Bratty Kids

The phrase "Zero Tolerance" is thrown around a lot. Schools use it in their policies about guns, drugs, etc. Sports organizations use it regarding drug testing or other forms of cheating.

I use it too. I have zero tolerance for bratty children. I do not blame the children, although they annoy me, but I want to slap the parents.

Before you think I'm jumped over the cliff into serious oldieville, I am not talking about babies with colic or a child in pain. I'm talking about the child on the airplane that is allowed to climb all over the seat, kick total strangers and throw the sippy cup (filled with sticky juice) in my hair. I'm talking about the child that interrupts adult conversation with some inane request -- only to divert the attention. I'm talking about parents who tolerate it.

In my childhood, my mother was usually the disciplinarian. But my father absolutely, positively refused to put up with whining. He is the most low key and calm man you would ever meet but this would send him reeling. Like all good parents, he didn't have to say a word. One look and I stopped. If a child can master a simple sentence, he can learn manners.

Maybe my next career will be teaching a course. I'll call it, "Mastering the Look."

Last night we had dinner and then played games. I don't remember what the baby said but he's old enough to know how to rib me. I shot him the look. The husband said, "And Mean Mom enters the party." (In his defense, it wasn't anything bad, I just like to know that I still have a sliver of power.) Now that he's grown, he just shoots the same look back to me which makes me laugh. He's mastered it.

When the baby was little, we did not hesitate to take him to restaurants. He loved to go out to brunch or dinner. Our little ritual was to sit in the car and remind him of the rules of proper behavior. No raised voices; no threats -- just a little refresher course.

Maybe I have plopped into oldieville. My mother asked me why we always prefer to eat in the bar of certain restaurants. It's not for the alcohol. It's because you have to be 21-years old. I refuse to spend my weekly allotment for dining out dodging sippy cups and listening to a screaming child.

Different Rules for Different People

This is a slight twist on the haves and have nots. It's more like people who have sense and those who do not.

Someone forgot to give me the rule sheet. Come to think of it, I don't want it.

I've watched people annihilate their spouse with words and a tone of voice they would never use while speaking to their children or their parents. I've done it myself.

I've watched people discipline a pet with words and actions they would never use on a person.

I've seen friends gang up on another friend (from kindergarten to middle-age) and forget that they might be the next target.

I've heard about people who (in a fit of rage) say some pretty hateful things to their children like, "I wish you'd never been born." I don't want to know these people.

We all get to make choices. And yes, I am completely guilty of letting my mouth shoot out of the gate before the logical side of my brain catches up. I get to choose the rules for me and you get to choose yours.

My parents are allowed to say anything to me. They are allowed to be brutally honest. It's a relationship that's built on trust so I don't want the kid-glove treatment. (I've never had it so I would freak out.)

A small circle of friends is allowed to ask or tell me anything. The rule is when we say, "To the grave," we honor it.

The daughter is strong and opinionated. She can tell me what's on her mind and how I could've handled it better. My only caveat is to remind her that she hasn't walked in my shoes.

The husband should be able to discuss everything with me but we have a long habit of getting prickly. Walking out of the room is our universal signal for "this conversation is over."

Society's rules keep changing on me. What used to be taboo is now the norm. I'm not great with change so I'll stick with the morals I'm trying to live up to and the rules I've chosen for myself.

Litter Mates

I was lamenting about how the dog obeys the husband but totally ignores my commands. My friend, Dean Crow, explained it to me. He said, "She doesn't see you as an authority figure. You're her litter mate."

How sad, but true! I am the one who hands out treats. I am the one who finds the naughty behavior cute on occasion. When I decide to be the disciplinarian, it just confuses her.

The oldies do a similar thing. They curl up in their litter box (bed) for eons. They're there for each other as spouses and friends. Mostly, they're litter mates.