We follow our heart in showering Jackie with love and attention. It is our prerogative as parents to give good gifts to our children.
Paraphrasing Mathew quoting Jesus: “What father among you, if his son asks for bread, he gives him a rock? So if even those who are evil give good gifts to their children, how much more the Heavenly Father will give you good gifts if you ask of Him?”
We usually don’t go into an extreme, as everything is balanced with reality checks and boundaries. Jackie is a very bright, very confident girl. She soaks up our example and follows our lead with acute instinct. But we’ve touched the far end of a boundary. The boundary of moderation, of temperance.
I picked her up yesterday from school with the plan to take her out on a date. That was my gift for her 5th birthday. It’s something we don’t do with purpose as adults. Kids on outings are a side-dish, an afterthought, an inconvenience especially in fancy restaurants. But these past two years Jackie got a taste of eating out on occasions. She now even role-plays as a server taking up my order. It’s a favorite game to play with the grandparents, and she is quite the “cut and dry” server. She doesn’t take any crap from her clients and tells them off like a comedy. “Are you going to finish that? No, we don’t serve what you want to order. Any dessert for you two? Don’t complain!”
So after we spent an hour in the kids park, we walked down the hill from kindergarten and we reached the heart of downtown. It was a pleasant walk among yellow leafs falling off the chestnut trees, Jackie picked chestnuts, and talked non stop. Then we imagined what the barking dogs are saying on our path, and then we arrived at the restaurant.
She chose the table up above, where we could see the street as well as the downstairs of the restaurant. We ordered drinks, salad and Sicilian pasta. She complained about how long it takes to have the food arrived. Honestly it didn’t take too long. She got excited about her fancy large milkshake but drank my “Kapple” delicious green fresh juice.
I told her about how her daddy and I had our first date at that exact table and we shared a plate of food because we were poor. She really dislikes the world “poor”. One of the kids in kindergarten uses it as a derogatory word. So we talked about what it means to be poor, as a circumstance or as a hard inescapable reality for others. Poor compared to… poor due to… Poor as lack of access to information or shelter and food.
Poverty hooked her on our conversation. But then she turned her back on me to watch people in the restaurant. She fidgeted. She told me she is bored. She said she wished daddy was with us. Then she complained that she doesn’t like her drink and she wants to order a different one. That’s where I drew the line. Going out is a treat, but we make choices and we stick to them. No, we are not ordering new things. She drank my drink and that was fine, but we had a brief talk about finances.
All my childhood I never ate out. Not even once. I was a bit inept in the restaurant table manners and protocols. But I learned fast as soon as I was exposed it all.
Jackie’s attitude got more unpleasant as the evening progressed. She started to whine loud that she is bored and that she wants to go home. Needless to say we first had to ask for the bill, pack what she didn’t eat (most of her pasta), pay, get our coats and then leave. It’s not as easy as: “I’m bored. Let’s go.” We hiked up the hill, and the exercise kept her busy, but as we got to the top she started whining that she doesn’t want to go home and the brattiness surfaced in full force. I had mentioned discreetly, kindly that I don’t enjoy her whiny attitude. I wondered how long is she planning to push her limits. Of course in her 5 year old brain there is no plan, a defined scheme to bring us to where she wants. We all want what we want, even when we don’t know what we want. And if nobody makes us aware that the world doesn’t revolve around us, that everyone is not obligated to please or satisfy our fickle wants, what is to stop us from acting like brat?
My old self would have shouted a while back “Enough!” With that tone that darkens the sky like when Gandalf gets mad. But I had this morbid curiosity to see how long until she breaks with kindness. I used to be a shouter. Used-to-be as in the-last-two-years as-a-mom. I never raised my voice until I became a mom. I have decided in my heart and mind that I don’t want to shout. And my blood doesn’t boil anymore; I don’t get mad. It’s very bizarre the calm I feel.
But I still use some words my parents would use: “we can turn the page!” What page she asked. The page of happy and positive and patient and kind, to the page of upset and consequences.
While she is a kid, relaxing fully in her skin, finding her voice, her power, getting what she wants… I got heavy hearted thinking of adolescence. This is not the type of kid I want to deal with a decade from now. I told her I didn’t enjoy her company while she had a bratty attitude. When we got home daddy took over the bedtime routine. I just went to walk the dog. Upon my return we had a stare-down contest. She told me that I was a “bratty mom”, and she is not going to give me a happy sticker. By now I was immovable. She then asked me if I am ready to apologize. A few times. I said no. There is nothing I ought to apologize for. I have not lost my temper, I have been flexible and ready to connect, I have patiently and kindly explained to her the boundaries. I told her I am pretty saddened by her disrespect and attitude…
And then it clicked.
She came to me and said SHE is sorry. What for? I ask. “For acting up and showing off all night.” She answered. She hugged me tightly, kissed me and went to bed. (Daddy had already read her story, her teeth were brushed and she had pajamas on.) I admit I didn’t like her very much yesterday. But I loved her deeply still. Always. Even when she acts up. To which she likes to respond: “I love you even when I misbehave.”
