What Was I Thinking?

The children have been a united front for a couple of years on this topic:

• they want a phone.


• they want it now.


• they don't want to hear the (many) logical reasons why their parents think the request is far-fetched to the point of farcical.

So, they waged a siege. And then, they made the compelling case: if we purchase them tracphones, they will buy the minutes.

The proposal had these benefits, they argued:

• no contracts!


• no parental expense!


• child learning opportunity!


• no money = no minutes = not a parent problem!

And, I bought them (first the argument, and then the tracphones).

This weekend, both children received them. In bed last night, Daughter hummed happily: "I have a phone... I have a phone... I have a phone..." And then, "I can't believe I have a phone..." And then: "I can't believe you bought an eight year old a phone..." And then: "I can't believe you fell for it!"

Hmm. I've been duped.

Paradigm Shift!

Just finished a wonderful read that has revolutionized our parenting style at casa KidLit: The Self-Esteem Trap, by Polly Young-Eisendrath. The basic premise is that generations X, Y, and millenials have all grown up under the GenMe umbrella (thanks to I'm Okay, You're Okay) and we're now reaping the awful rewards of the cult of the "special" child. All children are special, awesome, wonderful, amazing, and bound to change the world... right? So the flip side is that the children believe they are the center of the world, but at the same time they think they must be defective any time they aren't brilliant at something, and that's the self-esteem trap.

If I could buy every parent I know a copy--and, for that matter, all the other parents too-- I would! Even in a week it has changed things for the better around here. But, as I can't, I will offer you a tidbit I would call "Nice Try" which occurred as we watched the moon go down behind the airport runway from our hotel window in the early-ish morning:
Me: You just watched the earth turning.
Daughter: That was amazing.
Son: It was. And we could do that sort of thing all the time if we home schooled.

Don't Play a Playah

Me, to Son: See if you can sweet talk your father into putting up the Christmas lights on the house while I'm away.
Son: Okay. Dad, mom said I had to try and sweet talk you into putting up the Christmas lights.
Me: Heyyyy!
Hubby: That's right! Us men have to stick together!
Son: Yep. But for that piece of information, you're gonna have to let me stay up late tonight.

Fight. For Your Right. To Party...

Hubby, to Son: Come on, now. We just don't have time to goof around.
Son, indignant: No time to play? That's just sad. We're kids!

**
And on another note, my work building is undergoing heavy construction this summer, and we aren't allowed in. Which means, taking all our teaching/writing/computing stuff out with us. We were to have until the end of this week, but the building is already cordoned off with caution tape. Personnel have been moving everything out, and plastic sheeting what remains. I'm in my office with the eery sense that dynamite has been laid in the basement, and it's all over but for the sirens. I feel like a lone holdout. I'd hate to miss the crucial memo about a change in the date! (Just another comma! Boom.)