Ring-ring

It was my neighbor - the one just down the road with a son the same age as Craig. She asked if I had time to talk.

Uh-oh.

Craig was home, so I knew he was fine, but obviously she was bothered.

“I need to talk to you about how to handle something that’s been happening when Craig has been playing here lately.”

“Okay,” I said.

Jane is not the kind of person who overreacts. She has neighborhood kids at her house all the time. She’s welcoming and kind and sweet. She bakes them cookies and makes everybody sandwiches. She doesn’t harp on kids, and I’ve never seen her grumpy. And she isn’t a negative or critical person at all. So I knew this was a big deal.

“He’s a great kid, and has never been a problem until recently. But the last couple of times, he wrestles too hard with the little kids. And he said something mean to Lane.”

“Really?” This is unusual for Craig.

“Yes, the younger boys had been messing around with Lane’s sword and broke it. Lane was upset about it, and Craig just laughed it off, flippantly saying, ‘Who cares? Just get another one.’ Lane was so upset, I had to send Craig home.”

Whew. I know my kids aren’t perfect, but typically they keep their worst behavior for me. This was the first time I had been confronted by one of them getting “too comfortable” in someone else’s home.

“How would you feel about helping me do my job as a parent here?” I asked her.

“Sure. What should I do?”

“Craig is apparently oblivious to the fact he had anything to do with having to go home. He told me it was because Lane was naughty,” I said. “He’s gotten a little too comfortable at your home and isn’t thinking before acting. But he respects you a lot, and would listen to you far better than me.

“I would suggest that the next time he comes over, you pull him aside, far away from the other kids, and seriously explain to him your expectations. Tell him what happened last time, his role in it, and how it is not acceptable. And tell him he is not allowed to wrestle at all. He’s too big and doesn’t know his own strength. He’s generally clueless about all of this, but your conversation would change that.”

Deep breath. “I think I could do that,” she said.

“I feel badly about putting this back on you, but it would mean the most coming from you. I really want the relationship between the boys to work. And I want his relationship with you to work, which is why it might be better if I stay out of it.”

Craig went back to play and a little while later I received another phone call. She’d had the conversation and he took it very seriously. He was even a little teary. But the boundaries had been drawn. Kids need them so badly. I never said a word to Craig. Nor did he to me. And we’ll keep it that way. His relationship with Jane is in tact - even stronger now. And Jane and I have agreed to keep our lines of communication open about both our boys.

“Thank you for helping me parent my kids,” I told her, seriously. “Isn’t it easier when we help each other?”

I love this neighborhood.

Other torch-passers:
The Dishes Will Wait - My Gene Pool
Dreaming of What Ifs - Preparing Him For the Future

What does passing the torch mean to you? Is it teaching? Passing traditions? Or good news about youth? Join us each week for Pass the Torch Tuesday.Former PTT posts.

Holly, who is a regular Pass the Torch participant, gets my LOL award today, and also Pass the Pitchfork. Go read Lessons of Motherhood and you’ll see why.

And then, like me, you’ll say, “I could have totally written that.” Thanks for keeping it real, Holly;)

If you’ve read a post that speaks to you — one that recognizes the parental and childhood foibles we admit to, and recover from — please let me know. It just might be worthy of Pass the Pitchfork! (One of my personal Pass the Pitchforks is Mommy, Queen of Nags.)

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Pamela, author of one of my favorite blogs, The Dust Will Wait, suggested in comments that things are a little too squeaky clean around here.

She’s probably right, but that’s the point of this blog. I don’t believe I’m a naturally positive person. Although I give you tiny glimpses of my very weak and ugly flaws, Pass the Torch is mostly a tool to keep me focusing on the good stuff.

But this gives me an idea. During all my free time, I could start an alter-ego blog, called Pass the Pitchfork. Here I could discuss all the ways I screw up during the week. I could write multiple posts per day.

AND I could host a weekly meme to share the ways our alter-egos would like to wring the necks of our alter-ego rugrats. Robin, another outstanding blogger, could be our first spotlight, with Boys will be VILE

In the meantime, know that “squeaky clean” is not how I would describe this household. You just usually get to read mostly about the stuff I’m proud of.

If you’ve read a post that speaks to you — one that recognizes the parental and childhood foibles we all admit to, and recover from — please let me know. It just might be worthy of Pass the Pitchfork! (One of my personal Pass the Pitchforks is Mommy, Queen of Nags.)

Like this post? Subscribe to Pass The Torch