And I ain't talking about disorders here.
Well, unless you mean disorder by disorderly family.
Wait, that's dysfunctional.
When I grew up in the little town that I now live in (which by the way is now a big city) I loved riding my bike in the street, exploring the sewers and drainage pipes, and walking the railroad tracks. Oh the things my parents would let me do back in the day--partly because it was the eighties and partly because my parents were the type that would rather have us out of their hair than spending time with us.
I remember doing some of the most unwise things, which in my naivety and lack of good parental supervision knew nothing of the consequences about...exploring railroad tracks being numero uno (Fried Green Tomatoes anyone?). I suppose my family already rode the crazy train, so a little exploration came naturally. I also explored the grass fields behind my house which backed up to the woods. This fact was of no consequence (besides the chiggers that once made home inside my cast when I broke my foot) except that a homeless man also camped out there and "stole" water from our spigot while we children played. (Once my stepdad found out he told the guy he couldn't come around when we children were outside...hence why stole is in quotation marks.)
There was also a water ditch that ran between our house and the adjoining property next to us and the grass fields behind us. On the other side of this ditch my twin brother, older sister and I found a wild cat with a manxed tail and tried to feed it bologna slices. Of course, this cat would not let us get anywhere near it and instead hissed and growled at us while we threw slices of bologna at it. Would you laugh at me now if I told you the wild house cat we thought we were feeding was really a young bobcat?
And why is bologna spelled that way?
So this weekend I took my children to the park where we were met by a rather large yellow dog that was not only stupid, but also growled at me. I pretended to act unscathed by it and it's teen owner, and I think I did a good job of acting with my new rose colored sunglasses on to protect my angrily glare from her. I payed close attention to this teen, because I was wondering what she was doing sitting on the playground equipment with her dog, Marley, who had now taken to growling at the children who were playing around her. Once my youngest, and I knew he would, ran up to the dog I warned him in a loud voice to be careful because the dog might bite.
And with that, the teenager grabbed the two younger children she was "watching" and decided to leave.
(Quotation marks meant as sarcasm.)
You know they made a sequel to the movie Marley and Me, right? It's called: Just Me.
Then I observed three different parenting types at the park that day. One: The One who Doesn't Watch Their Kids (or their dogs either). Two: The One that Keeps a Close Eye on Their Kids, But Lets the Other Moms Help Watch Also (and who also lets me show their four-year-old how to throw old crab legs into a murky pond). Three: The One Who Physically Looks Exhausted and Verbally Counts her Children to Make Sure They're All Still There because they're known to take off and explore (guilty as charged). There's also numero FOUR: The One that has to be On Top of Their Kids' Every Single Move Just in Case Something Tragic Happens (aka the hover parent), but this mom was not there.
(However, I have met the hover parent, aka Mother Hubbard, who freaks out when your kid sits in a rain puddle. By the way, Mother Hubbard is male in case you wondered.)
In fact, I avoid all parent types ONE and FOUR like the plague. I'm sure from time to time I have been those two polar opposites when needed. I like to call it the bi-polar parenting style. In fact, I could probably learn a thing or two from these parents, but there's some things I'll never learn.
I'll bet my husband's thinking "won't learn", but that's neither here nor there.
Ah crap, someone's going to pissed off by my title choice.