The Demon Child, Future Criminal At Your Service

I’m hoping that Monday was just one of those days in my son’s life where he just completely lost his mind. Everybody has a few of those now and then, right? But did you ever just LOOK at a child and you could tell they had an evil streak in them a mile long? Jonathan, my eldest son, is like that. From day one you could tell he was going to be a little hellion on wheels – hence the nickname “Demon Child” – or maybe he’s just trying to live up to the nickname.


A Visit from Their Sister. They came home from school yesterday and they were all excited about the prospect of a visit from their beloved sister, April, who they just can’t seem to see enough of. It took a while for them to understand that she moved out and had her own apartment too and didn’t live with us any longer. They kept wanting to make room in the apartment for April to live. So a few minutes after they are home, April arrives with Mr. Wiggles and Blue-Blue (the names they gave these little bouncing faces she brought for them). They are bouncing off the walls and chattering like a bunch of magpies.

Then it begins: “Mom, can we PLEASE go outside for a little while?”

“It’s too cold. It’s like 39 degrees out there!”

“Please Mom? Please? Just for a little while?? I want to play football.”

Then the beloved daughter has to chime in and say she’ll play football with the Demon Child. Thanks. I’m already cranky because I’m out of cigarettes and do not feel like standing outside watching them throw a football back and forth and freeze my ass off.

I ask the Demon Child, “Do you have any homework?” “No Mom,” he replies.

“Are you positive you have none? No spelling homework either?” “Nope.”

I ended up outside watching them throw a football back and forth and freezing my ass off. So I decided crap, since I’m already out here, I can haul my fat butt over to the rental office (about 30 steps away) and get my code for the weight room (like I’m really going to USE it). So went and did that and came back, huffing and puffing, still pissed off because I’m out of cigarettes and freezing my ass off.

Then the bikes come out.

The Parking Lot Races. What is it about wide-open parking lots that attract little boys so much? Demon Child and Angel Child with Horns are zipping around the parking lot on their bikes, showing off for Beloved Daughter. Angel Child w/Horns forgets to watch where he’s going and takes a spill.

The howling was enough to bust eardrums and shatter glass. I ran over to him (expecting to see broken bones or blood spurting everywhere) to see if he was dying. He sounded like he was dying. There wasn’t a drop of blood anywhere. He took a sliver of skin off two fingers.

There was NO BLOOD.

Yet he SCREAMED bloody murder as though he had bones protruding at angles they are not supposed to protrude at. Beloved Daughter picks up the bike while I pick up the screaming Angel Child and now I am completely deaf in my right ear.

My mommy hormones kicked in and I attempted to soothe and calm him. When that failed, I told him to shut up and stop screaming like he was dying before I gave him something to scream about. Humph. That didn’t work either.

Got him in the house and cleaned out his horrific, massive, gaping wound and put some Neosporin on it and a band-aid and kissed his fingers to make them better. Well hell. That dried the tears and the screaming right up. Why didn’t I think of that first before I lost my hearing? Oh right, I was bitchy because I had no cigarettes and I was freezing my ass off.

Those two combined tend to make me a one-woman killing machine fit for combat duty. So back outside we go so they can show off on their bikes a little more. Beloved Daughter decides to take this opportunity to get the hell out of dodge before I explode. Hugs and Kisses go around with promises to see us next week (yeah right) and off she drives in her sporty little blue Neon. I covet that car. One day I’ll have my own….one day.

Future Criminal Tendencies?

The Demon Child is weaving in and out between the parked cars. There are two girls outside, much older than him, but both cute. I know without a doubt he’s trying to impress them. He’s zipping around the parking lot going fast and weaving in and out between the parked cars. I tell him to knock it off before he hits a car. Turn my attention to the little Angel Child w/Horns and see he’s all smiles again. Good. Nothing like happy children. This goes on for about another 15 minutes and I tell the Demon Child to get the hell away from the cars for the umpteenth time.

He is sitting in front of the apartment building down from us watching one of the girls as they went into their apartment. She comes out a few moments later with her mother in tow. The mother goes to the rental office and comes back with the property manager who says that she needs to speak to me. Oh god. What have my children done? Apparently when I was tending to the Angel Child in the house and going deaf, the Demon Child was looking in the girls’ mom’s car and saw something he liked and told the girls that he was “going to smash the window and steal that” and then to add insult to injury he ran into their car with his bike a few times.

Dear God, I can’t turn my back on him for 2 minutes. So I apologize to her and ask if there was any damage to her vehicle (which I doubt because just how much damage can a 53lb. child do on a bike that is barely moving?) and thankfully she says no. But she goes into this long spiel about how her windshield has already been broken once and she just got a new car and she doesn’t want anything to happen to it, blah blah blah. I made the Demon Child apologize to her, which he did, in his most crappy way possible … but she accepted his apology and I ran them both in the house then. At which point I try to give him a rather loud lecture on where he can and cannot ride his bike (which he already knew) and why you do not say stuff like that around other people as it makes them think you’re a criminal.

He thinks this is cool, that somebody would think he’s a future criminal. I can see it in his eyes, even though his face is all scrunched up in his “I hate you” scowl. He’s pissed that he had to come in, he’s pissed that the girls told on him, and he’s pissed that he’s getting lectured and had to apologize to some old woman.

I send him to his room … and go back to my corner in my room and try to forget that I have no cigarettes, I’m still freezing my ass off, and that I have a Demon Child who is trying his best to win the “Little Gangster of The Year” award for 2009.

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