I'm a bad, bad person

As I mentioned earlier in this blog, I've reached the ripe old age of 31 (nearly 32) and I've yet to spawn. Not that I don't want to, but the timing just hasn't been right, and probably will not be for another 2 or 3 years. I'm okay with that. I have plenty of friends who have children, whom I can lavish with cute clothing, and noisy toys until I have my own child to spoil. And then there's my boyfriend's son, Brandon, who at age 7, is this terribly amusing little bundle of one-liners that keep me in stitches whenever he's around.

But aside from all of the exposure I have to children, there's one thing missing - DISCIPLINE. No, no, not ME. I mean I've apparently never learned how to best reason with kids, or discipline them in a way that they understand/appreciate.

I realized this yesterday after I yelled at two kids. Not my kids. Not the kids of anyone I know. But kids who were testing my patience and pissing me off nonetheless.

We were at an Easter picnic with about 70 of our closest friends. It was an elaborate deal, really... more food than you can imagine, a friend of ours all dressed up as the Easter Bunny (he rode in on his motorcycle, so seeing the Easter Bunny with a helmet UNDER his ears was a sight to behold), football, music and (of course) an Easter egg hunt.

So I'm sitting along the sidelines watching the guys play football, and a young couple I know were hiding eggs throughout the bushes and tall grasses at the outskirts of the field. As they walked past, he says to me, "Watch out for those boys over there. They're not wiht our group, and I think they're going to try to steal some eggs." I nodded and assured him I would take care of any egg poachers.

About 10 minutes later, I see movement out of the corner of my eye - I looked downfield, and saw 2 12-year old boys digging through the grass, and eating candy from one of OUR eggs. I stood up and growled, "PUT DOWN THE EGG! NOW!!" There they stood, like a deer caught in headlights. As I moved toward them, one immediately tossed all of the 'hot' eggs back into the bushes. He had this look of terror that I will never forget. However, his friend was testing me. He was staring me down, still holding the eggs in his hands, as if to DARE me to reclaim them. I repeated myself, "Put down the eggs. Those are not for you."

"We didn't know," was the weak excuse I got in return.

"Did you lose an egg? Did you drop one and thought this might be yours?" I asked.

"No." The sullen response.

"Then you should not have picked it up. It's not yours, so leave them alone. Got it?"

And yet, Boy #2 still stood there, glaring at me, holding the eggs.

I repeated my initial command: "Put the eggs DOWN. NOW." Still he only glared. By now I'm only a few feet away, and realizing that my barking orders is getting me nowhere with this child, I opted for another tactic.

"You guys are nothing but big bullies. You're taking eggs from little kids, kids that aren't even half your age. You should be ASHAMED of yourselves."

Apparently, this did the trick. Boy #2 tossed his stolen treasures back into the bushes, and began to hightail it out of the park.

Upon returning to my chair on the sidelines, I received an ovation from my friends for my performance as "The Enforcer," but for some reason, I had a little touch of guilt nagging me. Had I been too hard on these boys? Should I have just let them steal the eggs, and left it alone? Should I have invited them to join the egghunt?

Once the droves of children were released onto the field for the egghunt, my guilt was washed away. Herds of children, from age 1 to age 8, swarmed the field, giggling with glee as they discovered each new egg. It was then that I realized one less egg would mean one less giggle, one less smile, one less "Ohhh! I got a tootsie roll in MY egg!" And that made it all worthwhile. I wasn't merely defending some cheap plastic eggs containing candy - I was protecting an afternoon of fun and glee for the children.

(At least this is what I'm trying to convince myself of so as not to rot away from the guilt).