Thursday, September 19, 2013

My Name Is...What? My Name Is...Who?

I currently hold in my possession a bike that is the source of much consternation amongst the children of my household--those who visit and those who live here. It was a Christmas gift to my youngest child, thinking he'd get a few good months of play out of it before he, as kids are wont to do, grew tired of it and moved on. Never in our minds did we imagine that this bike would become the main focus of an ongoing war over who gets to ride and for how long. And never did I imagine that I would become the referee over said toy. Almost every day since this bike was introduced into our home, a child has come into the kitchen (this is where I live, the other rooms in the house are just for show) to 1) complain about another child who has been riding for too long/too fast/too crazy and is not sharing and 2) to manipulate me into doing something about it (i.e. take the bike from the non-sharing participant and give it to the complainer, who obviously has sharing under his or her belt). And almost every day since the inception of this arguement, I have told the parties involved that 1) it's not my deal and 2) to figure it out on their own. Obviously this particular path isn't the most effective, but honestly, my brain cannot take and process this information. There is too much other stuff going on up there to be particularly concerned about time limits, sharing and bikes.

The bike in question, in it's secret location.

Yesterday, my children took matters into their own hands. They decided that they didn't want to share the bike with anyone else. Period. (When questioned later on this particular method, they both got wide-eyed, smiled and said "But we weren't fighting over it, mom!!" like I was supposed to be real proud of their behavior and say "Hey! High-five! You've taken sharing to a whole other level. Proud. So proud."). You can imagine my surprise when I walked into my very own laundry room only to discover that this was the place they had decided to stash the bike. Clever. Because what kid would think to look in the laundry room for a bike? Anyway, I didn't do anything about it right away, as I reference the above: 1) not my deal and 2) figure it out on your own. But when my daughter came into the kitchen later to say that the neighborhood kids were looking for the bike so they could ride it,  she then had to confess that they had actually hidden it so no one could use it. Sigh. Do we really have to go over the rules of sharing this late in the game? She then explained that the kids were grilling my youngest about the secret location, which he would give up under NO CIRCUMSTANCES. He stays strong under pressure. My daughter, on the other hand, was starting to crumble, which is the reason she came into the kitchen in the first place. She needed to regroup. And while she was in there, she told me of the conversation unfolding outside:

AB: Mom, they're asking where the bike is!! They say that they're gonna ask you!!!!

Me: Okay...

AB: But they don't know what you're name is! Or at least what you like to be called. So they asked me!! And I didn't want them to come in and ask you!! SO I SAID I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT YOUR NAME IS!!!!!!!

Well played, my child. Well played.

I guess she thinks I might crumble under the pressure of 8-year-olds, too, and that perhaps I couldn't keep the location of said bike under wraps. Or perhaps she knows that I would probably share.

The pressure was getting to her. She was coming unhinged. I get that. But I think your story has a few holes in it when you say that you don't know what your own mother's name is.

Excuse me while I break out into a Slim Shady rap, complete with my very own scratching sounds, cause this mom is cool like that:

Hi! My name is... (what?) My name is... (who?)
My name is... [scratches] Slim Shady
Hi! My name is... (huh?) My name is... (what?)
My name is... [scratches] Slim Shady

 And you know what? After this rapping episode, my kids probably won't have to worry about sharing with any friends anymore...

2 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. You know the funniest thing is that she didn't seem to think it odd that she just told everyone outside that she didn't know my name!

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