Got chocolate milk?

I still vacillate over whether Kaila is my daughter or not. She kept all of Mike's recessive genes and rejected my dominant ones. So, she looks nothing like me. However, it appears that she's inherited her mama's Scrappy Doo-ness. The genetic proof reared its head a few days ago at school.

First, a flashback. When I was Kaila's age, I remember sitting on the classroom rug, listening to the teacher read a story. At some point, I must have asked Mrs. Wimpydimple a question about the book which resulted in a classmate telling me to, "Shut up, chocolate milk." Because my parents never taught me the art of the bitch slap, I resorted to verbal jousting. "NO. YOU SHUT UP, WHITE MILK," I screamed. I don't recollect the teacher doing anything, probably because she didn't.

Fast-forward to my little girl. A few weeks ago, I posted about a "bully" in one of the Doobies' schools. Well, Napoleon is in Kaila's class. The teacher assured me the situation is being handled, but I continue to hear stories of poking, pushing and other annoying behavior. As a result, I bought "An Eye for an Eye for Dummies" and have been teaching the kids hand-to-hand combat.

The other day, I picked up Kaila and her friend J-Shizzy from school. As we drove home, I peppered them with my usual, meddling questions: Who was the helper child? What did you have for a snack? What did you drink? What did you learn? Was everyone well-behaved? Did anyone wet their pants? Did anyone get into trouble?

The answers were coming back positive. Granola bars. Apple juice. The letter G. All pants stayed dry. No one got into trouble. Cool. Things were looking up until Kaila remembered.

"There was one thing, Mom."

"What, Kaila?"

"Napoleon pushed me when I was on the rollercoaster car in the bike room"

"For real? Was it an accident?"

"No. He did it on purpose."

I try not to jump to conclusions, but given Napoleon's dynamic past, I was pretty sure she was straight-up telling me what happened. And, whether he bumped her, pushed her or strangled her, is irrelevant to me. The kid needs some boundaries. Or, invisible fence.

"After he pushed you, what did you do?"

"I pushed him back and told him to stop it."

I gave my baby a huge high-five and told her if Napoleon ever touched her again, she should hand his ass back to him on a platter. My baby may be half-and-half, but she's definitely part chocolate milk.

Bullies Suck.

Forgive me folks, for I have sinned. It's been nearly a week since my last post. So, I'm coming back with a bang. POW! Here goes the Yo!

One of my kids has a bully in its school. Yeah, I said "its." I'm keeping the kid gender neutral to protect the institutions. If the problem isn't solved soon, and Napoleon continues to invade the space of poor, unsuspecting kids, I'm going to war. Not the smartest idea, but sometimes, you need big actions to yield results. In other words, "Knock it off, Napoleon, or the Battle of Waterloo is a-comin to your parents' hizzouse."

"Napoleon," enjoys punching, spitting and verbally-abusing kids. He shows no respect for others, including those in authority. It's sad, really. Kids aren't born bad. They become idiots when parents fail them. Oh, yes, I am pointing all 10 fingers at Mr. and Mrs. Bonaparte. My guess is they practice laissez faire parenting at home and I'm not down with that. Yes, yes. There are tons of causes of bullying. You can read them here. However, I strongly believe that parents are a core contributing factor.

So, to prepare my kids for any unexpected, upcoming pushes, pokes and punches, I bought a book called Billy Bully. It's the story of a bull who ruins all possible friendships due to his horrible actions. In the end, he's left with no school pals. It's a straight-forward book that hammers home a message most kids understand: If I'm mean, I'll have no friends.

I read it to the Doobies this evening and then asked them a few questions to make sure they got the gist.

Me: What is a bully?
Them: A mean person.

Me: What makes him mean?
Them: He treats his friends bad. He pushes them and hits them. That's not nice.

Me: What should you do if a bully hits you?
Them: HIT THEM BACK!

SCORE! Nothing warms a Hindu mama's heart like a child unwilling to turn the other cheek. Of course, I had to temper my excitement with responsible mom advice.

Um, well, no. Not exactly. Here's the deal. If a bully hits you, you tell him to stop. If he doesn't stop, you tell your teacher. If he still doesn't stop, you have my full, 100%, never-expiring, signed with a permanent marker permission to serve that bastard the biggest knuckle-sandwich he's ever eaten. You ball up your hand into a fist and knock that sucker into next week. Then, when the school calls, I'll politely explain how I gave you permission to do this because they failed you and, quite frankly, I was tired of my kid becoming some douchebag's punching bag.

I will do everything I can to follow the right channels to report bad behavior, but if I don't get results, I'm empowering my kids' hands -- and going public via blogposts and more.

As parents, we must have zero-tolerance for bullying and take a stand even if our child isn't the victim. The "do nothing because it's not my kid" mentality is cowardly thinking. Unfortunately, to effect change, sometimes you need numbers. In the case of bullying, lots of pissed-off parents demanding immediate action.

And that, my friends, is how I'm gonna roll with this intimidation issue. I don't care that the kids are young. I don't care that I should behave like a responsible adult. At some point, protection trumps patience. It breaks my heart to see kids being bullied. It pisses me off that kids aren't safe at school. I can't stand parents who turn a blind eye to abhorrent acts.

Napoleon, Mr. and Mrs. Bonaparte, you've been put on notice. Comprenez-vous?