a stitch in time... is just plain good parenting

I just left the Director's office and am even more baffled by her parenting skills than ever before. I didn't mention this previously because, well, it's ridiculous. However, I feel the need to share the craziness with you, dear Internet void.

On Monday, Director called my cell in a panic to tell me that she would be unable to attend the day's photo shoot because her son ripped his knee open and she had to take him in to get stitches. No biggie, right? Minor emergency, kids get stitches all the time, I can handle it - go take care of your bleeding son.

The plot thickens when she mentions later in the morning (while she's explaining to me the reasoning behind her oversight to send our client directions to the shoot - "Oops! I was busy with my son's birthday party and didn't think it was important!") that her oldest son has an appointment at 10:30 a.m. to get stitches.

I immediately smell 3-day-old sushi. Aren't stitches usually unplanned? Aren't stitches usually a last-minute decision? I don't really hear of anyone booking stitches days (or even hours) in advance. "Should I book a massage, a mani/pedi, or should I just get some stitches?" No one does this. Not normal.

The truth unfolds throughout the day. Turns out, homeboy cut up his knee on SATURDAY. Director, being a "mid-Western mom" (her words, not mine), thought it would "be okay" (again, her words) and put a giant Band-Aid (not Penny Lane) on it. So the poor child sleeps two nights with his gaping wound, bleeding through the bandages, before Mom of the Year finally decides that he may need stitches. So she books the appointment for Monday morning, shirks her work responsibilities, and takes the kid to the doctor. Turns out, he did need stitches. He actually needed many a stitch within six hours of cutting himself. Oops!

Doctor Man grafted (yes, it's true) the skin back to where it began, sealed it off with some sort of magic potion, then placed some medical stick-um over the wound (it's all very technical). He told them not to remove the bandage for 10 days, otherwise the graft wouldn't take and he would be badly scarred.

How do I know all of this? Because Director just told me that before he broke his cell phone in her face and ran out the door, he ripped off the medical stick-um bandage and threw it in her face. Her response, after causing the kid's anger by neglecting the wound for three days? "He can scar for all I care."

I'm considering putting CPS on speed-dial.

The following IM conversation just took place between myself and Boyfriend:

Boyfriend: "This kid is going to be president someday."
NL: "Or write one hell of a book."
Boyfriend: "From prison."

the prodigal brat

So, Director's son has been found. He rode his bike five miles on Monday afternoon to his old house that the family lived in a year ago, broke into the empty house and spent the night playing video games with his friends and then sleeping on the floor of his old room. He then rode his bike to school the next day, only for first period, and then decided to spend the rest of the day doing as he damn well pleased. Meaning: playing video games.

First of all, let's all take a moment of silence to thank God that we're not parenting this child. Just the cost of all the electronic equipment would be devastating to my cocktail allowance.

Second of all, let's all take an hour of silence to thank God that Director is not our mother. Enough said.

Director decides that the best way to deal with the returned child is to take him out to dinner. He's not being punished for what he did. Instead, she's seeking professional help to determine how to better implement structure in his life.

Speaking of structure, the son woke up this morning and didn't want to get out of bed and go to school. Director let him stay at home today because she knew that his friends would ask him a lot of questions in between classes and she didn't want him to deal with the embarrassment.

I am not a parent and am therefore not allowed to make parenting judgment calls. However, I will say this: I am so glad I don't have kids. I'm going to spend two hours thanking God for that.

the devil wears talbots

My director is insane. Certifiably. I'm sure there will be many posts to come about her crazy antics, but none can compare to today's incident. Let's list the crazy in order, shall we? It'll make things a bit easier to follow because, trust me, you'll need all the help you can get.

9:07 a.m. - I receive an email from Director, saying that she's going to be in late today because she's waiting for a phone call. I think nothing of it, as her constant tardiness is nothing new.

10:14 a.m. - I receive a frantic phone call on my cell. Director is trying to communicate through bawling and sobbing and after three tries I decipher the following: "My oldest son (he's 13) broke his cell phone in front of me last night and stormed out of the house. I couldn't find him and his friend said he wasn't over there. I woke up at 3 a.m. and couldn't go back to sleep. I called the school this morning and he went to first period but he's skipping his other classes. The school wants to know if I want to involve the police, because he can't skip school. I have to make these decisions by myself and I... just... don't... know!!!" More sobbing ensues.

Because my job title is Account Supervisor and Family Counselor, I ask if she had contacted her son's father (her ex-husband) yet. Maybe he knows where he is? She bawls, "He doesn't get involved in things like this."

Let's pause for a minute in the story to sum up: her 13-year-old son runs away, she calls one friend who doesn't know where he is, and she goes to sleep. His father "doesn't get involved in things like this." Things like what, his missing children? Is this such a common occurrence that a precedent has been set? Geez Lewis.

1:07 p.m. - I return an alarmingly chipper voice mail from Director that was left during lunch. I call her back and she has to immediately drop because the police are arriving at her house.

1:47 p.m. - Director gives me a call back and tells me that the police just went through her entire house, looking for a hidden 13-year-old boy. They didn't find him. Turns out they have more information, though. They found out that his screenname for some online pirates game was used last night and apparently he was playing at the same time as another kid from school. They're contacting the game company to obtain the IP address that the screenname was on, then they're tracking down the physical house location of the IP address so they can run on over and bust his running-away-from-home ass. Two words: boo and yah. I was impressed with the high-tech sleuthing. Boyfriend's comment was "Wow. CSI: Crazytown."

So that's the last that I've heard. Guess I'll find out the conclusion tomorrow morning when I read the milk carton while I'm eating my Cheerios.

Oh, quit your judging. I'm not serious, I kid, I kid. I don't ever eat Cheerios.