"Today was: math test, spelling test, punch in the nose"
"Math test, spelling test, punch in the nose"
Those fucking little bitches. I hate them and their parents. I hate their dogs and their ugly houses. I hate them.
Being the parent of the bullied one puts the heartbreak right up front. Gets the shit over with. And the older they get, the smarter and more aware of the world, the worse that heartbreak is and the less you can do to massage it away. Being the parent of the bullies? They'll get their heartbreak, too. When their loser kids are still living in the basement and eating all the Cheetos past their 30th birthdays.
My kid knows these kids suck, but she wants their friendship anyway. She told me so. "Ma, they're jerks. But I want them to like me", she said.
So today, after three years of their BULLSHIT, one of the little twats PUNCHED MY KID IN THE FACE. Happened in the Thunder Dome, I mean the bus.
I have no big words or fancy ideas to express how I feel on this one. I'm sad and violated and angry and depressed. How do 8 year old girls who live in upstate NY, in apple country for crissakes, get parented to the point that they don't see that punching someone in the face *just because* is wrong? As my equally tweaked out husband said: Where's the filter?
I hate them. And on Monday, I'm going to... ha! Caught myself, Interwebs! Phew. That was close.
Gonna go look at my violated babe now, all fast asleep in her blue blanket. How could someone punch her?