Thursday, we had the honor of having the cousins over for an afternoon of play. It was a beautiful day outside so we got in some good outside play time along with spending much needed cousin bonding time.
Some of the candy I was given for Valentine's day was graciously devoured by the older munchkins. It certainly was best for my hiney, but I'm thinking I better start some type of list to remind God of the "extra nice" things I did for those jewels to be added to my crown in heaven.
(Just kidding, God)
While Nathan was napping, I was able to pull out of the archives a well-known and over-utilized technique my mother would use on us when we were little. In the afternoons, it was usually my brother and I, along with at least 3 other children my mom babysat. We lived in the country, on 5 acres, with a large fenced in back yard. I didn't like what my mom did at the time, but I certainly understand now why she did it.
She would lock us out. Not for any crazy amount of time, but probably long enough for her to go to the bathroom or make an important phone call that required both hemispheres of her brain.
I've had it on my list of things to do to hang up some princess pictures in Katherine's room for a while and thought, oh good, they're playing outside. Now's the perfect time!
Since Nathan was finally sleeping after skipping his morning nap, it was imperative that he sleep as long as he could. It also seemed that everything that happened in the little lives of the three outside was the perfect excuse to bust through the back door and call my name loudly with much emphasis. Somebody wanted to take off their shoes in the 55 degree weather, or the Barbie jeep got stuck, or someone was playing with the soccer ball instead of the jump rope like
she told him to do. You know, life-shattering stuff.
And what I was doing (measuring, marking and making sure lines were level) required more than a 30-second span of attention.
So, I first warned them then locked the door. Just like my mother used to. (
Never fear, I did open the bathroom window so I could still hear them)
And you know what? They lived. They even thrived better with not having the option to open the door. They problem-solved a little more, there was no blood or injuries, and the 15 minutes it took me to complete my task was good for them and excellent for my to-do list.
There was one altercation that is certainly worth repeating, though. Before the door got locked, one of the excuses to bust through the door was the use of profanity. Maybe I should tell the story of my brother first...
Back when my brother, M, was in elementary school, he got in trouble for saying a bad word. A little boy in the cafeteria told the principal on him and with
many years of experience, she had learned not to ask what the bad word was. So, M was put in the corner, or time out or whatever punishment was popular at the time. My mom worked at the school and a couple of minutes later she came in for her lunch break. She saw M sitting in the corner and asked him what happened. Through sobs and tear-stained cheeks he explained to her that he had said a bad word. It took her much prodding to convince him that he wouldn't get in trouble anymore and to tell her what the word was. He reluctantly whispered "Beanie Weanie." M was released from the corner, the principal felt awful for not clarifying and all was well with lunch time once again.
So fast forward to nowadays when J came squealing inside proclaiming that the girls called him a bad name, and I shuttered. Because really, they do pick up on a lot more than we realize and I still talk to adults periodically like an adult would. Nevertheless, I was interested to know what happened.
I called R and Katherine in to explain themselves.
Me: R and Katherine, did you call J a bad word?
Katherine:
(silence and staring up at ceiling)R: Um Aunt Kelle, we were trying to ride the Barbie jeep and J wouldn't get out of the way.
M: Did you call J a bad word?
R: Well, he wouldn't get out of the way after we asked
nicely for him to move.
K:
(still silence)M: Katherine, did you call J a bad word?
K:
(I'm pretty sure her tongue was super-glued to the top of her mouth or she temporarily forgot the English language: still nothing but blank staring into oblivion)R: But Aunt Kelle, we were trying to go pick some flowers and find more snail shells to take to the...
M: R, answer this one question. Did you call J a bad word?
R: Yes, Aunt Kelle.
M: What did you call him?
This is when the movie-type slow motion started with her mouth moving slowly and the words turned into long, drawn-out, deep tones and all I heard was the first syllable...R: S - T - O - O - P
Flashbacks of Mark getting in trouble, wondering what I had possibly said, wondering what type of soon-to-be-drug-dealing friends our children are hanging out with, wondering what Jim might have said to a guy buddy or co-worker on the phone all flashed through my head like a strobe light. Great, this didn't sound too good. And then she softly uttered the rest of the bad word, not so sure of her possible pending punishment.
R: Stupendous underpants
Now this is when, as a parent, you're not supposed to laugh. I dug down deep, used a wild card and pulled it off without smiling. We then talked about how that made J feel and how we should try to find other ways to resolve conflict without resorting to name-calling.
The rest of the conversation revealed, through much squealing, whining, interrupting and continued blank stares, that J had also called the girls a bad name: booty.
Good heavens!
Jim said he didn't think that J should have taken that as a cut-down, that he'd love for me to call him Stupendous Underpants.
Thankfully soon after, Nathan woke up and we walked to the park down the street.
