>The Little Destructor That Could
>It never takes three-year-old Ward very long to break something when he comes over to play.
The last time he was here, I sat with my lips pressed into a thin line as he triumphantly held up the remains of Punky’s ABC School Bus Book Set after ripping the “bus” that held the books right in two. I looked over at his mom, Shelley, and sighed, mentally tallying up his total breakage rate to $137.25. She shrugged, smiling broadly.
“You know how boys are!” she chortled. “Oops!“
When Ward’s not busting shit up, he’s trying to eat it.
Shelley couldn’t stop giggling one day back when I was still pregnant with Bruiser as Ward licked, sucked, and chewed apart the plastic ice cream cone from Punky’s grocery set, while I watched him incredulously and tried not to gag. “Just look at him,” Shelley said indulgently. “Wait’ll you have your boy, Lindsay! You’ll see! They’re totally different from girls!”
“They’re not that different,” my friend Dina murmured, staring pointedly at Ward and frowning. I looked at her gratefully, because if I had a son that was anything like Shelley’s, I would definitely be seeking out one of those doctors who freely dispenses drugs.
Besides, while Bruiser may short out my computer power cord and pour water on my Macbook, he’s my kid. I take responsibility for him. And if he’s breaking other people’s stuff, I swear I’ll at least pretend to be upset about it. Or at least get him the hell out of there and never come back.
In fact, if Shelley weren’t such an old friend, I would do more to try and put an end to little Ward’s wide swath of destruction- snatching him up by the scruff of his neck, perhaps, and dunking his head in the toilet. As it stands, I simply grit my teeth and count the seconds until it’s time for the tiny tyrant to go.
For me, Ward is the irritational equivalent of a 24-hour Rachel Ray channel, more so because I get strange pleasure out of maintaining the toys around here. Punky was never one to break stuff, and so once I discount everything Ward has managed to tear to shreds, each toy, picture book and puzzle she’s gotten over the years remains pretty much intact. For me, putting away toys is one of those cathartic kinds of chores; I get all kinds of mind numbing satisfaction from finding every last magnetic doll house piece, each of the 12 plastic Woodland Animals, both Soccer Barbie sneakers and all the pieces of the Ballerina Paper Doll Puzzle and putting everything neatly away.
And then Ward shows up and it all goes to hell. Frankly, Shelley herself is no better. The last time they came over, I made the mistake of giving her a cup of coffee and within seconds, she had dumped the entire thing on the playroom carpet. Of course, she dropped it only because she was laughing so hysterically over Ward’s comical fumble of his strawberry cupcake, which had landed icing-first eight feet away. Hilarious.
Funny how Shelley never invites me over to her house. If I ever manage to wrangle an invitation, I’ll be sure bring along my sledgehammer.
>Sounds like you need to have playdates with Ward and Shelley at the park.
>I say invite youself over! Her manners are already a little lax – she probably wouldn’t notice (or at least deserves it!). I say this from a place of karmic retribution, as I have been and still occasionally am the “messy, breaking” friend. I also forget my wallet when my friends and I go out to eat!
>This is so mean and I’m only half-serious. Go over to her house when Punky is sick and throwing up. When Punky throws up on her carpet or furniture say, “Oh you know how kids are when they get sick” and give a sad little smile. Pay back, pay back!
>That is soooooo not a “boys will be boys” situation. That is a disrpectful parent raising a disrespectful kid. My sister in law had the same problem with her niece, who you can imagine is not a boy… she used to come over and play with her cousins and break everything she could get her hands on. The play makeup got smeared all over the walls, the princess costumes ripped, you get the picture. All while her parents sat back and drank cocktails, not paying a lick of attention to their little steam roller. Respect. Consequences. They’re vital concepts all people need to learn, and it’s our job to teach them to our kids. Why is it so hard for people to figure that out!!!???
>If a mother won’t parent her child in a situation like that, I say to hell with manners and correct little Ward yourself.
>”You know how boys are.””Yes, yes I do,” Lindsay replied while absent-mindedly twirling her straw in her cup. Just hours before she had been performing the exact motion while mixing up a batch up “Porcine Punch”. This recipe, passed down from Circe, was the most effective man-to-pig potion known. When injested, it sent signals to the Y-chromosome that turned it into a P-chromosome, leaving the victim in a decidely piggy way, replete with snout, hoofs, and curly tail.Now she looked on as the little waddler, the toddler equivalent of a Japanese movie monster, made a bee-line for Punky’s “Civil Litigator Barbie” office set. As she had predicted, he took the little diploma off the wall and inserted the summa-cum-laude-embossed frame into his maw.Only she noticed the sheen on the frame, the only evidence that it had been liberally coated with the day’s concoction.Later, as Shelley and Ward made ready to leave, with another playset successfully torn apart lying in ruins on the playroom floor, Lindsay remarked to Shelley, “My goodness, Ward is really filling out, isn’t he?”Shelley responded in her usual condescending way, “Oh, don’t worry. Bruiser will be plump like a little piggy someday too. That’s just how boys are.””Not this boy,” Lindsay said to herself after Shelley had removed the squealing Ward from her home. Putting the bottle of “Porcine Punch” into a safe cupboard she gave thanks once again that the Punch only worked on boys who were already little pigs in their hearts, and whose parent’s allowed them to turn any room they were in into a sty.
>The least she could do is offer to replace any damaged goods.You have some wonderful friends Lindsay.
>Uhm. A one year old does not quite understand the word “No.” but certainly a three year old can.Also, I’m sure her house is a complete pigsty which is why she never invites you over.I’m the same way with the toys as you. My husband totally doesn’t get it. He just throws the toys willy-nilly into the toy box. Shudder.
>Dump her ass.
>Backpacking Dad, this time you’ve outdone yourself.Also, let me say that I’m sure Bruiser will break a toy or two in his time. But there’s an unwritten code of mommy respect, in which we AT LEAST act horrified in front of our hostess, offer to replace the toy, etc. I think it’s the LAUGHTER that really gets me.
>I think we all have That Friend. Ours is an issue of a violent 2 year old who bites, tackles, smothers and otherwise brutalizes any kids who doesn’t fight back. His parents tell our kids to “Hit him hard.” Meanwhile, we are trying to teach our kids that they shouldn’t solve problems with hitting. My oldest did go over to him when he was smothering our baby and smacked him upside the head. (I was rushing over to stop him.) I asked her why she did that and she said, “Cause his mommy won’t.” I wish his mom would have gotten the message!
>You need to hook Ward up with the friend that dropped the sick kid at your house. They’d make a great pair.
>Seriously, why are you still friends with her?
>DAMN!!! He’s like that evil kid from Toy Story 2. I bet Shelley and Ward love that movie.
>First off…A: I’m like you when it comes to toys. All the videos my daughter had as a toddler still had perfectly intact cases…no tears, rips or crushed boxes. The inserts were all still there (including expired coupons!). Then came my boy…nothing is the same…but you’re right, he is MY son, and I do NOT let him destroy things at other folks’ homes. When he does, I offer to replace or pay for the damaged items. I’ve also learned to put up HIGH in the closet (read: requires a 4 foot stepladder, lol) the things I don’t want the “Dr. Destructo” kids who come here to destroy.b: Shelley wouldn’t be in my house anymore. If she can’t reciprocate, I’d say park dates, mall dates, and fast-food joints are fair game, but not the house.
>Not only is she being appallingly rude, but she is also teaching him that we don’t have to respect other people’s things or we don’t have to make amends when we mess up. If it were me, I’d be noting the make of toy and replacing it if it happened before I could stop it. Then again, not only did my parents make me pay for things I broke out of my own allowance, and Pumpkinpie has been told that I will never replace a toy she breaks, it will simply be gone. So, you know, then there is every reason to be careful with things, even if not out of respect.
>First of all – love the new pic of you! You georgous thing!And, boys do not naturally act like pains in the ass. Hello Shelley, welcome to being a PARENT, try being one. Geez.I wouldn’t want to go to her house. Sounds like it would be filthy. LOL
>Before I had kids of my own, I was at a brunch at my friend J’s house. There was a large communal bowl of sliced watermelon sitting on the low coffee table. This other woman, D, who has never been my favorite, has a daughter who was about 3 at the time, and who had been playing outside in the dirt, and who ran up to the watermelon, stuck both grubby hands in the bowl, squished some fruit for the fun of watching the juice squirt, and ran off, leaving behind not only a large bowl of inedible food, but also watermelon juice on the coffee table and carpet. I’m sure I probably did little to disguise my horror, and D told me that that was how she knew I wasn’t ready to be a mother, because if I was a mom I’d understand that’s just how kids are. She went on to have a son about the same age as my first daughter, and I always remember that comment, years later now, when my daughter is so much more together than her son! ; )
>Oh, I have a friend like that too. Except she usually calls at the very LAST second possible when she’s on my street to see if she can LEAVE her little destructo girl here while she goes to work because she JUST FORGOT she didn’t have a sitter that day…and by the way camp doesn’t start for a week. EVERY. SINGLE. TOY. OUT. OF. ITS. BOX. And then she wants to eat EVERYTHING because her mom packs her wheat grass sandwiches and water or something suitably ridiculous. Little girl goes wild here with all the toys and the food. It drives me crazy.AND…when she goes to the beach she leaves her little girl to her own devices and thinks its adorable that her daughter makes friends so easily that she hangs out at other family’s blankets. Um, I can’t stand kids who hang around my beach blanket all day!Sorry, but that felt good to vent about my own friend.
>Some friend you got there, Lindsay. I wonder how long she’ll excuse his out-of-control behavior with a flippant “oh, you know how boys are!”.
>That Rachel Ray analogy is golden. Suddenly I’m really really annoyed by the kid.
>By the way, my husband came up behind me yesterday when I was reading your blog and asked if the picture of you was Anne Hathaway! Be flattered, I think she’s beautiful!
>Yes, you either need to head to the playground or her house. It’s only fair! The laughter would totally get me, too!Now, I’m guessing that “Shelley” doesn’t read this, or is it that she just doesn’t care?
>I have a friend with a daughter kinda like that…and another friend with a remarkably similar son. My solution? If I want to see them, I meet them at Starbucks or a movie. Those hellions aren’t setting one little demonic foot in my house again. Of course, my friends don’t know the real reason. You’re a much more tolerant and calm friend than I am…good for you!
>My God–how good of a friend could she be if she doesn’t invite you over to her house? I guess this is why I wasn’t good at playgroups in the last town we lived in–I don’t put up with poor behavior from parents for very long. I haven’t had to deal with parents since we moved here and I am working FT outside of the home. I think I will be in for a rude awakening when we move to Nashville this summer and I go back on the playgroup circuit. Sigh.
>Yes, this sounds like my new “stalker” friend. she calls every Wednesday at 4:00 because her daughter is “bored and tearing the house apart”. I usually hear the kid screaming in the background. they want to come to my house (1874 Victorian that we have been working on for a year)with their damned dog and hang out for about three hours. Last time she called, wanted to come over, and wanted me to make pancakes for my two kids, her, her kid and presumably the damned dog. Ummmm… why? Our girls were in the same preschool class, so I was somewhat stuck with her. My big girl will be at a new school next year for several reasons, this family being one of them. The dad of the family has muscular dystrophy, so I know things are tough at home. I just don’t need this lady sitting at my door every other day. Sorry to hijack, but some people are so socially awkward and plain rude. I really have started trying to set up playdates at restaurants or parks for short durations.
>Oh Krystyn, this is one of those stories I’ve been saving and saving and saving until it no longer matters. 🙂 Know what I mean?
>Great. Now I can’t leave any more comments.Bye Lindsay!
>I hope that means that you’ve dumped this jerk like a hot potato. What a lousy “friend”.
>Yuck! That sucks. I think I would have to move playdates to the park or the yard with that kid. I also say – your house, your rules, your right to tell him to stop. If she doesn’t like it, she should have you to her house, where her rules go.
>Aaaah! How are you able to sit there while he destroys your (her) toys?!! I’m ashamed to say I would not be able to control myself — I’d snatch the toy away from the little darling.I’m the same way as you with toys. Everytime I tidy up the toy food bin I freak out a little bit because the other half of a “velcro corn on the cob” is missing. I know should just throw the other half away…. it’s been two years. But I still live in hope that some day the other half will turn up and I will again have a complete set of velcro vegetables.
>This is one of my parental pet peeves. Take responsibility for yourself and your kid, if not, play times will be few and far between. It isn’t going to happen in my house, but I am just mean like that.
>You have induced a childhood flashback, and it is not pretty. I am six years old and charged with entertaining my uber-destructive boy cousin, also six, whose mother (my flighty aunt)has left him in our care for the afternoon. I am watching in stupefied horror as destructo-boy tears pages out of my copy of There’s A Monster At The End of This Book, chortling with six-year-old triumph that he has, in fact, stopped the Monster from appearing. Alas, he is wrong, as he IS the monster. If only my flighty aunt would turn on her Mommy Radar and come fetch this awful beast from my home. If only MY mother would stop minding her “he’s not my child” boundaries and flog him.I thank you for the flashback. And I urge you to flog that child.
>I wonder if the laughter is ‘nervous’ laughter–that is, she IS embarassed, just doesn’t know how to deal with her son’s destructive side? Maybe the boy has some sort of undiagnosed behavior issue or something.
>I don’t know. Am I the only mother out there who has lots of puzzles missing pieces, broken toys, and books with torn pages filling up my playroom? I’ve got two boys, one who is five and one who just turned two. Both boys have broken and torn their fair share of things, and my two yo is deeply into coloring on walls and window sills. Neither of my children is (usually) intentionally destructive–but even when they do intend harm to the object, that destructive instinct is quite natural and a normal part of their childhood development. Think about them as little scientists: what would happen if I scribble this red crayon all over the wall? Hmmm, my mom is now screaming like a lunatic! Cause and effect, lesson learned. Like that little girl who stuck her dirty hands in the watermelon in order to feel its squishy, wetness–well, duh! That WOULD be a really cool tactile experience–adults tend to forget how curious and experimental a child can and should be. (Although, I hasten to add that I’d be horrified if my kid did that and would profusely apologize to the host.) Look, I reprimand my children for writing on walls and tearing book pages. It IS important to teach them respect for the things we own and, more importantly, what constitutes appropriate social behavior. And I would certainly intervene and apologize if either of them destroyed a friend’s toy. But shouldn’t we all remember that, at the end of the day, people are much more important than things? There is a way to kindly redirect a child who is doing something you don’t like, even when the child’s mother isn’t doing so. Just yesterday we had seven little toddlers running around our house for my younger son’s birthday. As I was talking to one mom I noticed her 18 month old running around with blackberry juice all over his hands. Did I want him to put his hands all over my couch? on the carpet? Hell, no. But instead of resenting his mother for not noticing what was going on, I just grabbed a wet washcloth and wiped his hands, all while continuing our conversation. I suppose I’m sensitive on this topic because I’ve lived on the other side of it for long enough to know the dangers. When we were living through the miserable experience of trying to sell our house in a bad market I had to keep the house neat and clean 24/7-this, with a preschooler and while I was pregnant with the second. I was obsessive about it, and somewhat superstitious (“If there isn’t a speck of dirt in the house, then we’ll sell it”). I remember one particular moment when my then 3yo spilled his cup of orange juice all over the freshly-washed kitchen floor and I completely lost it. After my 3yo stopped crying and I had apologized to him for my behavior, he quietly turned to me and said, mom? I’m more important than the floor. Well, this isn’t my blog, of course, so I’ll stop. But, c’mon people, lighten up. Life itself is like a big puzzle with lots of missing pieces. We might be creating the illusion of control if we make sure that each toy is put in its proper place and everything remains pristine–but it’s an illusion. We control very little, really.
>”But shouldn’t we all remember that, at the end of the day, people are much more important than things? “I disagree. Sometimes little people have a particular attachment to “things”. And grownup people have paid hard earned money on these “things”. We’re not just talking about toys. We’re talking about having respect for other people’s feelings.
>We have a small group from church that meets at our house each week. Although I don’t mind hosting, I do mind the toys getting broken. The kids spend their time downstairs in the playroom with a couple of sitters while the parents meet. Our little play kitchen has had all the doors ripped off, the knights in the castle are all dismembered, the rug is stained with spills from the kid’s snack time, the markers have to be regularly replaced because the caps are left off, and who knows what else has been broken. If the parents of the offending child find out about the destruction, they will apologize, but no one has ever offered to fix/replace the toys. It is frusterating and I haven’t come up with a solution yet.
>Daisy, once my playgroup was of a certain age, I just started putting toys I didn’t want to be broken into the closet. Punky’s dollhouse was a big one- Each week I’d put all the pieces into a big shopping bag and stuff it in the closet. Of course, now Bruiser has broken five or six pieces of dollhouse furniture on his own- but again, he’s MINE. 😀
>Shelly must be related to a college friend of mine. She has broken my very nice couch not once, but twice and has never offered to help with repairs. She also broke a camping chair on my deck once and was more concerned about her embarassment than my property. Someone called her out on it and she just rolled her eyes.I do tell her where to sit now and she knows that I will tell anyone and everyone that she broke the couch.
>THANK YOU! I have a huge issue with a Mama who won’t take responsiblity for her child’s actions.That being said, my perfect angel ripped a 2 foot section of wallpaper off my MIL’s wall. OOPS. I DID offer to repaper it, or paint it, and she was very understanding.Still, I felt like a dweeb because of my son.
>oh, just serve them both a nice big bowl of decon”granola”
>Children do tend to break things….and I think most parents understand that occasionally accidents happen. The little destructor seems to have a bit of a pattern going. And it is the RULE that if your little angel busts up a Barbie. You first apologize, and second offer to repair/replace. And while you are at it, teach the kid a lesson about breaking other kids things
>I have 2 nephews that are just like that. They tear it up and their mom laughs about it. It drives me crazy, but they are family, what can I do. I say meet at the playground.
>While it IS a lovely thing to dream of doing, don’t think of dunking Little Ward’s head in the toilet–but DO dream of dunking Shelley!! The ignorant bitch needs a perfectly chilled royal flush, even if only in your imagination. I applaud your restraint. I couldn’t possibly remain that civilized–much less QUIET.
>Does “Shelley” read your blog? You may not have to worry much anymore.
>I thought I was the only freak who liked to organize her kids’ toys!I’d rather my son leave his room while I clean up than make him do it himself. You know how men are.. they just find a big bucket and throw everything in it. Just let mommy do it so we can find all the pieces again mkay?
>i would tell this Shelley to take her little monster and go..like NoW. How much of a friend can she be if she never invites you over. She probably locks that kid in a bare room so as not to break any of her things.
>OH is that how she’s going to react when “little ward” gets his teenage girlfriend pregnant. Is that what she’s gonna say to the parents of this young girl “boys will be boys” she doesn’t know the first thing about being a parent or for that matter a considerate friend.