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Look, sometimes there's really nothing to say:

Va. Mother Charged With Abandoning Son, 4, on Beltway

Fairfax police charged a Newport News, Va., woman with child neglect and hit and run last night after they found her 4-year-old son wandering alone about 10 p.m. on the Capital Beltway near Lee Highway.

Police said the child had been put out of the car by his mother, Channoah Alece Green, 22, who was angry at him. The child told an officer who picked him up that his mother was upset with him because he would not sit down. The child was treated at Inova Fairfax Hospital for scratches and cuts.

Because Green allegedly bumped the child with her car, after she let him out, police charged her with hit and run, authorities said.

Italics and boldface mine.

I went to a Nationals game on Monday evening with a bunch of friends. We sat in the front row of the left field bleachers, which was really cool--we spent half the game taunting the humorously-named Placido Palanco, who is balding. It was fun, although the Nats lost the game because of the incompetent Cristian Guzman.

But sitting directly behind us was a nice family comprising a mommy, a daddy, and two little boys, ages 4 and 6 (or something, I dunno). This was a problem for 3 reasons:

1) We felt bad screaming cursewords, and so we didn't do it. Lucky for Placido.
2) We felt bad getting violently-drunk, and so we didn't do it. Truly, this wasn't really a problem--my days of getting hammered on watered-down 6 dollar beers are pretty well and gone.
3) Did you know that 4-year-old boys' voices share pitch and amplitude with the wrenching screams of vultures?

To expand upon 3: For the first 6 innings (until his parents dragged him off to the dungeon in which I hope they usually keep him) this little tow-headed cherub sitting right behind me screamed words of encouragement to the Nats and biting criticism to the hapless Phillies.

I am sure you know what it's like to have an ambulance siren blaring directly into your ear from 2 feet away, so I shall not go into further detail about why this was irritating. But there was another problem, and that was the child's lack of variety in chosen phrases.
There are a lot of things one can yell at a ballgame. "No batter!" "Come on, Nats!" "Plaaaaaaaaaacido... Plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaacido... Plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaacido... YOU SUCK!" Et cetera.

This kid knew just two phrases. The first one was "Let's go Nationals." This one, which he didn't use too often, was okay with me, except that the meter was WAY off. You really need a one- or two-syllable word to finish that cheer, so it's either "let's-go-meh-ets" or "let's-go-red-sox." When you try to force a three-syllable word in there, things get really awkward. But, okay, he's just a kid, and he's cheering on his team. I can dig it.

But when he decided to give muckraking a try, things got truly aggravating. I don't know who it was who taught this kid the phrase "you stink!" but I am very upset with whoever is responsible for the child shrieking those words over and over, averaging three instances per minute, for 2 hours. His understanding of situational cheering was, apparently, limited. He would wail the phrase in any situation, including but not limited to: a Phillie was batting; a Phillie grounded out; a Phillie hit a stand-up double; a National was batting; a National struck out looking; the purple car won the animated race on the jumbotron; nothing happened whatsoever.

My friends and I, we're not ill-natured people. We found it funny that this kid basically seemed to know a single phrase, and that phrase was "you stink!", and that he was using it so often that it seemed like an unconscious reflex akin to breathing. We found it funny, that is, for the first half-inning or so. After that, though, we were regularly going from making unkind statements to each other about his parentage under our breath, cursing the worthless Cristian Guzman loudly (but not actually cursing, remember, because we respect the sensibilities of those around us, UNLIKE SOME FAMILIES I COULD MENTION), and chanting "Rogaine" at Placido "the scapegoat" Palanco.

Aside from the screaming child, the hot dogs sucked, the pretzels were cold, and the beer was expensive. It took an hour to get home because the Metro was so crowded (thank god we figured out that we could take a bus home instead). But there's something about watching a baseball game from the cheap seats on a cool summer evening that makes it easy to overlook all the annoying things that come along with it. It was really fun. Let's Go Nationals!

Polite, well-raised children, or diminutive organic robots?

When Natalie Steinberg, 7, and her 9-year-old sister, Kali, arrive at their Springfield home after school, they don't throw their backpacks on the floor and head to the television or outside to play. Rather, they put their coats and backpacks on a rack in the foyer, have a snack of fruit or cookies and start their homework at the kitchen table. When that is complete, they leave for after-school activities and then have dinner. Once they've asked to be excused and cleared their dishes, they have free time, followed by preparation for bed, reading and lights out around 9 p.m.

later...

"When they start running around the house and chasing each other, that's a challenge," he says. Also, he knows the routine is not functioning well when his 9-year-old is supposed to be doing spelling homework and starts asking random questions such as: "When is it going to snow?" and "Why is the sky blue?"

"We need to focus," is his response. "I'm a broken record about that."

Yes, because heaven forbid we permit creativity and imagination to ravage the productivity of our youth. THE NAIL THAT STICKS UP GETS HAMMERED DOWN. And don't you forget it.

But Peter Steinberg says getting the girls organized also helps him and Caroline.

"If they don't get things done, it cuts into time for me to do stuff with my wife and makes life very stressful for us."

Oh. I get it now.