If we could choose our children's friends I suppose we would select those with parents we like and respect. Parents with similar morals, virtues and parenting style as our own. Or at least those with a big garden and a swimming pool!
We are lucky in our village. I get on with the parents I cross paths with on the kindergarten run. That said, unless you speak a language perfectly, you never really know if someone is having a sneaky mickey take, so who knows?
I haven't glimpsed any electronic tags nestling between the Birkenstocks and woolly socks yet so that must be a good thing.
I suspect by the time Finje reaches her teens, I shall be looking back with misty eyed nostalgia at these tender years and snort in derision at my lowly concerns. But concerns they are. The most recent of which involved chewing gum. I hate chewing gum.
So, in yet another demonstration of classic, text book parenting I told Finje if you swallow chewing gum you die!
One of her friends is permitted gum. Last week, the little angel smuggled in a packet of contraband unbeknown to me and in clear violation of house rules. The cheek of it! That afternoon Finje swaggered downstairs. Her rhythmically masticating jaw caused a slight raised lip resulting in a look not dissimilar to a rather sullen teenage Elvis impersonator.
Not a good look on a four-year-old girl wearing a Mr Tickle t-shirt.
Her request for something to feed her dinosaur with was cut off in mid sentence as I realised what she had in her mouth. Not feeling my best on this particular day I let her know I was aware of her misdemeanor but let it slide.
A short time later I was confronted with a child in the throws of a nervous breakdown. Through uncontrollable sobs I ascertained that whilst quenching her thirst the globule of goo had slipped down and was now in situ in her tummy.
It took quite some time (probably due to the large piece of humble pie I was eating) to persuade her that she was not going to expire right there on the kitchen floor. In the end the only way to satisfy her fear was to convince her that I had spotted the nastiness as it "reappeared" later in the day. If you get my meaning.
I'm guessing we won't be seeing the Elvis impression again any time soon.
Do you allow your child The Devil's Candy?