Summer's Over Dammit!

Yet another rant about the attack of OPK.

Yesterday, it was just annoying...today it is outright insane.

I got home from church to find My Sweetie beginning the Christmasifying of the house. And three little girls. Luckily (for them) the girls were not fighting, as they usually are. But then, they realized I was home, and demanded lunch.

I chose the menu, and the Howler promptly took issue with it. She actually stood in the basement arguing her case--to the dead spiders. I walked away fairly early, and yet, there she stood, still arguing. (no comments from the peanut gallery, please)

After they ate, they left. Thank you God! Outside. They're out there--and I can't hear them. Fighting and trouble I can hear through closed windows. Yippee! There's silence in the neighborhood!

Turns out Damien is out there with 'em, and he's learning to avoid me. Unless he's totally certain the Howler is 100% wrong. Of course, this means that he's on my porch, wailing that she *stole* his purple rock.

My first response is "WHY do you have a ROCK?" Seriously? None of these children have ever been allowed to gather, move about, throw, or otherwise have contact with rocks. And every time they do, they get busted. As adults, we're usually glad when the kids are busted, because if they aren't, something sure as hell will be. Like a window. That doesn't belong to me, but My Sweetie ends up fixing anyway. And Damien-the-Window-Killer's mama doesn't even thank him for fixing.

I spent most of the month of July on my porch, very loudly proclaiming how Damien's Mama needs to step outside her house and actually deal with her kid...and that if her parents are watching him, they need to sober up and do the same.

Today's idiocy also involved children in the garage. Which they're not allowed to do. And the Howler's leading the "hiding" there anyway. And I now have possession of the rock in question.

Damien, still yowling, wants his rock back. And I'm not giving it to him--he's NEVER had a rock in his hand that he didn't throw--again, I'm talking about the windows. Although sometimes, he's lobbing them at people, or vehicles. Regardless, he ain't gittin' his rock back.

Turns out, Grandma Barstool is at the corner of my house, shrieking that she wants the rock and that this is a lot of "bullshit" over a rock. She's wrapped in a blanket, and I'm guessing she isn't wearing much more than her pj's under that blanket. I gave Damien the rock, and watched that he gave it to his grandmother.

Although, now that I've written this entire thing out, letting him have a small rock is better than him running around the neighborhood with the knife his dad gave him (and the so-called adults in that house never bothered to frisk him for.)