Today is my niece’s 3rd birthday party. Over at my sister’s house there’s about 8 other kids over (from day care or family friends and such) and a parent or two for each.
I’m hiding upstairs in the office, because I’ve lately discovered that crowds make me anxious, and crowds of 3-6 year olds make me homicidal.
Anyway, among the guests are my sister’s boss’s mother (who she also kind of works for; my sister is a private chef/estate manager for a stupidcrazyrich guy, and the mom sort of comes with the package) came, along with her grandson (for those paying attention, that’d be my sister’s boss’s sister’s son).
The kids are playing, as kids do, except the boss’s nephew, Munchkin X, has been a terror since he set foot in the house. I’m bad with kids ages, but I’d guess he’s 4 or 5.
Strike that, he was a terror before, as I watched out the window as he was putting up a fight with his grandma refusing to come in, throwing a little tantrum in the street.
When he got inside the house, he started running through every room, opening closets and drawers like he was looking for lost gold. Scolding from grandma.
One of my niece’s presents was a small inflatable bouncehouse thing (basically an inflatable pool minus water, plus plastic balls). While everybody else was preocupied, he got in the thing and started throwing the plastic balls over the fence. He was told to stop. He kept doing it.
Then it was present time. He ran over to the present table to find one for him, and his grandma told him that the presents are all for my niece, since it’s her birthday party.
To say he started crying would be a misuse of the word. He didn’t start crying, he became crying. He embodied the sentiment. He screamed like a japanese girl watching Ringu. He bawled and bawled. He wanted a present. He wanted one NOW.
His grandma took him aside and tried to explain it, but he kept sobbing and saying he wanted a present. He’d feel better if he got a present, he said.
My dad, probably trying to impress the lady (he’s intimidated by rich people, since he used to be one) tried to give the kid a $5 bill to cheer him up. Except a 4 year old doesn’t know wtf $5 is. He doesn’t want $5, he wants some plastic piece of crap wrapped in shiny paper with a bow.
Real nice, I thought, here’s a chance for this spoiled ingrate to learn a lesson that you don’t always get what you want, which is something a child in a very wealthy family could certainly stand to learn, and my dad tries to fix it by whipping out a fiver. Certainly money will solve the problem!
When Munchkin X calmed down a bit, he came back in the room where my niece was opening presents. He ever so slowly edges towards the present table. Like a ninja, he creeps. His eyes are locked on the gifts, all wrapped in flowery or pink wrapping paper or gift bags. When he had creeped suitably close, he grabbed the closest one and tried to dash to freedom. He was caught, of course, and was dragged off screaming by his grandma.
As I type this, I’m watching him out the window being forced into grandma’s car. Finally, after about 19 warnings that they’d be leaving if he didn’t straighten up, they’re leaving.
I feel bad for this kid’s parents, I suppose, but naturally this is all their fault. Kids like him are the reason I can’t let myself be around kids. I fear that if I were alone with him, and he were acting like that, before I left the room there’d be a him-shaped dent in the drywall.
Luckily, the rest of the kids, save the over-excited girls who were mobbing my niece helping her open presents, the rest of the kids here are manageable.
Loud, but manageable.
If I ever have kids, I might get their vocal cords snipped like Paris Hilton’s dog.
