I Don't Like that Kid and I don't Like her Parents Either.

The party had evolved, or rather, devolved into the kids making-out on the patio and skinny-dipping in the pool. The parents, tucked away in their palatial kitchen-- lined with granite counter tops and high end stainless steel appliances… were apparently oblivious to the children’s activity—I hope. This was not a high school party—this was a 13 year olds’ birthday party.

You know I obsess about The Beast’s friends, but I am not sure if I mentioned it—I have an unhealthy fixation with the parents of her friends too. I know…for someone who refers to her child as The Beast, has questionable parenting practices of her own and relates her personal rag-tag upbringing on-line…one would think I should not talk…yet, chatter away I do.

Perhaps it is unfair to equate house size or level of luxury to parenting style, but just on anecdotal evidence I have noticed a decrease in control/engagement with the child the larger the house or the appliances. McMansions, Viking stoves, Architectural Digest kitchens, Audi in the driveway are all red flags to me. Red flags that suggest the parents are driven, busy and probably pleasing their children rather than parenting them.

When I think back on my own childhood—it was the rich kids in the new development houses that had THE parties. They had the basement rec rooms with the pot and alcohol. I think I witness more pot consumption in suburban basements during my high school years then in my entire college career—which is saying a lot. I can only imagine with these larger houses and busier parents this little pre-view of the Young Teens Gone Wild Pool Party is just the beginning of a long slide downhill into the high school years.

I am thinking boarding school.

The Well-Healed Mommies

Although I would rather live in the city, I am happy that I live in a relatively wealthy suburb because of the great schools, wonderful libraries and pretty houses. However, sometimes, between the kids getting Range Rovers for their 16th birthdays and the Bar Mitzvahs in Israel, I become tired.

They are nice...very nice, but I still TRY to avoid the well-healed mommies....because REALLY...how can you not be bitter when you are sitting in a huge kitchen, overlooking a sea of marble countertop and wondering if that is a custom Viking Stove because it actually looks bigger than the other ones you have seen in other houses in this god forsaken suburban hell. Of course to add to my joy at this “mother-daughter invitation only book club" that brought me to this perfect kitchen...the hosting mom mentions that she identifies with a character in the book who was once rich and lost all her money. She said she understands what it is like to have a lot of money and then not have as much. I can only assume that their 401K (or what ever the wealthy have) suffered in the economic downturn and their retirement plan to go to Capri had to be rethought to perhaps the...Bahamas. Oh the horror.