2006-08-21 - 7:33 a.m.

A TALE OF TWO TARDS

Dudes, I rock.

I am now an old hand at putting my wee bundle of joy on the school bus. She likes riding it, so I feel no guilt at putting her there, and it leaves me a solid hour to myself in the morning before I have to think about getting ready for work.

Yessir. That'll do!

There are plans in the works that will eat up that spare hour, but until then, I have time to roast. I've got a cup of hot peppermint tea and an hour to kill, and I'm diggin it full time.

Gather 'round, chillerns, and hear the tale falling from my tea-scalded lips as I sit fuglily in my wonky computer chair and relate to you...

"A Tale Of Two Tards"

This morning I had a friendly conversation with my neighbor-lady. The unusual thing about it is that though she and her family have lived next door for months, we've never had occasion to speak. We've waved and smiled at one another, but always as one is coming or going. No Folgers moments have unfolded, suffice to say. Today I felt a little conspicuous as we all stood outside, waiting for the school bus to arrive.

Neighbor lady has 4 kids...a teenaged boy, a younger, perhaps "tween" girl (she looks older but she rides the 5th grade and under bus), and two young sons around 7 and 4.

However friendly, Wilberteets and I pretty much keep to ourselves. Imagine our dismay when the two youngest children from next door began to try to infiltrate our house, uninvited. We politely told them not to open our door, thank you very much, that one must knock...but as soon as the door was shut, the knob would turn again and the little punks would immediately try to come in. In addititon, the little fellows seem to have a problem accepting the fact that they cannot walk off with my son's toys. The duo have, on several occasions, copped toys from the front of our house, playing mindlessly until my kid's forced to go out and collect. He would gladly let them use his things if they didn't ALWAYS try to keep them. They have come out and directly asked, "Can I have yowh bike?" Our first encounter ever involved the smaller of the two opening our door and saying "Give uth another gun". They had snagged my boy's old, toy wood and metal rifle from our yard, and he'd given it to them rather than take it back as he'd outgrown it and they were enjoying it. They answered this by demanding another one. My son, protector of His Stuff has been worn ragged retrieving his belongings from these marauding tards.

Yes, we call them The Tards. WE HAVE TO. On top of the boundary problems, these kids can't say their "r"'s. I hate it that I am discriminating in this way, but I am, dammit, I am, and a kid who can't say an "r" gets on my nerves in short order. It must be inhertied tied tongues in their family, because they ALL have "r" trouble...even the girl, who once knocked on our door and asked, "Have you seen my bwothews?"

So there I was this morning, up close and personal with The Tards and feeling slightly guilty because, up close, The Tards are pretty cute kids. Well, all but their speech-impaired, yeti sister. HA! Nah, she's not a bad looking kid...but they're all so alarmingly dim that I can't help but want to avoid them. There I was, chatting up the Mother Of Tards and thinking to myself, "She'd hate me if she knew how I refer to her kids."

Her two kicked each other the entire time we waitied for the bus, ninja style. Their mother plaintively told them to stop, and they tardily ignored her. Just before boarding, taller tard says to shorter tard, "You cannot defeat the mastowh!"

And then I pushed him under the bus.

:D Nahhhhhh.

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