Other People's Kids

You know what sucks? Taking care of friends' kids. Not because there are more kids to look after, but because you realize that your friends are doing a damned sight better than you at raising their kids. Yesterday, I picked up two extra kids from school. W is 2 grades older than Ethan, and one is Sam's bromance, T. Their sister, V, is a toddler and stayed with grandma. So, the usual whine and cry of snack is delayed because all kids are chatting happily. There is no bicker and bitch about the day at school. We drive home as I outline the plan for the afternoon: homework, play, dinner, tee ball for S. No complaints. Everyone piles into the house smelling of summer and boystink. S has a meltdown. Probably because he's hungry, but he should always be hungry, so that's really not an explanation. He sits on the stairs cursing my name, parenting techniques and questioning my intelligence. E does his homework as though he's a space cadet, and trying desperately to impress W, his senior and therefore guardian of all coolness. W finishes his homework and cracks a book silently. T watches and asks him questions periodically about Harry Potter. Does W snap and call his brother stupid? Does T physically pester, poke and annoy his brother? No. They have normal, adult verbal exchanges. I look on, mystified. When homework is done, everyone boogies upstairs to play Lego. Like Lego is what the world is missing to create world peace. They are up there, giggling and playing, and actually complimenting each other and admiring one another's workmanship. I can hear mine squabbling. S slips into his uniform without complaint and we all head off to dinner. The OTHER boys both agree on where to eat. Mine bicker. We go with majority rules, and grab burgers and fries. W is very responsible about taking care of some stitches (for a previous injury that I had nothing to do with, thank you!). He swallows medicine, gargles with nasty peroxide and complains NONE. The salty fries, however, irritate his injury, and I offer to stop and get some Advil. This is the response (Brace yourself, as these are words not normally appropriate for a child): "No, that's ok. I'll be fine. I don't want you to go out of your way or spend extra money on me." Just for that, we're stopping. At the tee ball park, the three non-participants play catch with one another nicely in the shadows. No bickering, no drama. They even come over and watch the final inning of S's game without mentioning how boring it is OR how S was the final out of the game. "Good job. Nice game, S." Did E offer S words of praise? Nope. Hell is still toasty. Everyone came home, and W and T went off to bed and shower without a single complaint, even though I know that I sent them to bed earlier and with night time baths which isn't how they do it at home. E and S accused each other of flooding the bathroom, using all the soap and going into one another's rooms without permission. To top it all off, I go up for lights out and W is all snuggled in reading his Bible. "Can I just finish this paragraph?" Of course. I don't need another reason to be struck by lightning in the middle of the night.