Ahhhhhh, Monday!

Yep, that's what I indeed said! John is at work, Evan is at school, and the only sound in this house is the hum of the a/c and the occasional clack of the keyboard. I walked past the pool to take Evan to the bus stop this morning, and the glass-like surface of the still water in the pool seemed to beckon to me. I'll get that part of my day squeezed in shortly. For right now, I am dreading it. I thunked myself down in front of the computer, and my house is freezing. Even my big, comfy, worn OSU hoody (which as seen me through several football seasons thus far) is not cutting through the chill in the air. Must...turn down...a/c. My house feels like an ice cave at the moment.

Ok--Turned off the a/c. I now am wrapped in a blanket as well.

So what is there to talk about? Well, the neighborhood parents piss me off to no avail. My son is going to be 7 in about 2 weeks. He is old enough that I no longer have to hover over him like a toddler. But he is still young enough that I would not dream of allowing him outside without supervision. This is the case for playtime, or any other time for that matter. I wake up and after helping him get ready for school, we walk to the bus stop together. He is supervised, and lately, this is the only time I am alone with him. He is not to the stage where he is embarrassed by his parents yet, so he puts is small, warm hand in mine and we walk together. Of course we are the first ones to the bus stop, and I get to listen to him talk about whatever pops into his head. It is not always convenient. Lately, around here, mornings are starting to have a sort of crispness about them. But I could not dream of not doing this with him.

Well, this morning, Evan and I are waiting for the bus, and we start to see other kids wandering toward the bus stop. This is what gets me: very small children, younger than my son, walking to the bus stop alone. We live in a U-shaped complex, so the bus stops at the entrance to the complex, and we are expected to meet it there. It can be quite a walk, unless you live right by the entrance. So wtf? There is no way these parents can see their children from their homes. Do they not care?

So of course, one of the kids decides to misbehave. He takes his mud-coated shoe and stomps on Evan's immacualtely white Jordans. I wanted to yell. Badly. Those shoes were pretty expensive as far as kids' shoes go. And I work hard to be able to give my son nice things. I bit my tongue, but was secretly cursing the parents of this little boy for not supervising their child. (And also for bringing the little monster into the world.)