bus stop hooligans

Oh, the sweet sounds of children after the first big snow of winter!

"Look at the snowballs I can make!"

"Let's follow the tracks!  They're amazing!"

"I'm making snow angels!"

"It's like skating in my boots!"

"I was trying to build a fort but then the gay bus came and ruined it!  That f#@*ing bus always ruins everything!  G#dd#*n bus!"

The dreaded bus stop.  The girl with crossed arms is the only non-hooligan.

Oh from the mouths of babes!  That last little gem issued forth from the cherubic face of an eight-year-old at the Dictator's bus stop.  And did I mention that the snow angels and the skating were occurring in the middle of the icy street?

I wish I could say that this was unusual, that these were generally sweet little children who happened to be seized by a momentary seasonal fervor and, say, Turrets.  But alas, we are beset by bus stop hooligans and no efforts of mine seems to be able to thwart their insanity.

Now, unlike the Dictator, or even the Bureaucrat, I lack the ability to be truly assertive, even amongst the tinier set.  But as the only adult present, I've had to try (and, I think, fail).  For example, I don't say anything when the 3rd grader, the 4th grader and the tag-along 1st and 2nd graders--all orphans, apparently--play tackle tag in the neighbors' yards, shrieking maniacally all the while.  The neighbors can do that, should they feel so compelled.  Nor do I say a word when they cross the street to "play with" another neighbor's dog through the fence.  But when one 2nd grader goes after another one with a tree branch, I feel it necessary to step in.  And they look at me like I'm the first adult that's ever told them that it might not be a fantastic idea to go all Lord of the Flies on each other.  And when I told my own little darlings that they weren't allowed to follow the hooligans into the street for a game of "Throw Yourself Face First into a Puddle of Water in the Midst of Oncoming Traffic," I was bestowed the (mumbled) title of "B#tch" by a smug 3rd grader-going-on-sixteen-year-old. 

The Anarchist weeps at the bus stop, as even she realizes that the world is going to hell in a handbasket.

Maybe we live in a particularly rough neighborhood.  It seems, from my inquiries into the matter, that at other bus stops on the fancier side of town, where children are blessed with such luxuries as parents, things are different.  Adults don't let six-year-olds run amok, out of sight, out of mind.  But we don't live in such ostentatious places. We live in a place where, as of right now, I am the only parent willing to show my face in elementary school society.  And show it I will, right up until the time they graduate (okay, maybe not...I don't want to breed social outcasts).



The fact of the matter is--and this may be elitist, but so be it--I don't want them picking up the habits/and attitudes of their uncivilized (and often mean-spirited) peers.  The Dictator is already learning a slew of new vocabulary (none of which will be appearing on spelling tests any time in the future).  And while the Anarchist delights in the anarchy, I think that her tendency to run blindly into the street might be something that calls for constant adult supervision.  So I'll be the (apparently, only) protective mom.  And I'll try to be okay with it.  Or maybe I'll just home school instead.  After all, if they learn any obscenity, I want it to be from me.

The Dictator emerges from the bus unscathed...for now.

just my type

Every now and then, I find it amusing to indulge in a little personality typing.  I hadn't run my family through the Myers-Briggs in a while, so I thought I'd take the personality test for them and see what the results were:

This is how a bureaucrat dances

The Bureaucrat: ESTJ (supervisor)

So, my husband is the complete opposite of me.  We create balance for each other, I guess. He likes order, orthodoxy, rules, responsibility, and all other sorts of bureaucrat-y type things.  Not surprisingly, several sites listed a whole lotta presidents as ESTJs, including George Washington and Dub-ya.  Also present in this clan of bureaucrats: Judge Judy, Sandra Day O'Connor, the Reverend Billy Graham, and Dan Rather (I do so like the way that young man reads the news).

The Dictator strikes a world domination pose.

The Dictator: INTJ (mastermind)

Oh, Dictator, you are such a dictator!  Gifted, opportunistic, perfectionistic and impassive.  Guess who's on the list of fellow INTJs?  Donald Rumsfeld (world domination, anyone?), Rudy Giuliani, Hillary Clinton, Jane Austen's Mr. Darcy, Jane Austen herself, a whole slew of presidents, and last, but certainly not least, Hannibal Lecter (as in, I'm going to eat you with fava beans and a nice Chianti).  Fantastic!

Our little party girl.

The Anarchist: ESFP (performer)

The Anarchist is our social party girl who loves to talk.  How very ESFP of her!  She shares this type with Bob Hope, Arsenio Hall, my own personal childhood hero Mary Lou Retton, Kathy Lee Gifford, and best of all, Tim the Toolman Taylor.  Note the lack of presidents.

She would totally eat your face, given the opportunity.

The Fat Assassin: INTJ (mastermind)

I'm fairly certain our family pet shares a personality type with my eldest daughter...and Hannibal Lecter.

See how much I look like a squishy alien?

and Me:  INFP (healer)

Of course, I get the childlike, fluffy, squishy personality type.  I would be disgusted with myself, but at least I get some hardcore ethical perfectionism thrown into the mix, just to give me a little personality street cred.  And I'm in good company: Homer, Virgil, the Virgin Mary, Annie Dillard (personal adulthood hero), Shakespeare, a couple of prominent saints, and E.T....yeah, the extraterrestrial.  Sounds about right.



And I'm infinitely curious about everyone else in the universe, too.  If you know your type, leave it in the comments...just for fun.

Santa Baby...

I think I've mentioned before that the Morton children are not known for their austerity.  Maybe I've also mentioned that us Morton's aren't exactly rolling around in piles of cash right now.  So Christmas, in all its commercial glory, has become a particularly interesting time for us.  Trying to curb the greed of the Dictator and the manic excitement of the Anarchist is a formidable task.  And while I'm tackling things on the moral/theological front, we still have quite a way to go in turning our crazy tiny people into thoughtful, compassionate human beings who create manageable Christmas lists.

Step One: Limit Christmas Lists to 10 Items per Kiddo

The Anarchist did a remarkable job keeping her list neatly pared down to 10 items.  But then she kept changing it.  It turns out she's three-years-old and an anarchist, and therefore has little to no understanding of limitations.

The Dictator, on the other hand, attempted many sly tactics to increase her list's yield: clumping two or three similar items together, asking for expensive gift sets (only $60 for 5 Princesses!), and insisting that while it may be reasonable for Mom and Dad to ask for a pared down list, Santa is a man of unlimited resources, and will therefore be willing to dole out plentiful gifts without restriction.

The Anarchist and the Dictator, victorious after Santa Visit

Great.  So that didn't work.  Especially when I mentioned to the Dictator that she might not get everything on her list.  There were two hours of hysterical weeping.  You would have thought the Chuggington character she was in danger of not receiving was a beloved relative breathing his last breath.  On the other hand, I did overhear her say to the Anarchist, "Now, Anarchist, you have to remember that won't get everything on your list.  Not all of it, Anarchist.  So don't be disappointed.  Because you won't get everything..." (Hooray!  She understands!), "But I will get everything on my list, Anarchist, because I have a good list."  (Never mind).

Step 2: Avoid the Overly Commercial Aspects of the Holiday

I think I failed this step utterly when I took them to the mall to see Santa yesterday.  Or maybe it was when we walked through the toy section of Target last week and they begged incessantly for things and I told them to ask for them for Christmas. Or maybe it was when I bought them adorable Christmas-themed dresses to wear to school.  Or possibly it was when the Dictator absconded with all of the toy ads from the stack of mail on the coffee table and used them to make collages of all the things she "needed."  Oh boy. 

Step 3: Cultivate Compassion

I took the opportunity to explain that not every kid has lots of toys and food when the Dictator came home with a Toys for Tots flier in her backpack.  The thing I forget is that the Dictator most likely believes that the "Tots'" lack of toys will simply be greater incentive for them to pull themselves up by their tiny bootstraps.  At least, that is what I deduced from the strange look she gave me when I mentioned "homelessness."

The Dictator recounts her extensive Christmas list

Step 4:  Teach Financial Responsibility

Maybe if the Dictator and the Anarchist understand the concept of budgeting, they will understand the dangers of greed, frivolous spending and debt.  When the Anarchist asks me for a piece of Christmas tchotchke while shopping, I quickly explain to her that Mommy didn't have any extra money to pay for the piece of useless plastic.  "But don't you have MONEY?!"  she asks, confused.  "Mommy has credit card debt, Sweetie.  Mommy doesn't have any money," I respond.  "Oh, okay!  You can pay with CREDIT CARD DEBT!  THAT would be okay!  You can buy these with some CREDIT CARD DEBT!" she shouts to the entire store.

The Anarchist at the mall, learning to be a responsible consumer...or something like that.

Take two.  As I'm getting ready to run errands, the Anarchist asks to get a toy car while we're at the store.  I tell her "no" because we have no money.  Two minutes later, I hear her heaving herself down the stairs, lugging the giant bucket in which the Dictator stores (stingily) her pennies.  "What are you doing with the Dictator's bucket?!" I demand.  "See, Mommy.  I got you some money.  NOW you can buy me a car!" she exclaims proudly.

Step 5: Give up in Defeat

Maybe reason and compassion aren't concepts upon which I should be expecting kids under the age of five to have an excellent grasp.  Maybe there's still time to teach about poverty, financial responsibility, fair trade, commercialism and the like.  At least, that's what I'm going to tell myself as I watch the Dictator rock herself in a fetal position as she tries to cope with the grief of getting only 9 of the 10 (AKA 18 of the 20) things on her Christmas list.  Because they look so cute when they're giddy with anticipation, and I think maybe there's a fighting chance they won't be total spoiled brats.  I, on the other hand, have a list a mile long.  So if anyone's looking for ways to express their generosity to me this holiday season, let me know...I'll email you my list.  And I promise to only cry a little if I don't get everything on it.

The Dictator and the Anarchist bid Santa Claus farewell, and salivate over their anticipated stacks of toys.