Sticks and Stones
LJ Idol, Week Ten
The upper story in our house has become the exclusive domain of my two daughters, collectively known as The Girlitas. We didn't really plan it that way when we first moved in, but since the master bedroom's located downstairs, I guess it was inevitable. In fact, as they've grown older and play dates and sleepovers with their friends have become more common, my wife, Lizbeth, and I have grown to appreciate the separation.
The only problem with this adult/child segregation is that sometimes--okay, okay, more like once a week--we're forced to crack the whip, and demand that the upstairs be cleaned. Not a big deal, except for the fact that actually getting an eleven-year-old and a thirteen-year-old to work cooperatively, stay focused, and complete such a task can be … rather challenging. Tuesday, January 3, was such an occasion.
"How is the cleaning going?" Lizbeth asked me over instant messenger around 4:00 PM.
"They've made some progress," I answered, "but have got a ways to go before it's really clean up there. There's been a lot of giggling and running around this afternoon, so I'm kind of doubtful that they'll be done by the time you get home."
I was working in my home office, trying to reach groggy customers who had only recently returned from their holiday break, with the objective of scheduling a meeting, and maybe even selling them something. Both kids returned to school the next day, and, feeling benevolent, I hadn't really had the heart to push them too hard.
There was a pause, and then she responded, "Tell them, if they do finish by the time I get home, I'll buy them each one book and one app for their Nook."
Both girls had received a Nook Tablet for Christmas.
I laughed, and typed back, "Ah, parenting by bribery. I like it!"
I called both girls down stairs, relayed the message, and asked if they had any questions.
"We each get to pick one book and one app?" questioned Sarah, the eldest negotiator.
"That's right," I confirmed.
"I'm going to get a book by Justin Bieber," was my younger daughter's predictable response.
I sighed. "Okay Amanda," I told her resignedly, "just be certain it's really the book you want."
"I have no idea why you'd want a book written by that girl," Sarah scoffed, in true big sister fashion.
"It's her choice," I told her, "so don't worry about it. Do you have a book you want?"
"A book called The Hunger Games," she answered, "all my friends are reading that series and say it's great."
"Okay. Well what both of you need to concentrate on right now is finishing before your mother gets home. You only have an hour and a half, so I suggest you get busy."
Remarkably, they did, and even finished a little ahead of time. When I inspected their domain, I found that all the toys had been picked up, laundry had been folded in drawers or hung in closets, dolls had been arranged artfully on shelves, desks had been cleaned, and beds had been made.
"I think this is the best job you've ever done," I praised them.
When Lizbeth got home, the girlitas gave her a tour of the upstairs as well, and then promptly asked for their reward.
"Let's eat dinner first," she countered, "and then we can look at what you each want to get."
After dinner was prepared and devoured, Sarah decided that she was going to take a shower in preparation for the next day at school, and Amanda said that she'd come show us her book and app selections in a few minutes. When she finally arrived in our bedroom though, there was a surprise.
"You got everything picked out?" I inquired.
"Yes," she said quietly, handing the Nook to her mother.
For some reason, her excitement from earlier seemed to have vanished. Before I could ask her what was wrong, Lizbeth said, "The Hunger Games? I thought this was the one Sarah wanted."
"Well," she mumbled, "Sarah told me about it, and I think I might enjoy it too."
Smelling a rat, I asked, "What about the Justin Bieber book? You seemed pretty excited about that earlier."
"I was, but …" she trailed off.
"But what?" I prompted, although I now had a pretty good idea what was going on.
"Sarah said that it would be stupid to waste my money on that," she said in a rush.
Suspicions confirmed, I sighed. "Amanda, this isn't Sarah's choice, it's yours."
"I know," she said sadly, "but she told me that she really wanted to have the first two books in this series."
I motioned her over to me, and gave her a hug. "I don't want you giving up something you want, just because your sister doesn't like it. When she finishes the first book, she can earn the second one by doing something else. Does that make sense?"
"Yes," she sniffled, her face buried in my shirt, "but I also made a new year's resolution to try and be nicer to her."
I resisted the urge to sigh again, wishing that it had been my eldest child who had made that resolution instead.
"Being nice to someone doesn't mean giving up something you've earned to try and make them happy," I explained patiently. "Especially when they call something you want stupid."
So, the crisis was averted, and after we had a stern conversation with Sarah, a lesson was learned, hopefully by both kiddos. Still, with one child having already broken through the teen barrier, and with another on the verge of adolescence, I wonder how long it will be before the upstairs girlita domain splits apart into two warring sovereign states. The more I think about it, the more I think we'd all be safer if they were separated.
Dan
The upper story in our house has become the exclusive domain of my two daughters, collectively known as The Girlitas. We didn't really plan it that way when we first moved in, but since the master bedroom's located downstairs, I guess it was inevitable. In fact, as they've grown older and play dates and sleepovers with their friends have become more common, my wife, Lizbeth, and I have grown to appreciate the separation.
The only problem with this adult/child segregation is that sometimes--okay, okay, more like once a week--we're forced to crack the whip, and demand that the upstairs be cleaned. Not a big deal, except for the fact that actually getting an eleven-year-old and a thirteen-year-old to work cooperatively, stay focused, and complete such a task can be … rather challenging. Tuesday, January 3, was such an occasion.
"How is the cleaning going?" Lizbeth asked me over instant messenger around 4:00 PM.
"They've made some progress," I answered, "but have got a ways to go before it's really clean up there. There's been a lot of giggling and running around this afternoon, so I'm kind of doubtful that they'll be done by the time you get home."
I was working in my home office, trying to reach groggy customers who had only recently returned from their holiday break, with the objective of scheduling a meeting, and maybe even selling them something. Both kids returned to school the next day, and, feeling benevolent, I hadn't really had the heart to push them too hard.
There was a pause, and then she responded, "Tell them, if they do finish by the time I get home, I'll buy them each one book and one app for their Nook."
Both girls had received a Nook Tablet for Christmas.
I laughed, and typed back, "Ah, parenting by bribery. I like it!"
I called both girls down stairs, relayed the message, and asked if they had any questions.
"We each get to pick one book and one app?" questioned Sarah, the eldest negotiator.
"That's right," I confirmed.
"I'm going to get a book by Justin Bieber," was my younger daughter's predictable response.
I sighed. "Okay Amanda," I told her resignedly, "just be certain it's really the book you want."
"I have no idea why you'd want a book written by that girl," Sarah scoffed, in true big sister fashion.
"It's her choice," I told her, "so don't worry about it. Do you have a book you want?"
"A book called The Hunger Games," she answered, "all my friends are reading that series and say it's great."
"Okay. Well what both of you need to concentrate on right now is finishing before your mother gets home. You only have an hour and a half, so I suggest you get busy."
Remarkably, they did, and even finished a little ahead of time. When I inspected their domain, I found that all the toys had been picked up, laundry had been folded in drawers or hung in closets, dolls had been arranged artfully on shelves, desks had been cleaned, and beds had been made.
"I think this is the best job you've ever done," I praised them.
When Lizbeth got home, the girlitas gave her a tour of the upstairs as well, and then promptly asked for their reward.
"Let's eat dinner first," she countered, "and then we can look at what you each want to get."
After dinner was prepared and devoured, Sarah decided that she was going to take a shower in preparation for the next day at school, and Amanda said that she'd come show us her book and app selections in a few minutes. When she finally arrived in our bedroom though, there was a surprise.
"You got everything picked out?" I inquired.
"Yes," she said quietly, handing the Nook to her mother.
For some reason, her excitement from earlier seemed to have vanished. Before I could ask her what was wrong, Lizbeth said, "The Hunger Games? I thought this was the one Sarah wanted."
"Well," she mumbled, "Sarah told me about it, and I think I might enjoy it too."
Smelling a rat, I asked, "What about the Justin Bieber book? You seemed pretty excited about that earlier."
"I was, but …" she trailed off.
"But what?" I prompted, although I now had a pretty good idea what was going on.
"Sarah said that it would be stupid to waste my money on that," she said in a rush.
Suspicions confirmed, I sighed. "Amanda, this isn't Sarah's choice, it's yours."
"I know," she said sadly, "but she told me that she really wanted to have the first two books in this series."
I motioned her over to me, and gave her a hug. "I don't want you giving up something you want, just because your sister doesn't like it. When she finishes the first book, she can earn the second one by doing something else. Does that make sense?"
"Yes," she sniffled, her face buried in my shirt, "but I also made a new year's resolution to try and be nicer to her."
I resisted the urge to sigh again, wishing that it had been my eldest child who had made that resolution instead.
"Being nice to someone doesn't mean giving up something you've earned to try and make them happy," I explained patiently. "Especially when they call something you want stupid."
So, the crisis was averted, and after we had a stern conversation with Sarah, a lesson was learned, hopefully by both kiddos. Still, with one child having already broken through the teen barrier, and with another on the verge of adolescence, I wonder how long it will be before the upstairs girlita domain splits apart into two warring sovereign states. The more I think about it, the more I think we'd all be safer if they were separated.
Dan