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The kids went with me to the Dr. today and since waiting is not their forte, I offered them a special treat for good behavior. I don’t care what anyone says, bribery is an excellent parenting technique.

They were good. The office is still standing, no one was injured, and as far as I know, I wasn’t even THAT mom. So they got their special treat: lunch at McDonalds. Mmmmm, junk food. Plus: It had a play place.
We picked up a couple of happy meals (with apples, that makes it healthy), pushed through the double air lock doors (to make sure that the kids behavior doesn’t ruin that special McDonalds ambiance for the other patrons) and sat down in the designated area.

J and K eyeballed the hamster tubes above our heads while they ate. As soon as they were approved for play time they leaped; and in one graceful arc, took their shoes off, tossed them in the shoe holder, and landed softly at the top of the slide.

K met a little girl to play with almost immediately. Her name was Olive, (Christ on a pogo stick, why not just skip the middle man and name her “dateless on prom night”) and she was sixteen days older than K, but half a toddler head taller. She was rude, and after 15 minutes or so, I caught her shoving my kid. We went to see Olives Daddy.

Apparently, Olive has two-hundred and sixty brothers, all of whom are more ill-behaved and in need of more attention than Olive. I looked up, and indeed, they were all up in the tubes, busily influencing my son. I wondered how they fit all those monstrous little fucks in the trailer.
I promised my kids time in the play place, but it was obviously time to go. K was ready, she’d had enough bullying for one two-year-old, but J was having a wonderful time up in the hamster tubes with kids who may or may not have spent time in juvie.

I had to call him, and he had to come down of his own volition, with two-hundred and sixty little voices quietly reminding him that I’m too big to climb up there after him.

Miracle of miracles, he came when called.He came down, and even commented that some of those kids needed a time out. He’s such a good kid. I went over to the father of Olive and the boys, and asked him to please, should he come back with his two-hundred and sixty-one children, bring some help. Super Nanny, perhaps.

On the way out, we ran into Olive, and I said, quietly, that someday, probably when she was fifteen or so, she would have a wretched child just like her, and live the rest of her miserable life, dejected, in the same trailer she lives in now.
Or something like that.

Bully my kid, will you.

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