Kids are so weird. Of course the little ones are – a few months ago, they hid potatoes all over, and judging by the increasingly peculiar smell of our house, we didn’t find them all. I’ve come to more or less expect such behavior from them.
Not from my older daughters, though. They are solid, dependable, really good kids. I can, 99% of the time, count on them to behave in a reasonable, upright fashion. Well, maybe 95%.
HOWEVER. Yesterday morning I discovered, via means I wish I could remember but can’t because I’m always a little foggy until about 8am, that my dear older daughters were not eating their lunches.
Shocking, isn’t it? Hey, I may sneak Symphony bars and even the occasional Mountain Dew, but I expect my kids to eat three nutritionally balanced meals each day. I lovingly pack such lunches before school, and their lunch boxes generally come home empty. It turns out it’s pretty easy to dump the yogurt, carrot sticks and oranges in the garbage before they leave the lunch room.
“Dora” yogurt is their favorite, but it’s babyish. (You really should try it if you haven’t. Yummy.) Carrot sticks take too long to chew. Oranges take too long to peel, even the prohibitively expensive clementines I buy. “We might as well be throwing money in the garbage,” I said in exasperation bordering on anger. “You’re growing girls and you need good food!”
How did my daughters take my reproofs? They freaked out.
Kira was absolutely furious and began ranting that I was saying they were going to get fat from eating bad food. Kira does not, and never has had, an extra ounce of flesh on her. Nor have I ever made my weight, or anybody else’s, a big deal.
Lizzy accused me of not loving her anymore. Said I must want her to leave home. “If I didn’t love you I wouldn’t care if you ate healthy food or not, dear.” She looked momentarily as if she thought that was reasonable, but still left for school near tears.
If anything, they came home that afternoon even angrier than before.
I’ll spare you the ugly details, but more discussion, (what I thought to be) ridiculous overreactions, and eventually, outrageous accusations, door slamming and sobbing.
And surprisingly, that doesn’t happen very often in our five-daughter household.
Now, I am a bit of a soft touch when it comes to discipline. I’m not a pushover, but I dislike big drama. This works very well for my marriage, but sometimes the kids get away with more than they should.
Not last night, though. With my husband glowering behind me and echoing my sentiments, I told them, loudly, angrily, firmly, and with the meanest mommy face I can muster, that their behavior was unacceptable and would stop immediately. That was it; no more arguments. Not a peep.
I would like to think I was a bit scary.
I went off to bathe Scarlett and then get Hallie and Sophia to bed. By then I had cooled down, mostly.
Coming down the hall into the kitchen, I was met with an amazing sight: Kira and Lizzy were packing their own lunches for the next day. Happily, proudly, packing healthy lunches and it was all their own idea.
They have been delightful all day today, as well.
I’m still trying to make sense of it, and this is what I’ve figured out so far:
I think it’s good that I don’t yell often, because when I need to it’s more effective.
I think I should have turned the lunch-making over to the girls a long time ago. They clearly do know how to pack a good lunch, and I’ve never really liked doing it, anyway.
I think, despite occasionally taking leave of their senses, they’re good kids.
I think that even when they’re all raised, I’m going to be mystified by about half of what happened during their childhoods.
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