The Mothering Instinct

The lake looked like glass this morning – trees flawlessly mirrored on the clam, flat surface. The few wisps of mist only lent to the otherworldly feel as I drove by in the gray light of dawn. It made me thankful to be awake, even though I was silently cursing that little thing called responsibility and that other little thing called the alarm clock. Charlie spent a good portion of the day yesterday pushing his Kett Car up the little hill in our backyard, jumping on it, and pedaling down the hill as fast as he could go before yanking on the hand-brake to stop himself from plunging, head-first, into the gate at the far end of the yard, thus disturbing the scary dogs that live there. He had company in the two neighbor kids, Hunter (who is 7) and Jenny (who says she’s three but is really getting ready to be five...we think). They all took turns on the Kett Car and the John Deere Tractor and the dump truck. Through no fault of their own, I’m not particularly fond of either of them. Hunter is loud, sounds like he was raised somewhere in the back woods of who-knows-where, and wild, wild, wild. Jenny looks dirty and disheveled, is equally as loud as her brother, and has a habit of screeching just to her herself screech. It’s all very disturbing. These kids definitely awaken something in me that I can only describe as “The Mothering Instinct.” I want to teach hunter how to speak properly (I don't mind the accent at all, just his word usage). Encourage him to sit and draw or do something else that requires him to sit still for an indeterminate period of time. I want to brush Jenny’s long, brown hair, get her some clean clothes, wash the dirt off her face and hand her a book or a pretty doll. Neither of these kids wears shoes...ever. Hunter claims he forgot to put them on anytime I say, “Hunter, where did you leave your shoes this time?” Both kids are allowed to run freely in the street and they are allowed to stay up, and stay outside, until well after dark...even on school nights. They ride tricycles, bicycles, big-wheels, scooters and all manner of wheeled vehicles in the street – right out to the main road! Now granted, our roads are not main thoroughfares, but the other neighbors come flying around the corner at top speed – half the time on their cell phones – and would probably never see a small child on a big wheel in the middle of the road! It’s all a horrible accident waiting to happen. Oh! And another thing that killed me! Hunter and Jenny’s father stopped by our backyard in his big SUV yesterday to tell his kids something and little Jenny hopped on the side rail, held onto the lip of the open window and he let her RIDE HOME that way! I couldn't believe what I was seeing. My friend Sam was a witness! It seems we’ve moved into a bit of a neighborhood drama because the woman who lives behind us says Hunter & Jenny’s father is a deadbeat with an attitude. And, although he doesn’t seem overly friendly, he does seem civil. I just think that he has better things to do than worry about his kids – which is why he lives with his parents, who are really the ones raising these two children. I’m certainly not saying these folks are doing a bad job or in any way trying to tell them how to raise their own kids – but all those little instincts in me are screaming – coursing through every particle of my being – when I see one of those kids in the street, or hanging out at the end of the cul-de-sac at the main road with no shoes and no adult supervision – or with dirty faces, ratty hair and torn clothes. I want to scoop them up and take care of them myself. TTFN JMS PS: Go Vols!