Of Mice and Men

We often remind our oldest, that our parenting skills are getting better and better with each child, thanks to all the mistakes we've made parenting him.

Family Councils, as we call them, are how we coordinate our family calendar. A few nights ago, we were discussing schedules for the children. When it became known that S1 was about to receive a privilege to drive himself to a special event, S2 started to grumble about the unfairness of the situation. He quickly stopped himself however, and in a sarcastic tone, unusual for him, he confessed,

"Oh, that's right. I forgot. You are the Golden Child."

S1, who is clear on a regular basis about his many hardships as the oldest child, corrected his little brother,

"You mean I'm the Lab Rat. Right?"

Helicopter Regrets

S1 was telling a story (and let's hope that's all it was) about some people during a war trying to get two men to talk. Neither captive was offering up much information so they put them both in a helicopter and took off. Once high in the air they pushed one guy out.

"I bet the second guy was thinking I had better start talking," I interrupted, rudely finishing the story.

"And I bet the first guy was thinking I wish I were the second guy," S2 added.

Why I Can't Buy Oreos

I bought a package of Oreos yesterday. Such a vacuum of nutrition is a rare treat for our family. They were supposed to be for S1's and D1's sack lunches. (S2 and D2 eat school lunch which is delivered from various local restaurants and the menu sounds so good I wish I could dine in their cafeteria.)

Yesterday after everyone left for school (except D3, of course) at approximately 8:43 AM I purchased the package containing 36 chocolate sandwich cookies. It was not opened until sometime yesterday afternoon when the wolves children came home from school. Today at 4:18 it was completely empty. That is only part of the problem.

The real problem is the fighting discussion that ensued:

S1: Who ate all the Oreos?

D1, S2, and D2 (in perfect unison): Not me!

D1: I only had four. (And then belatedly...) Not counting the three in my lunch today.

S1 (shouting overly defensively): I had none until this afternoon. I didn't even know we had them until today! How come no one told me?

D2: But how many did you eat S2?

S2: How many did you eat? You probably ate them all.

D2: Nuh uh.

S2: You and your friends - I bet you ate a ton.

D2: We did not. We did not eat hardly any. Probably only sixteen.

S1, D1 and S2 (simultaneously): Sixteen!!!

D2: Um, not really. I mean like six or three. Hardly any.

Kids Say the Darndest Things

When S2 graduated from preschool his teacher presented us with a list of the funny things he had said during the school year. S2's 2001-2002 school year was obviously entertaining. Here are a few of my favorites:

"The BYU Cougars could beat the Power Rangers in football."

"My neighbor Jesse is The Farting King. His farts are long and loud."

"Bad guys wear handcuffs and live in cages."

"Girls sure don't know much."

"Miss Susie, I didn't come to school last time because I like my mom better than you."

"Is this kind of car called a mustache?" (It was really a Ford Mustang)

"If we don't wear our seat belts on the way to school, the police will come and underest us."

"My dad is very old, he's sixteen."

Sweet Suckers and Green Boats

DH and I are often amazed at how easy going S2 can be. He is so kind and good-natured, you have to wonder if he is for real. We have noticed that he will do most anything to make someone else happy.

One day he was enjoying a sucker he had received earlier that morning from the teller at the bank. A slightly younger neighbor girl came over to S2 on the front lawn and expressed some interest in the sucker. S2 slid it out from his pursed lips and handed it to her. Without a moment's hesitation, she stuck it directly in her own mouth. S2 stood there briefly and then walked over to me sitting on the front steps. I told him that it was very nice of him, but he did not have to give up his sucker. He replied that it was okay and that he didn't really want it anyway. Then his bottom lip started to quiver and he ran up the stairs into the house. I followed soon after to find my four-year old uncontrollably crying in the living room for the sadness of a lost-forever sucker.

Even as a ten-year old, S2 is still often thinking more about others' feelings than his own. This week he has been working with his dad to build a boat for the Cub Scout Rain Gutter Regatta. S2 had shown me a picture of a yellow boat earlier in the week that he wanted to copy. However, when S2 and DH brought it in the house, freshly painted from the garage, his boat was green.

On the way to the store to buy some stickers for the boat, I asked S2 why he changed his mind on the color for his boat. He replied, he had told dad that green was the color he wanted to paint the boat. I wasn't convinced that was really the color he wanted. But with each question, S2 repeatedly assured me that he loved his boat, and he loved the color green, and it was exactly what he wanted.

When I pressed further, knowing that he had probably gone along with the only color readily available in the garage so as to make DH's job easier, he firmly stood his stance. "Mom, I love green! It's just what I wanted. We are so lucky that was the only color we had, because green is my third or fourth favorite color!"

I think I could learn a lot from S2, because I am not nearly easy going. For example, no one has ever heard me confess, "I love senselessly dirty clothes. I love to do extra loads of laundry because someone wears something for 4 minutes and then throws it on the floor. It is really my favorite thing! It's exactly what I always wanted."

How's that sound? Are you convinced? Yeah, me neither.

I Am Not Braver Than a 4th Grader

Have you watched that new game show, "Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader"? People come on the set trying to answer 1st through 5th grade text book questions for a shot at a million dollar prize. If they do not succeed at winning the grand prize, they are forced to admit on national television, "I am not smarter a fifth grader." We've watched it a couple times and get a bit of a kick out of how dumb people can be. And just like D2 thinks I should try out for American Idol, S2 thinks I need to go on the game show. Mainly, because like most of you, I am smarter than a 5th grader.

A couple days ago, S2 had a book report due. He needed some help making a poster and since reading is one of my assigned subjects, I was it. We believe in specialization in our home. DH tutors for Geography and Social Studies homework, S1 helps anyone needing assistance with Science, and I am the contact for English, Math, and all projects requiring creativity.

As it turns out the Reading assignment was more closely related to Science than English or the creativity parameter, so I should have passed it off onto S1. But at the time I had no idea it was going to be a problem.

S2's book report was based on a informational text about vipers. Not as in the sexy fast cars, but as in the slithering asps. So we wrote facts on paper strips, found pictures on the Internet, made a poster, used some craft paper, glue and scissors and had a grand ol' time.

Everything was hunky dorey until bedtime. As soon as my eyelids snapped shut, which they do about ten seconds after my head falls on a pillow, I began dreaming about vipers. Such visions continued all through the night. There were vipers sliding their way through my lawn, along my driveway, and up the sidewalk. The worst was when the venom spouting reptilia began closing in on my porch. Those viper facts about deadly poisoned fangs and quick-to-strike breeds were doing me no favors during my sleep. I was trying to crush the creepy killer snakes with a shovel. I pounded mercilessly, but the venomous creatures seemed unfazed by my powerful blows.

After waking up the next morning, I was completely exhausted, but relieved to be in suburbia where vipers do not typically reside. I resolved right then and there, I will not be doing any more 4th grade Reading homework. I asked S2 at breakfast if he slept okay, or if he had any bad dreams. "I was just fine, Mom," was his reply.

So apparently, while I may be smarter than a 5th grader, I am not braver than a 4th grader.

A Sob Fable

It has been Spring Break this week at our house. Since there has been no school all week and a vacation was not in our plans, we’ve been vacationing at home. Which translates into a fun activity each day and staying up really late each night. After almost a week of this bustle, it is starting to take its toll.

Last night it was 11 PM when DH and I were ready to succumb to exhaustion. We turned off the TV, told the girls (who would stay up until 2 AM if given the opportunity) to brush their teeth and head upstairs to bed. Upon entering our bedroom, I kicked off my slippers and flopped on the bed.

DH was snuggling under the covers when he asked as to the whereabouts of S2. It was then I realized that he had not gone to bed when S1 did, but was still at the neighbors watching a movie. Completely worn out, I assured DH, though I did not necessarily believe it myself, that our son was responsible and would be home as soon as the movie ended. A few more minutes of silence ensued then DH supposed, “What if he fell asleep during the movie? Will they wake him up? Will they even be able to wake him up?”

DH’s worrying was not unfounded. Such a scenario is highly likely for S2, as he seems to go into automatic sleep mode at 10 PM no matter how hard he struggles to stay up late. The poor kid has never experienced New Year’s Eve celebrations. Even the midnight fireworks fail to rouse him from his seemingly drug-induced slumber.

As we laid in bed a couple minutes more worrying about S2, we finally decided we needed to go across the street and bring him home. But did I mention we were in our nice, comfy, thick-mattressed bed? And it was really late? And we were really tired? Another minute passed before DH offered weakly, “Do you want me to go?” A long pause set in. “No, I can,” I faintly replied.

I tried to will myself out of bed, but before I had even moved a muscle, I realized I could hear D1 and D2 brushing their teeth in the hall bath. So I called out for them. D1 came into the room and feebly turning her direction, I asked her to take D2 (for protection from the boogieman, of course) and go get their brother at the neighbors. Seeing this as a way to delay bedtime by at least ten more minutes, D1 and D2 readily agreed and quickly left.

What kind of mother sends her little children out after 11 pm on an errand? My kind. My overworked, burned out kind.

A few minutes later as Mr. Sandman was within grasp, I remembered hearing the front door open and close. Confident my children were safely home, I let sleep overtake my drained body. Only a few minutes had passed when my dreamlike trance was abruptly ended by a sharp scream. DH and I both sat up, then the crying unfolded. Loud and long. And it sounded as if it were coming from a little girl’s lungs...outside!? I bolted out of bed and ran out the front door to see D1 trying, rather unsuccessfully, to lug D2 across the street. I rushed to their aid and carried D2 into the house.

Apparently, the girls had fetched their brother and sent him home while they stayed and talked with the neighbors. Yes, at 11:30 at night. When the girls finally started to make their way home, D2’s big toe failed to see the small metal scooter lurking in the neighbor’s lawn.

I spent the next 15 minutes calming down D2 who was crying more out of fatigue than pain. An ice pack, a back rub, and a face tickle later she was finally ready for bed.

Moral of The Story: If you are too tired to do a task, you are certainly way too tired to have your children do it.

Hanging On Until Independence Day

As a parent, it is part of my calling to foster independence in my children. I hope my offspring catch on, because I plan on showing them to the front door on their 19th birthday, and will bade them farewell with only a suitcase and a kiss. However, there are moments when I fear my plan may be jeopardized and that my children may never provide me the crowning glory of an empty-nester. Their blatant lack of self sufficiency becomes apparent at the oddest times, like when I make a call for hangers.

A call for hangers is what I do when the laundry room is void of hangers, yet crowded with clothing. So I make a house wide request for all hangers to be brought to me. Then S1-D2 quickly scatter and collect every single empty hanger from their closets, floors, drawers, and under their beds.

The other day I was in such a need and so I made the call for hangers. D1 and D2 brought in a few and then S1 and S2 came upstairs with hangers. Lots of them. Hangers slung on their fingers and indenting their thumbs. Hangers suspended from their arms and even sagging on their t-shirts. It was quite a sight - their plethora of hangers.

As the boys stood at the entrance to the laundry room, S2 looked at me shaking his head in disappointment. And as he tried to raise his weighted arms, he chastised, “Mom, don’t you think you should have made a call for hangers a long time ago?”

It is clear that if I expect S2 to be accountable for his food, shelter, clothing and medical expenses in seven short years, I’ve got my work cut out for me. Because right now, he won’t even accept responsibility for his own jumble of hangers.

“A Verbal Contract Isn't Worth the Paper It's Written On” (Samuel Goldwyn)

This weekend D1 and Friend of D1 decided to play a game with S2 and Friend of S2. This is a game they have played before. It involves D1 and her friend owning and operating a business establishment, a.k.a. a restaurant, and S2 and his friend patronizing said restaurant. Sounds simple enough.

However, far too many times the game has run afoul. Allegedly, D1 and her friend have laboriously created a four-page printed and bound menu, set out the table cloth and candles, donned aprons and prepared gourmet omelets, only to have S2 and his accomplice, in an act of reckless abandonment, give up in hunger, grab a microwaved pizza, and in bad faith, without notice of cancellation, leave minutes before they were to be seated at Le Gamblet (the official name of the swanky French bistro that occasionally occupies my Orem, Utah kitchen).

When called upon to judge, I am forced to recuse myself due to personal conflicts (namely being parent to both defendant and accuser). When pressed for a verdict, I must side with the defendants as case law has shown that without a contract, the girls have no recourse to recover damages. And so, too often, the boys exit freely without being found legally liable for any wrong doing.

It was S2 and his friend’s idea to play the game this time. But D1 and her sidekick were cautious. So, they presented the boys with The Contract which was to ensure completion of the game, referred to hereafter as “FOLLOW THE RULES!!!!!!!” and a form of payment, referred to hereafter as “the Keychain”. Here it is, in its entirety, exactly as I found it Sunday afternoon:

CONTRACT
We agree to play a game with you that involves a restaurant. You can do whatever you want but Friend of S2 must give Friend of D1 the Keychain.


___________________ ____________________
Sign Here

Now D1 and her friend, as I mentioned, have been through this before and in addition to The Contract, also presented the boys with an addendum. It is as follows:

ADDENDUM
Now play talk will be involved. No laughing for any weird reason. FOLLOW THE RULES!!!!!!!


__________ _________
Initial Here

Surprisingly, both parties signed and initialed The Contract without seeking representation.

Happily, upon execution of The Contract neither party was found to be in breach of said contract at any time. The girls put on a fabulous meal, and the boys enjoyed their cheesy bacon omelets so much they even left a fifty-cent tip, along with said keychain.

Whether or not the girls will choose to adopt a set of bylaws for Le Gamblet and its future participants, is yet to be determined. However, if they don’t make it in the restaurant business, I’m confident they would do well to opt for law school.