Have I ever told you that I have a tendency to overthink things?
I was at the grocery store doing the usual grocery shopping, and realized that Halloween is only two weeks away, so it would probably be a good idea to buy some Halloween candy. Most normal people probably just grab a few bags of whatever happens to be on sale or whatever happens to be within reach and toss them in the cart, but I have Halloween candy decision making angst.
The first question that I have to answer is "Do I want to buy the candy that I like, or do I want to buy the candy that I don't like?". If I buy the candy I like, then chances are good that I might open the pantry door the next day and think, "Hey, I'll just help myself to a couple of these Mini Snickers." and before I know it, we'll be out of candy and I'll be making snarky comments about how the dryer keeps shrinking my clothes.
If I buy the candy I don't like, then we will get not a single Trick or Treater, and I'll be stuck with Halloween candy I don't actually want. The last time that happened, I took the leftover candy to work and it turned out that all my co-workers were on diets or didn't like candy with nuts or just had dental surgery and all the candy sat on the break room table for weeks until it mysteriously disappeared.
The second question that I have to answer is "How much candy do I actually want to buy?". When I stock up on candy, anticipating massive amounts of Trick or Treaters bravely coming to the door of my spooky lair, almost no one comes. I'm reduced to standing on the sidewalk waving down cars, yelling "It's Halloween! Don't you want some candy? Please stop! I need you to take this candy!".
When I buy just one bag of candy, the deluge of kids starts early and never lets up. For some reason, kids don't go for the idea of "Hey, how about I give you a Halloween candy I.O.U and you can come back tomorrow and I'll give you twice the amount of candy I would have given you tonight! It's a win-win, right?". Meanwhile the Dad of No is rummaging around in the pantry for something candy-like to give out and coming up with things like candy canes from the previous Christmas that were supposed to have been used to make reindeer tree ornaments, or the canned beets that I bought to put in a salad six months ago because I'd heard somewhere that beets are healthy and you should eat more of them.
I can just see the kid lucky enough to get those candy canes or beets going back to his or her house after Trick or Treat is over and presenting his candy to his parents for inspection and payment of the parental Candy Tax, only to have them exclaim to each other in amazement, "Who gives out candy canes and canned beets for Halloween?". Then they'd post a selfie of them with the can of beets on social media, and my identity would somehow come to light. I'd end up as the infamous Beet Lady, scorned across the nation. No, raiding the pantry is too risky these days.
I know that in the past, I've had other parents tell me that they've re-gifted their own kids' candy to other Trick or Treaters, but I know I can't get away with that because my kids know how to count, and they both know exactly how many Reese's Peanut Butter cups and Twizzlers they are supposed to have. They even get possessive over the candy I know they aren't going to eat. I've heard stories (probably from the Grandpa of No, reminiscing about the good old days) about running out of candy and then using change from the kitchen change jar, which at first sounds like a good idea, and then I realize that I don't actually have a change jar.
Finally, after standing in the candy aisle for awhile, a store employee comes by and asks if I need any help. No, I tell him. I just need to buy some Halloween candy. He gives me this look that says "You're standing in the candy aisle; how hard can that be?" and walks away, and I realize that I am definitely overthinking this whole candy thing, and I toss a few bags of something that looks candy-like in the cart and move on.
I'm still not sure what I bought because I took the bag the candy was in and tossed it way back in the pantry behind the dog food container in the hopes that hungry teenagers won't find it before October 31. I think it was actually Halloween candy that I bought. However, if you do happen to get candy canes this year, those are fresh and not from last Christmas. I promise.
Sunday, October 16, 2016
Thursday, October 13, 2016
Butterfly and Spider: A Sad Story
The other day I was out hiking at my favorite nature area- and as I was watching some butterflies flitting around, one of them flew directly into this garden spider's web and was promptly killed and trussed up. One minute, that was a butterfly roaming free. The next minute, it was spider food. There's a life lesson here: Watch out for spider webs, because you never know when one will entangle you while you are just going about your business. Or something like that.
The End.
Sunday, October 9, 2016
The Apology
As a child, I was required by my parents to attend religious education classes once a week. I was a kid who much preferred being outside, and I spent most of the instructional time dreaming of a world where kids could roam freely in the great outdoors, pretending to be intrepid explorers of a new world or building dams across streams and getting extremely muddy. Therefore, much of the religious doctrine that was intended for my developing brain never made it to its destination.
Despite my daydreaming, however, a few nuggets of knowledge actually got through and took hold. For example, I can tell you the difference between a sin of commission and a sin of omission, and that there are seven deadly sins (sloth, greed, wrath, envy, gluttony, pride and lust*).
I can also tell you how to make an honest apology. An apology consists of three steps: One, admit that whatever you did was wrong and hurtful. Two, make amends to the person or people who were wronged. Three, resolve never to commit that offense again.
As a kid, I had ample opportunity to practice this skill. Dear Mom, I am sorry that I broke your figurine that Grandma gave you a long time ago. I should not have been playing Frisbee in the house. I will try to glue this one back together, or buy a new one. I will only play Frisbee outside from now on.
Here is what did not fly when I was growing up, and what does not work in my own house now: justifying a wrongdoing by saying that someone else did something worse. If you are a parent, you've probably run into this one at least a couple of times: What do you mean I'm in trouble because I didn't do the chores you asked me to do? At least I didn't get sent to the principal's office at school! (This is often followed by (1) the exclamation of "It's not fair", and (2) the statement of "You are the meanest mother EVER in the whole history of the world!").
Sometimes people will attempt an apology that is really a not-apology by saying something like "I'm sorry that you felt unwelcome", or trying to place the fault back onto the person who was wronged in the commission of the offense, as in "I'm sorry that you were hurt, but honestly, you need to just lighten up". Neither one of these is a legit apology. A better apology would be: "We should have made better efforts to include everyone. I am so sorry; would you like to have coffee with us next week?".
As a woman, I've heard the non-apology more times than I care to think about. "I'm sorry that you don't like hearing women referred to as (insert derogatory term here). Maybe you need to get a thicker skin/stop taking everything so seriously/just learn to ignore it".
It can be really hard to admit when you are wrong, and even an honest apology often doesn't make relationships whole (or fix broken figurines). I know that it's hard for me to do, although I also know that when I know that I have messed something up, I feel extremely guilty until I finally get the courage up to make that honest apology. I also have much respect for other people who apologize honestly, own their mistakes, and try to make things right, because I know that it's not easy to admit you screwed up. Since we are all human, despite our individual social status or income level, it's a skill we can all work on.
*Although I asked, I did not receive a satisfactory answer on what lust was in class. I had to look it up in the dictionary. I was that kind of annoying kid.
Despite my daydreaming, however, a few nuggets of knowledge actually got through and took hold. For example, I can tell you the difference between a sin of commission and a sin of omission, and that there are seven deadly sins (sloth, greed, wrath, envy, gluttony, pride and lust*).
I can also tell you how to make an honest apology. An apology consists of three steps: One, admit that whatever you did was wrong and hurtful. Two, make amends to the person or people who were wronged. Three, resolve never to commit that offense again.
As a kid, I had ample opportunity to practice this skill. Dear Mom, I am sorry that I broke your figurine that Grandma gave you a long time ago. I should not have been playing Frisbee in the house. I will try to glue this one back together, or buy a new one. I will only play Frisbee outside from now on.
Here is what did not fly when I was growing up, and what does not work in my own house now: justifying a wrongdoing by saying that someone else did something worse. If you are a parent, you've probably run into this one at least a couple of times: What do you mean I'm in trouble because I didn't do the chores you asked me to do? At least I didn't get sent to the principal's office at school! (This is often followed by (1) the exclamation of "It's not fair", and (2) the statement of "You are the meanest mother EVER in the whole history of the world!").
Sometimes people will attempt an apology that is really a not-apology by saying something like "I'm sorry that you felt unwelcome", or trying to place the fault back onto the person who was wronged in the commission of the offense, as in "I'm sorry that you were hurt, but honestly, you need to just lighten up". Neither one of these is a legit apology. A better apology would be: "We should have made better efforts to include everyone. I am so sorry; would you like to have coffee with us next week?".
As a woman, I've heard the non-apology more times than I care to think about. "I'm sorry that you don't like hearing women referred to as (insert derogatory term here). Maybe you need to get a thicker skin/stop taking everything so seriously/just learn to ignore it".
It can be really hard to admit when you are wrong, and even an honest apology often doesn't make relationships whole (or fix broken figurines). I know that it's hard for me to do, although I also know that when I know that I have messed something up, I feel extremely guilty until I finally get the courage up to make that honest apology. I also have much respect for other people who apologize honestly, own their mistakes, and try to make things right, because I know that it's not easy to admit you screwed up. Since we are all human, despite our individual social status or income level, it's a skill we can all work on.
*Although I asked, I did not receive a satisfactory answer on what lust was in class. I had to look it up in the dictionary. I was that kind of annoying kid.
Friday, October 7, 2016
Torture by Shopping
Now that the weather is getting cooler, it is time for a dreaded ritual in my household: clothes shopping. Over the summer, I had noticed that the food consumption in our household was increasing at a rapid rate, and the Son of Never Stops Eating was getting taller by the minute. In the back of my mind, I knew what was coming, but this weekend it was confirmed. It was time to buy him clothing that actually fit.
I hate shopping for clothes. If I was given a choice between (a) a root canal; (b) an entire day spent watching political ads; or (c), going shopping for clothing, it would honestly be a difficult choice. Add to that dislike one teenage boy who has sensory issues, is not shy about expressing his opinions, and who happens to be tall and skinny, and what is left is a challenge worthy of NASA's best.
In my dream world of the future, every home would come with a cylinder that you step in, say "I need new clothes!" and the cylinder would measure you, access your brain to sense what kind of styles and fabrics you had in mind, a fantastic laser show would ensue, and at the end you would be provided a new wardrobe at a reasonable price without ever actually having to go anywhere or talk to anyone. This same cylinder would also tastefully decorate your home and help your children with craft projects, which also happen to be two other activities the Mom of No does not excel at.
The Son of Never Stops Eating and I proceeded to a clothing store, and I quickly realized that my long held assumption that it's always easy for men to buy clothes was wrong, at least in this circumstance. If it fit in the waist, it was too short. If it was long enough, it was too big in the waist. To add to the fun and excitement, he was telling anyone who happened by that he would much rather be shopping for Legos, and that he had a mean mother.
After he tried on two pairs of pants, he announced he was done.
You're not done, I told him. We just got started. Although, to be honest, I was also done.
I just want to wear my old clothes, he told me, exasperated. These clothes are all itchy. I just want to wear shorts all the time.
Those clothes don't fit you anymore, I responded. I even tried the Mom Guilt technique: People will think I am a bad mother, I told him. You can't wear shorts outside when it's freezing. They'll see you walking home from school and think, what kind of mother lets her son outside when it's twenty degrees outside?
He proved to be impervious to the Mom Guilt. Mom, he told me, boys wear shorts all the time. We don't care if it's cold. Shorts are better than pants.
Get back in there, I told him. The sooner you start, the sooner you finish.
He rolled his eyes at me, expelled his breath in a giant sigh, threw his hands up above his head, and went back into the dressing room, where he quickly rejected every remaining pair of pants. I picked everything up, hung it up, and we left, defeated.
So, from this experience, three takeaways:
1. Shopping with teenage boys can be as frustrating as shopping with teenage girls.
2. If you see a very tall kid walking home from school wearing a coat and shorts, I tried.
3. Maybe it's time to delegate shopping to the Dad of No. Why should I get to have all the fun?
I hate shopping for clothes. If I was given a choice between (a) a root canal; (b) an entire day spent watching political ads; or (c), going shopping for clothing, it would honestly be a difficult choice. Add to that dislike one teenage boy who has sensory issues, is not shy about expressing his opinions, and who happens to be tall and skinny, and what is left is a challenge worthy of NASA's best.
In my dream world of the future, every home would come with a cylinder that you step in, say "I need new clothes!" and the cylinder would measure you, access your brain to sense what kind of styles and fabrics you had in mind, a fantastic laser show would ensue, and at the end you would be provided a new wardrobe at a reasonable price without ever actually having to go anywhere or talk to anyone. This same cylinder would also tastefully decorate your home and help your children with craft projects, which also happen to be two other activities the Mom of No does not excel at.
The Son of Never Stops Eating and I proceeded to a clothing store, and I quickly realized that my long held assumption that it's always easy for men to buy clothes was wrong, at least in this circumstance. If it fit in the waist, it was too short. If it was long enough, it was too big in the waist. To add to the fun and excitement, he was telling anyone who happened by that he would much rather be shopping for Legos, and that he had a mean mother.
After he tried on two pairs of pants, he announced he was done.
You're not done, I told him. We just got started. Although, to be honest, I was also done.
I just want to wear my old clothes, he told me, exasperated. These clothes are all itchy. I just want to wear shorts all the time.
Those clothes don't fit you anymore, I responded. I even tried the Mom Guilt technique: People will think I am a bad mother, I told him. You can't wear shorts outside when it's freezing. They'll see you walking home from school and think, what kind of mother lets her son outside when it's twenty degrees outside?
He proved to be impervious to the Mom Guilt. Mom, he told me, boys wear shorts all the time. We don't care if it's cold. Shorts are better than pants.
Get back in there, I told him. The sooner you start, the sooner you finish.
He rolled his eyes at me, expelled his breath in a giant sigh, threw his hands up above his head, and went back into the dressing room, where he quickly rejected every remaining pair of pants. I picked everything up, hung it up, and we left, defeated.
So, from this experience, three takeaways:
1. Shopping with teenage boys can be as frustrating as shopping with teenage girls.
2. If you see a very tall kid walking home from school wearing a coat and shorts, I tried.
3. Maybe it's time to delegate shopping to the Dad of No. Why should I get to have all the fun?
Sunday, October 2, 2016
Praise
The other day, I sent the Son of Never Stops Eating out to the mailbox to get the mail. He came back in with the usual junk mail, college brochures and bills (the only person I know who actually still writes letters is the Grandpa of No) and threw them down on the kitchen table.
A minute later, I heard, Mom, aren't you happy that I went out and got the mail for you?
What? I responded. You want me to give you praise for going out to the mailbox?
Well, yeah, he answered. Don't you appreciate your son when I do things for you?
I'm not sure where he got the idea that he deserves verbal recognition every time he does something around the house; I'm quite certain he didn't get it from me. I am the Mom of No, not the Mom of Nice. Besides, he knows I can easily be talked into buying candy and unhealthy snacks at the grocery store. That should be enough thanks right there. (Side note: if my doctor is reading this, I am not the one eating the unhealthy snacks. I only eat healthy snacks like fruit and carrot sticks. The teenagers won't eat that stuff and it's all that is left by the time I get home from work).
So you think you should be appreciated every time you do something that you're supposed to do anyway because it's part of living in this house, I asked him. He nodded his head yes.
You live in my house, I told him. I feed you! I pay for the electricity that keeps the lights on around here! I even pay for water so that you can take a shower and wash your hair! At this, he rolled his eyes and muttered something that might have been "I'd be okay with not having to take a shower". I already know he thinks that deodorant is optional on weekends and holidays, so I guess a shower isn't considered a high priority task either.
If anyone around here deserves a chorus following her around, singing praises, that person would be me. In fact, I am really starting to be intrigued by this idea. For example:
I got up and went to work.
Chorus: You are wonderful! You are amazing! You are the best employee ever!
Hey, look! I paid the water bill this morning!
Chorus: You are wonderful! You are amazing! You are the best citizen ever!
I take the car to get the oil changed.
Chorus: You are wonderful! You are amazing! You are the best car owner ever!
I stay up until midnight washing the Teenager's marching band uniform.
Chorus: You are wonderful! You are amazing! You are the best band mom ever!
Actually, now that I think about it some more, that would get annoying rather quickly. It is definitely nice to be appreciated, but I don't expect to get praise for stuff that you have to do because you are an adult and you're doing adult things like going to work or paying bills. I suppose I could have made the Teenager wash her own uniform, but a tired teenager is a cranky teenager.
I appreciate you, I told him. I appreciate you every time I give you your allowance. That's your appreciation right there.
He acknowledged that was a good point.
Then I reminded him that it was time to take the dog for a walk, and he had clothes in his room to put away, and he needed to pick up all the Legos in the living room. And he rolled his eyes, and everything was right with the world.
A minute later, I heard, Mom, aren't you happy that I went out and got the mail for you?
What? I responded. You want me to give you praise for going out to the mailbox?
Well, yeah, he answered. Don't you appreciate your son when I do things for you?
I'm not sure where he got the idea that he deserves verbal recognition every time he does something around the house; I'm quite certain he didn't get it from me. I am the Mom of No, not the Mom of Nice. Besides, he knows I can easily be talked into buying candy and unhealthy snacks at the grocery store. That should be enough thanks right there. (Side note: if my doctor is reading this, I am not the one eating the unhealthy snacks. I only eat healthy snacks like fruit and carrot sticks. The teenagers won't eat that stuff and it's all that is left by the time I get home from work).
So you think you should be appreciated every time you do something that you're supposed to do anyway because it's part of living in this house, I asked him. He nodded his head yes.
You live in my house, I told him. I feed you! I pay for the electricity that keeps the lights on around here! I even pay for water so that you can take a shower and wash your hair! At this, he rolled his eyes and muttered something that might have been "I'd be okay with not having to take a shower". I already know he thinks that deodorant is optional on weekends and holidays, so I guess a shower isn't considered a high priority task either.
If anyone around here deserves a chorus following her around, singing praises, that person would be me. In fact, I am really starting to be intrigued by this idea. For example:
I got up and went to work.
Chorus: You are wonderful! You are amazing! You are the best employee ever!
Hey, look! I paid the water bill this morning!
Chorus: You are wonderful! You are amazing! You are the best citizen ever!
I take the car to get the oil changed.
Chorus: You are wonderful! You are amazing! You are the best car owner ever!
I stay up until midnight washing the Teenager's marching band uniform.
Chorus: You are wonderful! You are amazing! You are the best band mom ever!
Actually, now that I think about it some more, that would get annoying rather quickly. It is definitely nice to be appreciated, but I don't expect to get praise for stuff that you have to do because you are an adult and you're doing adult things like going to work or paying bills. I suppose I could have made the Teenager wash her own uniform, but a tired teenager is a cranky teenager.
I appreciate you, I told him. I appreciate you every time I give you your allowance. That's your appreciation right there.
He acknowledged that was a good point.
Then I reminded him that it was time to take the dog for a walk, and he had clothes in his room to put away, and he needed to pick up all the Legos in the living room. And he rolled his eyes, and everything was right with the world.
Thursday, September 29, 2016
RIP Hamster
If you have been following this blog, or if you actually know me, you also know that the Son of Never Stops Eating loves hamsters. This love affair with the little rodents started in second grade, when he met his inclusion teacher's hamster, Hercules, and continues to this day. You may also know that the adorable little creatures can chew through plastic, escape without detection, hide in places you would never imagine, and destroy drywall at a rapid pace.
This week, the Household of No suffered a loss: Squeakers #4 passed on to the Great Hamster Wheel in the Sky.
Owning a hamster brings up all kinds of issues that are never mentioned in the parenting manual you likely did not receive. For example, what do you do when the hamster dies? The first time this happened to us, I was on my way with the two kids to visit Grandma and Grandpa when the Dad of No, who had stayed home, called to tell me that the hamster- that we'd owned two weeks- had passed on.
Just go get a new one, I told him, quietly. We'll just not say anything and hope he doesn't notice. It's a hamster, not a dog. They all kind of look alike.
When we returned home, my son ran into his room to reconnect with his beloved rodent. He immediately came back out and glared at us accusingly.
Son: This is NOT my hamster.
Us: Of course it is! They change a lot as they get older.
Son: My hamster had black eyes! This hamster has RED eyes!
So we had to 'fess up. I tell you this so that you can learn from my parenting error. Do not try to substitute a new hamster for an old one when the old one dies. It might work for goldfish, but it does not work for hamsters.
The second hamster died after a long life (for a hamster) and a short illness. This crisis precipitated a debate between the Mom of No and the Dad of No on the subject of "Do you take a $7 hamster to the vet?". Like other major parenting issues, like discipline, or religion, or at what age teenagers should be allowed to date, this is a question that should probably be settled in advance and not at the actual moment of crisis. On one hand, a hamster is an almost irresistibly adorable ball of fur and drywall-chewing teeth, and on the other hand, it's an easily replaceable rodent with a 2 year lifespan.
The third hamster's passing, of old age, raised that favorite parenting question: "Mom, do hamsters go to Heaven?" I directed my son to a member of the clergy to have that question answered. Mom Parenting Technique #106: Refer difficult questions to subject matter experts.
The recently passed Squeakers #4 had been presumed dead once before, when it escaped from its cage and remained on the loose for two weeks. At one point we decided it had somehow gotten outside, because someone who shall remain nameless likes to open the front door and not close it. Squeakers #4 probably got eaten by a raptor, I told the Son of Never Stops Eating. It's part of the great circle of life. And then, just as we were preparing to purchase a new hamster, he discovered the very much alive Squeakers #4 under his bed, along with about 100 Lego bricks, a bathing suit he'd outgrown, and several empty Capri Suns.
What this hamster ate for two weeks, we have no idea.
Squeakers #4 lived a long and eventful life, if you consider her two weeks going free range in our house, and she passed peacefully into the Great Hamster Afterlife. The next day, father and son went to the pet store and returned with Squeakers #5, who is settling in nicely to her (or his; we're not sure) new habitat. May she (or he) have a long life, and not attempt any escapes or chew any drywall.
This week, the Household of No suffered a loss: Squeakers #4 passed on to the Great Hamster Wheel in the Sky.
Owning a hamster brings up all kinds of issues that are never mentioned in the parenting manual you likely did not receive. For example, what do you do when the hamster dies? The first time this happened to us, I was on my way with the two kids to visit Grandma and Grandpa when the Dad of No, who had stayed home, called to tell me that the hamster- that we'd owned two weeks- had passed on.
Just go get a new one, I told him, quietly. We'll just not say anything and hope he doesn't notice. It's a hamster, not a dog. They all kind of look alike.
When we returned home, my son ran into his room to reconnect with his beloved rodent. He immediately came back out and glared at us accusingly.
Son: This is NOT my hamster.
Us: Of course it is! They change a lot as they get older.
Son: My hamster had black eyes! This hamster has RED eyes!
So we had to 'fess up. I tell you this so that you can learn from my parenting error. Do not try to substitute a new hamster for an old one when the old one dies. It might work for goldfish, but it does not work for hamsters.
The second hamster died after a long life (for a hamster) and a short illness. This crisis precipitated a debate between the Mom of No and the Dad of No on the subject of "Do you take a $7 hamster to the vet?". Like other major parenting issues, like discipline, or religion, or at what age teenagers should be allowed to date, this is a question that should probably be settled in advance and not at the actual moment of crisis. On one hand, a hamster is an almost irresistibly adorable ball of fur and drywall-chewing teeth, and on the other hand, it's an easily replaceable rodent with a 2 year lifespan.
The third hamster's passing, of old age, raised that favorite parenting question: "Mom, do hamsters go to Heaven?" I directed my son to a member of the clergy to have that question answered. Mom Parenting Technique #106: Refer difficult questions to subject matter experts.
The recently passed Squeakers #4 had been presumed dead once before, when it escaped from its cage and remained on the loose for two weeks. At one point we decided it had somehow gotten outside, because someone who shall remain nameless likes to open the front door and not close it. Squeakers #4 probably got eaten by a raptor, I told the Son of Never Stops Eating. It's part of the great circle of life. And then, just as we were preparing to purchase a new hamster, he discovered the very much alive Squeakers #4 under his bed, along with about 100 Lego bricks, a bathing suit he'd outgrown, and several empty Capri Suns.
What this hamster ate for two weeks, we have no idea.
Squeakers #4 lived a long and eventful life, if you consider her two weeks going free range in our house, and she passed peacefully into the Great Hamster Afterlife. The next day, father and son went to the pet store and returned with Squeakers #5, who is settling in nicely to her (or his; we're not sure) new habitat. May she (or he) have a long life, and not attempt any escapes or chew any drywall.
Sunday, September 25, 2016
The Mom Loan
The other night I was sitting at the kitchen table paying bills, and the Son of Never Stops Eating came up to me. You're my favorite Mom, he told me. You are pretty and beautiful! They should have a Mom Appreciation Day just for you!
When he starts with the flattery, I know that he wants something.
Me: What do you want?
Son: A dollar for Oreo cookies.
Me: We have Oreos in the pantry. You can have those for free.
Son: I want to buy some at school.
Me: Why? Are those better in some way?
Son: (rolling eyes) Mom! Can I have a dollar? Yes or no?
I'm not really clear on what the deal was with the Oreos, but I handed over the cash, because compared to the school photos I had just finished paying for, and the yearbook I had just ordered, a dollar was nothing. He had probably been observing me for hours while I muttered under my breath about how that yearbook better be printed on gold leaf paper, trying to figure out just the right strategic moment to ask me for that dollar.
I once tried telling my kids that once they turned 18 they had to start reimbursing the Dad of No and I for all the money that we'd spent on their childhood. Since the day they were born, I'd been keeping records of all the money I had spent on diapers, toys, clothing, preschool tuition, dance lessons, tap shoes, softball fees, field trips, yearbooks, cookie dough fundraisers, food, electricity, water, all the gas I spent driving them places, wear and tear on our vehicles, water park season passes- all of it. That was how it worked.
Because I am a gracious and benevolent parent, I would not actually charge them for Christmas gifts, Easter candy, their share of the family health insurance premiums, or family vacations.
However, I am definitely getting reimbursed for that clarinet.
For a minute, they looked a little stricken. I was going to get away with it! This was exciting! I could finally think about retiring before I turned 90! Never mind that I actually have no idea just how much I've spent on my little darlings, although I know it's a lot. Just the other day I spent over $100 at the grocery store, and that was only buying stuff that "we just ran out of", not the regular weekly food shopping.
Then one of them said, Mom, you're making that up, and the other one said, Mom, that's not fair! We didn't ask to be born! Darn teenagers, too smart for their own good.
It would be interesting if it actually worked that way. Then when the offspring hit you up for something, like a $149.99 Lego City Police Station, and it had to be bought that very minute because it was on sale at Amazon and there were only three left, and who knows when they might get more, then you could say, "Are you sure you really want that? Because I'm putting that on your account. With interest, when you turn 18, you'll have to pay me back $201.98. Still want me to place the order?"
Actually, he'd probably still say yes, because he's a fanatic about his Legos. I should probably just stick to the just as effective parental deflection tactic called "Put that on your Christmas wish list and maybe you'll get it".
Just for the record, I have no intention of sending my kids a bill on their 18th birthday. I just like to mess with their minds a little bit from time to time. Given all the money I've spent on shoes that were outgrown in two months and gas spent driving to softball tournaments an hour away, I think my kids are getting off cheap.
When he starts with the flattery, I know that he wants something.
Me: What do you want?
Son: A dollar for Oreo cookies.
Me: We have Oreos in the pantry. You can have those for free.
Son: I want to buy some at school.
Me: Why? Are those better in some way?
Son: (rolling eyes) Mom! Can I have a dollar? Yes or no?
I'm not really clear on what the deal was with the Oreos, but I handed over the cash, because compared to the school photos I had just finished paying for, and the yearbook I had just ordered, a dollar was nothing. He had probably been observing me for hours while I muttered under my breath about how that yearbook better be printed on gold leaf paper, trying to figure out just the right strategic moment to ask me for that dollar.
I once tried telling my kids that once they turned 18 they had to start reimbursing the Dad of No and I for all the money that we'd spent on their childhood. Since the day they were born, I'd been keeping records of all the money I had spent on diapers, toys, clothing, preschool tuition, dance lessons, tap shoes, softball fees, field trips, yearbooks, cookie dough fundraisers, food, electricity, water, all the gas I spent driving them places, wear and tear on our vehicles, water park season passes- all of it. That was how it worked.
Because I am a gracious and benevolent parent, I would not actually charge them for Christmas gifts, Easter candy, their share of the family health insurance premiums, or family vacations.
However, I am definitely getting reimbursed for that clarinet.
For a minute, they looked a little stricken. I was going to get away with it! This was exciting! I could finally think about retiring before I turned 90! Never mind that I actually have no idea just how much I've spent on my little darlings, although I know it's a lot. Just the other day I spent over $100 at the grocery store, and that was only buying stuff that "we just ran out of", not the regular weekly food shopping.
Then one of them said, Mom, you're making that up, and the other one said, Mom, that's not fair! We didn't ask to be born! Darn teenagers, too smart for their own good.
It would be interesting if it actually worked that way. Then when the offspring hit you up for something, like a $149.99 Lego City Police Station, and it had to be bought that very minute because it was on sale at Amazon and there were only three left, and who knows when they might get more, then you could say, "Are you sure you really want that? Because I'm putting that on your account. With interest, when you turn 18, you'll have to pay me back $201.98. Still want me to place the order?"
Actually, he'd probably still say yes, because he's a fanatic about his Legos. I should probably just stick to the just as effective parental deflection tactic called "Put that on your Christmas wish list and maybe you'll get it".
Just for the record, I have no intention of sending my kids a bill on their 18th birthday. I just like to mess with their minds a little bit from time to time. Given all the money I've spent on shoes that were outgrown in two months and gas spent driving to softball tournaments an hour away, I think my kids are getting off cheap.
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