i hate you for having such a cool little water park. you shouldn't have posted the pictures. you would have avoided the hate.
(not that i would take my kids there. i am too lazy and mean.)
"I bet you talk like Barney, too. ADMIT IT."
Yep. But only to soften the blow of the cold truths I impart to them.
"Excellent. Are there meetings, or do we just recognize each other at the liquor store?"
As a member of the POYA club, you have to be able to convince other, more responsible parents, to actually go to the liquor store, while you sit on your ass.
I thoroughly enjoyed this post, having recently posted about being the only yelling poolside mom.
http://beedadoo.blogspot.com/2006/06/poolside-vocal-warm-up.html
You know what's funny, too? The dads are always checking out my friend and I at the pool, probably because we're the ones enjoying a giant container of what is obviously a vodka-laden and delicious bloody mary. We must be cheap and easy, if we're getting loaded while our kids play, right?
That was me yesterday - sitting by the pool while the other involved parents shot daggers out of their eyes at me. When I finally got in, lo and behold, THEIR (older) kids were hogging MY kids' pool toys (and being pretty shitty about it, too). Ah, sweet revenge: Who's the crappy parent NOW, BITCHES?!!?
Guess you mined some latent resentment there, sorry.
Our neighbor got a puppy and comes over with it and does the most bizarre voice altering baby talking performance I have ever witnessed. I actually saw my 13 old twitching when he heard her.
the way you described that dad was so spot-on, even i started finding him obnoxious from my computer screen.
I have long claimed that being a stay-at-home mom should be a recognized form of insanity. Part of what induces the insanity is being forced into public places with people of, shall we say, differing parenting styles and their offspring. Most days when I'm getting dressed, I just want to put on the t-shirt immortalized by Ayun Halliday in the East Village Inky which simply states (in huge block letters) "FUCK ALL YA'LL".
I tend to think much along the same lines as you do, but when the kids are a wee bit older and they're from my domain (read: in junior high) I can't seem to mind my tongue. Ken is sure I'll be shot or stabbed someday because I tend to butt in and correct their behaviour.
The kids. Not the parents.
But I'm not above that either.
Insanity knows no bounds. I can claim, in my loud, God-like booming voice, "I .... am... a teacher....thou shalt listen to meeeeeeeeeeee." It works. Just try it. Fake it.
Yeah, you think you hate it when people talk to kids in a non-adult fashion? What if your Mother-In-Law talked to your 34 year old husband like Barney. Still. To this fking day. Often.
tuckova: Hell no. I learned how to make G&Ts when i was 7. It's a life skill, along with cooking and sniffing the armpits of previously worn clothing to see if they are really dirty or if you can get another day (or two)out of them.
After perusing that site, I'm amazed you could pass up the Bible felts in favor of those heathen horsies. I am going to report you to somebody now.
I hate baby talk. I also hate asshole parents who ignore kids. They grow asshole children. When that happens to my kid I said loud enough for the offending jackass to hear- don't worry about it- they're rude. Because they are.
*Say*loud enough- sorry
From where I sit, parenting has made you observant. And intolerant of other people's bs. If that's insanity, I want to be insane like you when I grow up. I'll wear a Fussy straitjacket.
One of the funniest posts I've read in a long time - and too much of it struck a chord for comfort. This parenting thing is a lark, isn't it??!!! :D
Excellent!
It's bad enough when parents (I am not one, but I still have OPINIONS that will undoubtedly bite me in the butt if I ever become one) speak in that horrible, high-pitched voice to their very young children, but when they do it to their fourth graders, it's maddening.
There is a man who brings his 4th grade son to my ADULT exercise class. OK, that's fine. Whatever. But every time Tony, the ex-Marine drill instructor who runs the class, gives an instruction, this dad feels compelled to encourage his son, who is not the most coordinated kid in the world -- I know, he's only 8 -- in this enraging high-pitched voice (was he at one time the lead singer for Journey?) that makes me want to throw my weights at him.
Which I would never do. Because I have really bad aim and I'm not strong enough to get them that far.
Forget all the rest of that drama (you know, the stuff actually RELEVANT to your post), but THANK YOU for the link to the AWESOME horses and knights, over which Bella will absolutely FREAK when I give some to her for her birthday in October.
Oh, the freaking Fussy love.
I am learning that there are many a-blog out there and I heard yours is good fun, so I thought I'd stop in. Fascinating news, I am sure. But I just thought I'd let you know I am a newcomer.
The Other Parents almost always suck. Yes, there is a rare gem of normalcy out there but they are few and far between. Super Righteous Dads are among the worse of the worst.
Kate Moss has a butt?
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