Clean Your Kid
I have three examples from the same set of parents. They have a 7-year-old who is not potty trained. Not “still wets the bed,” or “has the occasional accident when frightened or excited.” Nearly every time we get together with this family, this child has dirty pants which are very noticeably smelly, and does nothing about it, even when prompted.
When this kid had just turned 7 years old, the family was at our house, and the dad comes out to our living room to tell the mom that the kid, “smells a little poopy and maybe she should do something about it.” The mom replies, “Ooooh, I didn’t bring anything.” But we were ready this time. The bathroom accident might have caught her by surprise, but not us.
We have noticed how often this child poops himself, and we had everything she needed to clean him up; two new, unopened containers of wipes along with powder and a change of undergarments. Even after we provided the parents with this, the mom needed some arm-twisting to change her son. They did nothing at all to address this issue, even after they were reported to CPS by a nurse.
They are only now beginning to address it because his school will not accept him back for classes until he is trained. Part of their failure to deal with the problem is likely denial, and I understand that admitting that something may be amiss with your child is terrifying, but this feels akin to negligence on their part.
During a visit to the home of this family, while the mom was still at work, I was left to watch the kid when the dad decided to quickly run an errand. The kid, aged 6 at the time, insists on standing in the middle of the road to watch for the return of his mom’s car, and screamed when I bodily picked him up around the waist and carried him out of the road.
When the mom returned, he described the situation as just about any 6-year-old would, “Mommy, Thoreau isn’t the boss of me!” His mom’s reply? “You’re right.” Not, “It doesn’t matter if Thoreau is the boss or not, you know you’re not allowed in the road.” Not “Thoreau isn’t mommy or daddy, but we put Thoreau in charge while we were away.” Nothing. Just, “You’re right. Thoreau’s not the boss.” The mind reels.
The kid had been slaughtering Japanese beetles all morning, screaming, “Jap-oh-NEESE beetle!” every time he spots one. When he spots one on my shoulder, he screams out his beetle warcry and physically climbs up my body to squish the bug into the cloth of my shirt. I tell him, in an authoritarian voice, “Get down! You don’t climb people like trees. Come on, now.”
The dad pulls the kid aside and, in a tone of wheedling condescension, says, “Thoreau is a ‘liberal environmentalist,’ and doesn’t want you to kill any bugs because Thoreau wants to take the bug home and hug it and squeeze it and call it George.” As though the only reason I would mind a screaming 40-pound child who reeks of poop clambering up my person would be a namby-pamby unwillingness to let the kid kill a garden pest.
And that this namby-pamby attitude was worthy of being ridiculed. I wouldn’t have let a screaming child who was stewing in his own poop climb all over me if his intent in the end was to give me a waffle cone overflowing with my favorite flavor ice cream. The dad either did not notice or was completely unwilling to acknowledge that his son’s behavior was completely unacceptable.
This couple’s long-standing pattern of cluelessness? Complete lack of regard for others, such as those who have to clean up chairs and floors after a poopy child has been through? It just burns me.