I AM NOT A FREE DAYCARE.

Dude. I've realized something since my kids (and the rest of the kids in my neighborhood) have been out of school.

Apparently, I am a free baby-sitter. The mother of myriads. That has a nice ring to it. I love alliteration.

But I HATE being taken advantage of. It's so unfair that I be assigned Designated Neighborhood Mommy, for three reasons.

1. I hate baby-sitting.

I don't really like kids. Shouldn't someone who relishes children be Mother Earth of our neighborhood? I have hated baby-sitting for as long as I can remember. I always did it grudgingly. No amount of money was worth the torture of watching naughty, rude children. I'd tell them not to do something, and they would continue doing it. What was up with that??? I always told myself that my own future children would never be this naughty. Ha!!

I have an affinity for teenagers - I chose the perfect career for myself when I went into secondary ed. I just... get them. I love them. I think they're really funny. I loved teaching that age group. If you asked me to teach el ed, I think I would shoot myself.

I've lucked out so far and not had a calling in Primary or nursery. Knocking on wood right now. Whenever we move into a new ward and meet with our bishop, my husband always gives me a hard time by telling the bishop that I would really, really love to be in the nursery or primary. And then I always punch him and blush and say that, actually, that is the farthest thing from the truth. Kids are just not my schtick.

Why did I have four of them, you ask? I don't know. I'm crazy, I guess. And, like I said, I thought mine would never be like that. Which is funny. Mine are probably the naughtiest kids I know. I love them, but yes, they are NAUGHTY.

It's weird - I have a feeling that I'll get along better with my kids when they're teenagers. I'll probably be eating those words in 10 years, but I don't know.

2. I have too many kids as it is.

I can't keep track of the ones I have, dude. I cannot add any more to the mix. There is always one of them crying, needing me, while I'm attending to another one. I run from kid to kid to kid. This is why I never have time to clean my house. Or pee. Or paint my toenails.

3. I'm not a patient, kind person.

I'm like, "Leave me alone. I have stuff to do." I have little patience for childhood drama, tattling, boo-boos that aren't bleeding and therefore do NOT need a band-aid, etc.

4. Helloooooooooo. I'm trying to pack for China.

If anything, people should be baby-sitting my kids. I don't have time to baby-sit other peoples' kids when I have boxes to pack, insurance companies to haggle with, doctors to call, postmasters to have discussions with, etc.

Here are the pawns in the neighborhood adults' passive-aggressive baby-sitting chess game. A game that I am losing:

The Nappy Neighbors

You're familiar with the Nappy Neighbors. Their mom works all day; their dad works all night. The dad sleeps all day. So guess who gets to supervise them, for free, all day long? ME!!! I really, really love gardening, but I'm starting to hate it, because when I'm out there working, they think it's an invitation to come and talk my ear off about stuff. I can't even understand them half the time, because they have pretty intense speech impediments that their parents don't seem to care about. And then they tattle on my kids and on each other:

"Um, Dylan's Mom (they can't remember my name, so they call me 'Dylan's Mom'), H.B. pushed me."

"Wow, that sucks. Maybe you'd better go tell your dad."

"My dad's sleeping."

"Well, either wake him up or just buck up."

Or...

"Dylan's Mom, I'm thirsty."

"Wow, you'd better go to your house and get a drink."

"We don't have any drinks."

"I'm pretty sure you have water."

"But I hate water."

"Bummer for you."

Yeah, I'm super-nice.

Ashlynn, the youngest Nappy Neighbor, and the one I've had the most run-ins with, is hard. I think maybe there's something not quite right upstairs. When she does things she shouldn't, I'll try to kindly, but firmly, let her know it's not okay. For instance, the girl loves to climb on my porch railings and jump over my flowers onto the grass. This pisses me off. You know how I feel about my flowers. Sometimes she misses and lands right in 'em. It makes my blood boil.

So, the other day, she was at it again, climbing up my railing and jumping over my flowers. I went out there, said, "Ashlynn, no climbing on my railing. And no jumping over my flowers."

She just stared at me and then sat on my railing. This bothered me.

"And no sitting on my railing, either. Maybe go sit on your OWN railing," I suggested. I could have added, "And jump over your dandelions." But I bit my tongue. The girl continued sitting on my railing, staring at me.

"WALK AWAY FROM THE RAILING, ASHLYNN. WALK AWAY."

Staring. Sitting.

"YOU. MOVE. GET OFF MY RAILING. NOW."

Her older sister finally intervened. "Ashlynn, come over here and get off Dylan's Mom's railing." Then she finally moved. Sheesh.

The other day, Megs came over with her kids. We wanted to go to the local park (like three houses away from mine) to let the kids play on the big toy while we chatted and played Phase 10. It would have been so much fun, if the Nappy Neighbors hadn't been there. Megs and I are sitting on my blanket, playing, and all three Nappies are watching us, lying on their stomachs, hands on their chins, like it's the most interesting thing in the world. And they were like two inches away from our card pile. Major personal space invasion going on. They kept asking us how to play, and we just kept saying stuff like, "Why don't you go play on the big toy like normal kids???" I almost snidely said, "Maybe you should tell your dad to wake up and teach you." Again, I bit my tongue.

Pats and I were at the park a couple of days ago. Ashlynn kept coming up to us and telling us that H.B., her older brother, was lost. Nowhere to be found. "Wow, that sucks. Better keep looking," we kept saying.

Patty said, "So, Ashlynn, what does 'H.B.' stand for?"

Ashlynn looked confused. "What do you mean?"

Patty said, "Well, it has to stand for two names, his first name and his middle name, right?"

"Ohhh. Yeah. It stands for Hoyt Fudge."

Pats and I looked at each other.

"But if his middle name was 'Fudge,' he would be called 'H.F.'"

She just stared at us, totally not understanding the concept of initials standing for the first letters of names. We eventually encouraged her to go and keep looking for H.B.

After she left, Pats said, "There's something not quite right about that girl." Yep.

Katie

Not much more to say about Katie. Her mom is a meth dealer. Katie's over here 24/7. But not to play with Sadie. She likes to follow me around and talk and talk and talk and talk. If it was up to her, she would eat here for every meal, sleep here, etc. Finally, during the winter, I made a rule that she had to go home at five. And now that it's nicer outside, my rule is NO non-Kar's kids inside in the summer. I don't need them in my hair. And they need the sunshine and fresh air.

The other day, Katie came over and said, "Ummmm, my mom was wondering if you can watch me for an hour while she takes my brother to the doctor. He's REALLY sick."

Sure, Katie. Sure.

The truth is, I haven't seen their little one-year-old son in a long time. And I haven't seen Plumber (Meth's boyfriend) in a long time. I thought Meth herself was gone, but she just barely got in someone's car and drove away with them. Hmmmm.

Some lady I have never seen came over a few days ago, put all of Meth's belongings on the front lawn, and posted a sign on a piece of notebook paper: "Garage Sale." A little impromptu affair. She had the Nappy Neighbors help her hold these notebook signs and try to get people to come over. The Garage Sale lasted all of one hour. Sadie begged to help with the sale, and I told her, like I've told her a million times, that she is not to go over to that house EVER. That it's dangerous.

Then some dude comes over, talks to the lady, they pack the stuff back into the house, and they both leave. I haven't seen them since.

Could it be that Meth got kicked out??? That she's moving out? Crossing my fingers so hard right now.

Dylan M. and "Braid"

Dylan has a friend who lives like a block away named Dylan M. His little brother's name is Braden, but Sadie always calls him "Braid," which I think is funny. These kids are always over here. Traipsing through our house. I have to tell them like twenty times per day to stay outside. One night, they were in the backyard with Dylan like at 8 p.m., and I was bathing Sadie. Braden was like, "I need to go Number Two." I told him that Sadie was in the bathroom, so that wouldn't be possible. He couldn't believe that I wouldn't let him into the bathroom. I was like, "Walk like 50 steps to your own house and go poop." Grrrr.

He never ended up going home to poop. He just...held it.

They invited Dylan and Sadie to run through the sprinklers the other day, and I was like, "Good. It's about time they return the favor." I've met their parents and felt safe about it. So they get all dressed, and I get sunscreen on them, and they go over there, and they come back in half an hour. "Their mom said we had to go home," they told me. Neat. Thanks, Lady.

When the kids were getting ready to go running in the sprinklers, Dylan wanted to find some random thing in our storage room. Like a snorkeling mask or something. Like you really need something like that to go running through sprinklers. So he and Braden start digging in my storage room, going through stuff, and I find them in there and go, "Dude, what are you guys doing???" I had to shoo them out. Sheesh.

Tabby (name has been changed)

Her stepmom can see my backyard from her yard, so when she sees the kids are out, she sends Tabby over. Tabby is fine. She just asks for food 24 hours a day. I have to keep telling her to eat food at her own house. I don't have the money to feed the whole neighborhood. My own kids are eating me out of house and home right now.

And she comes in the house over and over and over again. Stay out, honey. Stay outside. Stay out.

And she doesn't ever want to walk across the alley to go back home. It's like she needs an escort to walk three steps from her yard to mine. I'm like, hon, I don't have time to be your personal escort. Just walk.

Tabby's stepmom keeps borrowing my vacuum, too, which really bothers me.

Payton (name has been changed)

Ooooh, this little girl frosts my cookies most of all. She comes over with her mom to visit her grandma on our street. And then she escapes and makes a beeline for my house. And then she just lets herself in. If the front door is locked, she lets herself in the back door. Hellooooooo????

If I'm fortunate enough to see her coming my way, I hurry and lock both doors, close my front window curtains, and don't go in the living room, so she can't see me if she comes around back. Yes, I am hiding from a three-year-old.

Once, I was walking out the door to take Micah to his speech class, and my mom was going to watch Sadie and Gage. This little Payton had let herself in my house, eaten some candy from our table, and was not about to leave. And my mom didn't feel like baby-sitting her. So I had to actually go down to her grandma's house, knock on the door, and say, "Hi, uh, your graddaughter escaped and is bothering my mom, and I have to go. Can you come and get her???" The grandma just laughed. And her daughter in the background was like, "What??? She got away? That little sh*t!!!" Like it was the funniest thing in the world.

It's not funny.

I was out on Saturday, planting marigolds, geraniums, petunias, and alyssum. Ben had the two older kids, and my two youngest kids were napping. I was so looking forward to a quiet afternoon of planting. One of my favorite things. And this dang Payton comes running out of her grandma's house, straight for me. My heart sank.

"Hey!" she said. [She always says that. "Hey!" "Hey!" "Hey!"]

"Hi......."

"What you doin'??"

"Planting."

"I wanna help."

"Nope, I'm going to do it myself."

"But I wanna help."

"That's too bad. I'm doing it myself."

"What kind of flowah is dat?"

"A geranium."

"A what?"

"Geranium."

"It wed."

"Yes, it's red."

"I wanna help."

"No. I'm planting them myself."

And on and on.

Kill me now.

She totally ruined my quiet planting time. H.B. saw her bugging me and chuckled. "Annoying, huh?" he called.

"Uh, yeah, H.B. Annoying." [Should I have called him "H.F."? :) ]

So there you have it. My rant. Sorry. I guess I had to get it off my chest.... I used to actually sometimes make up stuff to do to get away from our house, and therefore, get away from this apparently compulsory baby-sitting duty. I'd be like, "Oh, we really have to deposit this check right this minute." And I'd load up the kids, deposit the check, and then make up a bunch of other stuff to do, just so I could stay away from my house. Now that I'm car-less most days, I'm TRAPPED. It's a nightmare.

This is just one of the many reasons I'm trunky. I need to get outta here. The date has moved up to July 5th, baby. Buh-bye, nappy neighbors. See ya, Dylan M. & Braid. Find someone else to use, Meth and Stepmom. And may your mom invest in a padlock, Payton.