"J-E-N-N-Y Is A B-I-T-C-H."

That's what I told Ella as we all sat down for dinner.

"Chag! She's just a little girl!"

"So? Children can be jerks just as easily as adults."

My wife knows this kid is a snot-nosed punk. But she's not around this little girl as much as I am, so her hatred for this kid is not as strong as mine.

Jenny is in kindergarten and lives two houses down from us. When we first moved into the neighborhood a few years ago, Zoey and Jenny were friends. But then two sisters moved into the neighborhood.

And Zoey became the outcast.

Zoey was deemed "a baby" by all three girls (despite the fact that the younger sister was only four months older than Zoey). When Zoey approached the girls, they would run away, shrieking as if she were a monster. Or they would hide from her and make fun of her. I would tell Zoey, "That's ok, honey. We'll find some nice friends for you to play with. Let's go see if Elmo is home."

But three months ago, the sisters moved away. And guess who suddenly wants to be friends with Zoey again? Since Zoey's only three, she hasn't learned the fine art of holding a grudge.

But I have.

Zoey, Zed, and I were playing basketball in our front yard yesterday afternoon (actually, Zed was just chillin' in the stroller). Jenny saw us playing and came skipping over, acting like she was doing Zoey a favor by playing with her. Please.

Look, every time this kid comes over, she's constantly comparing herself to Zoey, telling Zoey how taller or older or smarter or stronger or prettier or [fill in the blank] she is than Zoey. And I'm sick of hearing it.

Jenny asked if she could come in our house. I told her, "No."

Jenny asked if she could go in our backyard. I told her, "No."

Jenny asked if I would give her a drink. I told her, "No."

Jenny asked if Zoey could come to her house. I told her, "No."

Finally, Zoey was showing Jenny the flowers she had picked for Ella. Jenny asked, "Can I have them?" Zoey replied, "No. They're for my Mommy." Jenny said, "Well, if you don't give me any flowers, I'm going home."

"You know what, Jenny? That's not too bad of an idea. Why don't you go home?" I told her. And off she went. Thank God.

When we went inside, Zoey came up to me and said, "Jenny's mean."

We're making progress!

Clearing Out The Garbage In My Head On A Saturday Morning

They Say You Gotta Crawl Before You Can Walk

Zed turns ten months old soon and still isn't crawling. I'm concerned. Isn't the second child supposed to do things earlier, not later, than the first child?

But it's not too surprising he can't crawl given he has always h-a-t-e-d being placed on his stomach (yet he sleeps on his stomach!). Most of the time he wails if you put him on his stomach. He will sometimes scoot backwards, but as far as crawling? Nada. I've tried placing things just out of reach, and he stretches those little arms as far as they can go, but if he can't reach it with his hands, he's not going to crawl after it.

He does move around on his butt in a sitting position. You don't actually see it happen, but after about five minutes, you think, "Hey, we were on the other side of the room a few minutes ago. How'd he get over here?" Perhaps he has tiny millipede legs or cilia that I cannot see, which he retracts and protracts as necessary.

Luckily, he has his nine-month checkup on Friday (because his Daddy was too slack to make his appointment on time).

Just Slap A Quarantine Sign On The Front Door

Zed's sick now. Luckily, all he has is a fever and a sometimes runny, sometimes stuffy nose (depending on his mood and what goes with his outfit). It seems like someone in this house has been sick for the last thirty-seven days. It's going to be a long winter.

The Epitome Of Slack

Remember how I told you we put our tree together Monday evening? So far, we've strung the lights. No ornaments yet. Pitiful.

I Asked My Mother, "What Will I Be?"

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about my kids' futures. Zoey wants to be a teacher, a doctor, or a princess when she grows up. When people see Zed, most exclaim, "Wow, he's going to be a football player when he grows up!" I realize that's just a nice way of saying, "That kid's huge! What are you feeding him?" Personally, I think he should strive to be a DH. More money, longer career, and less chance of serious injury.

All kidding aside, I sometimes wonder if we're pushing Zoey into the creative arts. I'm worried we might be cramming it down her throat. Ella is an artist and I used to be a musician. We have crayons, magic markers, paper, an easel, and several musical instruments in various rooms around the house for Zoey to play with. And she loves them; she's constantly drawing or playing her harmonica or guitar. But I sometimes wonder "Does she love them because she loves them?" or "Does she love them because that's mostly what she's exposed to?" We do have toys for her to play with, but she always seems to come back to the drawing/music.

Or do I just need to chill out and realize that most kids love drawing and music?

And Speaking Of Princesses

I forgot to tell you guys about the Disney On Ice Princess Classics show Zoey attended a few weeks ago. Here's a brief recap:

2 Tickets: $48.00
Parking: $10.00
Souvenir Magic Wand: $16.00
Slushee W/ Souvenir Cup: $10.00
Not Having To See Princesses Or Ice Skating Because You Have A Nine-Month-Old Son Who Would Never Sit Through Such An Event: Priceless

But I was told Zoey loved every minute of the show.

A Little Something To Get You In The Holiday Spirit

Dutch, one of the funniest, hippest, and most intellectual writers out there, alerted his readers on Blogging Baby to one of the greatest collections of holiday photos anywhere: The Scared Of Santa Gallery, which are pictures of various children screaming, crying, and terrified of Santa Claus. Enjoy!

Does Wanting To Murder Someone Else's Kid Make You A Bad Person?

Last night, I was driving up the street to pick up a pizza for dinner. I got to the top of the street and there was a twelve-year-old boy lying on the side of the street, motionless. I stopped the car and just as I was opening the car door, the little jerk jumped up and yelled, "Ha! Ha! Fooled you!" I just muttered something obscene to myself and kept driving. But then I thought, "No, I need to go talk to the little brat and tell him it's not a good idea to be doing that sort of thing." You know, the whole Boy Who Cried Wolf story. So I stopped the car and started backing up. He saw me and ran off into the woods. Punk.

Next time, I'm running over him.

GHS: 0 (at least from my kids, the kid up the street probably gave me 6 or so)

One Man's Trash... Is Still Trash

When I'm home alone with the kids during the day, I freak out when the doorbell rings. Why? Because I know it's one of two types of people:

• Someone trying to sell me something. It's doesn't matter what you're selling, I'm not going to buy it, whether it be cleaning supplies, vinyl siding, or the ever popular "Please buy magazine subscriptions from me so I can better my life and earn points toward a free vacation to Cancun." Yeah, my life would be better too with a free trip to Cancun. Now go peddle your Better Homes and Gardens somewhere else, buddy.
• A neighbor wanting to chat or something. Don't get me wrong; I like most of my neighbors. It's just that they have a tendency to drop by late in the afternoon when Zed is at his crankiest and Hurricane Zoey has been blowing through the house all day destroying the place. Plus, as a recovering misanthrope, I'm still learning the fine art of small talk. I'm not one to talk about the weather. Actually, if it weren't for the topics of sports and kids, I probably wouldn't be able to converse with them at all.
  

Today I got the best of both worlds. Around 4:00 PM the doorbell rang. I opened the door and two little girls from the neighborhood were standing on my doormat. Since these girls do not like Zoey and won't let her join their reindeer games, I knew immediately they were selling something.

School had started today and we all know how schools love to send little ones out door-to-door hawking trinkets so that they can attend a "pizza party" or some such nonsense. In fact, last year Zoey's preschool sent home discount books for area restaurants on the first week of school for the children to sell. Zoey was two! Was she really expected to go door-to-door trying to get $25 from the neighbors? Maybe this year they can make all the kids work in a benefit carwash. Or just forego the niceties and open a sweatshop.

So the girls lifted up a bucket and asked me, "Would you like to buy some shells?" You see, they had a bucket full of seashells and were going door-to-door asking people if they wanted to buy some. Mind you, these weren't even cool shells; just the flotsam and jetsam that causes you to scream out in pain when you're trying to get from the ocean to your towel. I replied, "No thanks. We have enough shells." I give 'em an A for their entrepreneurial ambitions, though. They wanted me to pay them for the junk they found at the beach.

And speaking of paying for junk...

We had a yard sale this past weekend. You have to love the whole concept behind a yard sale: "We don't want this crap anymore. Instead of putting it out to the curb for the garbage man, we'll put it in our front yard and charge people to take it. Brilliant!"

Zoey set up a lemonade stand during our yard sale. At first, she was extremely timid. When our first customer came, Ella told Zoey to go up to him and ask him if he wanted any lemonade. Zoey stood behind Ella the whole time, hiding behind her legs, not saying a word. But by the time the fourth or fifth customer came rolling in, she could be found bellowing, "DOES ANYBODY WANT SOME LEMONADE?"

The kid wanted to make some cash. Maybe she could've sold those discount books after all.