somebody better get joseph smith on this

If you’re a relatively new reader to my blog you may not know about the special neighborhood I live in. You can go back an read about it in my first few blog posts on this site. I would post links for you but I’m writing this from my phone and I don’t know how. And I’m too angry to figure it out.

This should break it down for you. We live in a suburban style development in a small town. On one side of me, there is a 24 year old couple that calls the cops on everyone in the neighborhood. They also spray my dog with RoundUp. She is known as batshit crazy Melinda. (I’ve given her a break lately because I found out she can’t have babies and takes foster children. She gets a free pass.) On the other side there is a lovely Hispanic family that let their kids steal, trash and destroy my son’s brand new bike without consequence.

There’s riffraff of every sort around here and I’m sure a few people on our block would say we’re the riffraff.

Today’s story is brought to you by the “sweet Mormon family” three doors down. They have a kindergartner that has been the on and off BFF of my son for the two years we’ve been here. He lies. He steals my boy’s toys. He tries to get the other kids not to play with my son and most recently, he told my son if he wanted to be in his secret club that all the other boys on the block are a part of he had to pull down his pants and stick his privates in a bucket of water- and then touch the penis of the kid’s giant dog. Of course my babe did it. He’s such a sucker! And also desperately wants to be in this kid’s world for some idiotic reason.

When I found out I let the mom know. I mean, I’d want to know if my shitbag son did something like that. I wasn’t mean. I played it off like “These boys! What will we do with them?!” She told me she was going to ground her son and to please ask mine not to come down asking him to play. I told her mine would also be grounded for his part and to let me know when hers would be able to play again. I mean for shit’s sake, we live a football field away from one another. I don’t love my son playing with hers but it’s a little inevitable.

That was around two weeks ago. On Thursday, that little Boy came into my yard for the third time asking other kids to stop playing with my boy and come play with him since JJ is BAD and he’s not allowed to play with him anymore. I told the little shit (whose mother did not have the decency to let me know this) that if that’s true he needs to stay out of my yard or stop talking about it. I. Was. Done.

Today I sent her a text during nap time (because it’s the easiest way and we’ve always communicated this way.) “Hey, I’ve heard from all the kids that ‘yours’ isn’t allowed to play with ‘mine’ anymore. Did ‘mine’ do something I’m not aware of that I need to talk to him about?”

Her reply was a bashing of my kid. Followed by a “and I’m tired of you constantly telling me what a bad kid ‘mine’ is.” The things she said were identical to some things mine came home crying about a while ago but I dismissed because I was being a stupid mom and not truly hearing what he had to say. A lightbulb went on and I realized I might have to knife a bitch. (that is a joke.)

I won’t go into the lovelies about it but I’ll tell you this, it’ll take Joseph Smith and all the fucking sister wives* to keep me from protecting my babies. I don’t give a shit who you are. If your rat bag kids and family can’t treat people with decency then you better stay away from mine. I will not stand for it.

*please know I am not as ignorant as I sound and know that this is not how all Mormonism works and I hope my angry talk can be forgiven.

there’s no place like home

Remember, about a halfmillion years ago if you’re me, Sunday School? When I was a wee one I was Baptist. In the South. You have to be something in the Bible Belt and you damn sure have to go to Sunday School. So I guess we were Baptist because that’s what my grandparents were. And we damn sure did go to Sunday School.

The only thing I remember is Bible drills and the sweaty palms holding hands around the prayer circles. When it was time to sit around the circle and share prayer requests there were always a few kids with “unspoken” requests. Rather than voicing something like “a new pony” or “an end to world hunger” the child would simply say “unspoken.”

Later in life (ummm, 5 minutes ago) I would ponder those “unspoken” prayer requests and decide the unspokens were *spoken* either by the children of heathens who had no idea what the heck a prayer request really was, or by those who didn’t want to speak about praying to God that their pervy so and so would stop chasing them around the house with a fireplace poker. (I may or may not fall into both of those categories.)

Every once in a while when something big comes along and you’re hoping against hope that karma or the Big Guy comes through, but you’re not ready to spill all the beans about it yet, you throw out an “unspoken” to those around you that give a shit.

I did that a few weeks ago on my facebook and holy shitballs people, it all came through in aces! (I think I just became British {or Australian?} there?)

After four years of being away from our family and the place we consider home for hubb’s work, we get to go back to the Emerald City and are feeling pretty freaking awesome about it. (except for the pesky problem of moving away from some of the best friends EVER!)

So thanks for those that sent out the good vibrations. And here’s to those of you with your own unspokens that are hoping against hope. Or whatever. May the wizard grant you your courage and a smokin hot pair of ruby slippers.