Preschool Pariahs

Let me start this with a disclaimer:

I like kids. Really. I do. I’ve been a camp counselor, volunteer, baby-sitter, coach… I could honestly keep going but the list gets long. I hope to have a couple little tots of my very own one day.

That said, I want to talk about my growing hatred for my neighbor’s children.

Dear supposedly responsible parents:

I understand that your husband (or wife, I’m not gender-biased here) probably has a job and you are stuck at home with your bundles of joy turned holy terrors all day long. I understand that they probably wake you at all hours of the night: “Mommy, my tummy hurts,” “Daddy, I want a drink of water,” “There’s a monster in my closet,” “There a noise under my bed.” I’m sorry for that too. I’m sure that you, through no fault of your own, are forced to awaken around seven or eight o’clock in the morning and deal with the little barbarians.

But let me explain something to you. While you tucked your little ones into bed at nine last night, stayed up one hour longer and then retired for the evening yourself, I was awake. I was studying. I was writing, reading, taking quizzes, tests... the point is I was being a good student. It's hard! And often lasts until the wee hours of the morning. So, by the time, I fall into bed at two or three, your sweethearts are going to be waking you up in about four hours.

I admire you for getting out of bed then. Really, I marvel at your strength. But when, at 8:30 in the morning, you let them out onto your patio for a little rest for yourself... guess what? Now they're my problem. Now, I'm the one shoving a pillow over my ears as her blood-curdling screams and his unholy cackles fill the air and make it into my upstairs bedroom. Seriously, what are they doing out there because these aren't any little shrieks of surprise?! I'm talking a full-on, "Mommy-Bobby-tripped-over-a-rusty-rake-it-went-into-his-tummy-and-now-there's-blood-everywhere" kind of terrified scream.

I'm reasonable. I understand that you need your breaks. But I need my sleep.

So, as a compromise, I suggest this:

Think about it.

Jenuinely yours,
Jen