I was taking a nap when my eleven year old son texted me from the kitchen. Yes. TEXTED me. From the KITCHEN.
Having failed to get his point across by text, he tried call me. Actually, he tried to Face Time me.
Did I mention I was napping? This a bad time to try to Face Time me.
I did not accept this call (shockingly) so he was forced to walk down the hall and speak to me in person.
He spoke to the mound of covers that was my head. “Mom. Mom. MOM!”
I made an indeterminate noise of reply.
“The stool in the kitchen,” he said.
I poked my nose out and said, “What about the stool in the kitchen?”
Urgently, he said, “You have to come see it.”
Obviously I did not want to do this. I said, “Why?”
He did not wish to clarify. “YouHAVE to come SEE it!” he insisted.
I sighed. “Can’t I come see it after my nap?”
Here’s where the story takes a crazy twist.
Now I’ve had these kinds of conversations with my son more times than I can count. There’s always something that I HAVE to come see, regardless of whether I want to see the thing or not. He will INSIST that I put down my book/ get out of bed / come out of the bathroom/ stop folding laundry/ drop WHATEVER I’m doing, and COME SEE THE THING. He will not be deterred and he will not explain why. I simply MUST see the thing. NOW!!
Whenever this happens, I always end up going to see whatever it is he so desperately wants me to see, and itis pretty much always some trifling non-emergency that requires little to no attention on my part. But that is immaterial. THE THING is not the point. It’s the GOING TO SEE IT that matters.
So when I said, “Can’t I come see it after my nap?” it was pretty much just a stalling tactic. I knew I was destined to be forced to go see what the deal was with the stool. I would not be permitted to sleep until I had SEEN THE THING.
Miraculously, he said, “Okay,” and HE WENT AWAY.
I cannot overstate how unprecedented this was. He AGREED to let me continue to sleep and SEE THE THING LATER.
It was amazing.
I think we’ve made real progress here.
On a side note, after I woke up and went into the kitchen, I asked what the problem with stool had been.
I’ve been strongly resisting any new pets on the grounds that we already have a cat; however, the lack of precedent for this logic was recently pointed out to me.
Me: You don’t need your own pet.
Little Girl: You let ET have her own pet.
Me: We already have a cat.
Little Girl: ET had a hamster. AND a tree frog.
Me: (floundering) But….
Yeah, I lost that one pretty quickly. I hadn’t taken a hard enough line with previous kids, and now history wasagainst me. The argument that I was younger and stupider back then (my only defense!) wouldn’t really fly either.
(And she didn’t even KNOW about how I let her big sisters have a lizard, some fish, and mice at various times in the past. See “The Pet Wars” in my archives for more there. Yeah. I was MUCH stupider then.)
So…. I fell back on the Use-Your-Own-Money-And-That-Thing-Had-Better-Not-Bug-Me defense. It’s all I could do. I told her that if she could buy the pet in question AND all its supplies AND keep it in her room AND keep it clean and fed herself, THEN she could have her own pet.
Long story short…. we havea pair of guinea pigs now.
The good news is, they’re really cute!
The bad news is, her room smells like a livestock barn, and I keep having to buy food for these rodents.