My Own Child

I have my own little boy. So why the hell would I want to watch another child, another FEW children, particularly when they're all goddamn little brats?

My boy isn't an angel, though he looks like one, and I'll be the first to admit that. But he's no brat either. He's been given proper discipline (though may the wrath of a thousand pissed-off gods befall me again -- and MINE were only negligent --- if I ever raise a hand to him, though that isn't to say that one or two well-placed and well-timed smacks off the rear-end don't happen now and then) and proper structure in his life. I don't need maladjusted whiny snots in my life -- that's why I'm not raising my son that way.

So, Astrid decided bonding time would be to visit other Olympic-acquaintances with children around our darling's age. Well, that meant "we" were considered baby-sitters. And by then, Astrid was so wrapped up in whatever she was doing (I think it's the Mt.Olympus paging system, though I haven't quite gotten the hang of it) that *I* was the one solely responsible for four children, my own, and the other goddamn whining screaming three. So much for fucking bonding time. Not to mention the fact that by the time Astrid's asshole relations decided to return and take "responsibility" for THEIR children (meaning that they deemed it acceptable to be in the same room), they criticised me for the way I watch them, and then scolded ME for disciplining them.

We can all figure out how that shit went down with me.

For bloody-hell's sake --- if you're not going to goddamn watch your miserable clodpole children, do the world a favour and don't have them which would otherwise give the world more neglected spoiled brats and continue to ensure that your Gene of Idiocy gets passed down along the rotting family tree.

Oh, and did I mention that they kept saying "do this" and "do that" any time ANY of them decided to speak to me? Why didn't they just snap their fingers at me, carry a whip and nail my hand to the door when I didn't open it for them quickly enough?!?!?!?! So sorry, bastards. I don't wear your fucking chains anymore and I don't take your fucking orders. And if my sweet boy hadn't been there, I would have told you where to go and what to do once you got there.

I like children. There's something so innocent about them that is impossible to replicate with an adult. We've seen too much, felt too much, hate and fear too much. But these nasty little worms ruined it for me.

Or perhaps it's the parents. They really are the ones to blame: negligent, permissive and enabling. They don't watch their children, don't discipline them, don't care enough to do it, though I would hope that they love them. It's a bad world out there -- always has been harsh and punishing, in every age I've seen. Why don't people do what's best for their kids? Selfishness? They ought to be ashamed of themselves.

On a lighter note, my dreams have gone from reliving the past to complete and utter oddity. Either way, it's a kind of horror.

What a couple of days this has been....