A pot to stew
So last night I blasted music and Liam and I danced and danced and danced. I could twirl and kick and shake my hips forever, but eventually it was bedtime. I love dancing with my kids.
Julia has been having a difficult time this week with bullies, though I would never have known. I just asked her out of the blue, "Are there any bullies at your school?" "Why . . . yes." She went on to tell me about the kids at recess who push her behind trees and trap her. I guess they threw rocks at Julia's face on Friday, busting her lip, and said, "We hate you, you *****." This, to a six-year-old girl who is very nice, and really very smart. Julia is too nice, and too smart, and she's too naive and too overwhelmed. She's like a little butterfly; easy to hate and hurt if you're the hatin' hurtin' kind.
So anyway, my first urge was to go kick some grade-school behind, but I can't do that, so I'll just have to send a note to the teacher and keep a close eye on the situation.
Bullies. They'll always exist. One leaves, another sets up shop. Mean faced, scrunchy-eyed, pot-faced, yellow-teethed, rock throwin', hatin', fowl-mouthed cowards. Go away already. Leave us cool folks alone.
My mom says that when her school had bake sales, some kids would get revenge on others by putting chocolate Ex-Lax in the brownies. Now, I'm pretty darn sure that's against the law these days, but the thought of it makes me smile. Also, voodoo dolls look real good right now.