Kids are adorably awful negotiators. They specialize in terrible, one-sided deals that only benefit their laser-focused teddy bear brains. “I’ll only have ONE sugar-covered choco-blaster, okay Mommy? Only ONE,” six-year-old Molly informed me. With a chuckle, I explained that it doesn’t matter how many junk-filled treats she has, it’s that it’s seven in the morning and she can’t have any! Changing tactics, she came back with “if I eat my yogurt and berries, can I have one?” What’s a parent to do? As Molly watched with puppy-dog eyes, I felt my resistance shatter. “Alright, sweetie. Eat your healthy food first, okay? Then you can have a treat.” Had I done the right thing? Or had I been outmaneuvered by a first grader? New rule: never make decisions before having coffee.
Andy, my three-year-old, has a more direct approach. I was eating a muffin yesterday, and, like a bloodhound, he sniffed me out.
“Can I have some?” he pleaded with owl eyes.
“I don’t think so, bud,” I replied.
“Why not?”
“This has raisins, and you hate those,” I mumbled muffinly.
“No, I don’t!” he insisted.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna whine at me until you get a piece, you’re gonna taste it, hate it, and spit it in the garbage. Am I right?”
“PWEASE can I have some?” he begged, ignoring my statement of facts. With a sigh, I broke off a piece of muffin and gave it to him. Imagine my surprise when my son proved me wrong! Instead of the garbage, he spit the muffin into the sink. Eugh.
Why do I constantly give in to my kids? I’m not trying to raise wheelers and dealers. I’m trying to raise strong, independent people who will make the world a better place. It all boils down to this: fundamentally, Andy and Molly are good, decent people, and I like them a lot. I want them to enjoy life. If a piece of chocolate before dinner is going to make their day, I’ll give in every so often, and make them think they’ve pulled a fast one on good ol’ mom.
I remember needling my mother constantly, too, and she was a much harder nut to crack. Once, I tugged at the exact right heartstrings and convinced her to buy me a two pound bag of brightly colored gumballs. I was in heaven! For weeks, I would sneak into my room and ecstatically chew the rubbery chunks until my jaw hurt. I couldn’t throw my precious gum away, so I stored the masticated, flavorless lumps in my laundry hamper. When my mother washed my clothes and melted the gluey, sticky gum everywhere, there was hell to pay!
So yes, Molly and Andy, today you can have ice-cream for dessert. Yes, you can watch an extra half hour of tv. Yes, if you clean up the living room, you can stay up a little later. Just don’t ask me to buy you a sack of gumballs – I’ve gotta draw the line somewhere!
