stories

I am  TRYING to teach my children to have good work ethic. It is working for one of them. The others will sit at the breakfast table, waiting for food, hoping my one hard worker, Elisa, will just go feed the dogs already so that breakfast will start already. Yes, I feed them after they feed the dogs. Seems logical to me. The dogs can't fix their own bowls of food. They will starve without the love and care of their family. The kids can eat free breakfast at school if they choose not to work at home. Their choice. Soooo...Elisa has figured out that she doesn't want the dogs to starve, so she sacrifices her time and warmth to go outside and feed them. She feels good about helping them. Eva and JJ have figured out that if they sit quietly long enough, Elisa will jump up and do the job. Every. Single. Time.

So every day for a week, I have pointed that out to them. I have been giving Elisa extra praise and of course, the dog feeder always gets breakfast first, and a star. Five accumulated stars equals one dollar. They are very aware now of the pattern, but JJ and Eva have not shown any desire to change. OK, I can help with that.

The first step: "Oh, Elisa, the dogs are so thankful that you go out in the cold every morning and feed them. They can tell how much you love them. You know what? I can see in their eyes, that they want you to have an extra special treat today because you've been feeding them in the dark cold mornings for a week now. I'm going to make you some hot chocolate so you can warm up. Good job, Elisa!"

Eva's sulky, tearful head went down on the table. JJ started with his wailing "See? That's what I don't like about you! That's not fair!" and on and on, all the way up to his well-earned time-out in his room. Elisa beamed, looked deeply into the dogs' eyes to look for what I had seen, and enjoyed her hot chocolate with her breakfast. I encouraged Eva to eat her breakfast instead of crying as I went up to talk to JJ. He told me that I didn't give him hot cocoa because I didn't like him. Time for another story.

"Imagine that four adults live in this house with you kids. Every morning, all the people wake up at the same time, and go downstairs. You kids go sit at the breakfast table, as usual, telling the adults that you are hungry. Three adults go straight to the couch and watch TV. One adult goes straight to the kitchen and makes breakfast for you, every morning. When you draw a picture, or make something special at school, which adult will you want to give it to? The ones who watch TV or the one that makes you breakfast every day?"

JJ, and later Eva, both decided that the one who shows love and does special things for people will most likely be given special treats. Logical and true, at least in this house.

I've also been teaching them that it's fun to get gifts, and you need to also give gifts to show your love. (Gifts can be anything you give from your heart.) Elisa has been working for money to buy me a gift. JJ said he will draw pictures ... for Grandma and Grandpa. So today I teased them, as usual, saying "Don't be looking at the presents in my closet!" I added, "When you hide a gift for me in your closet, I promise I won't look." Do you think that's a BIG ENOUGH HINT? I crack myself up.

Brennan requires a whole different approach. He's still paying me restitution for the broken window back in March, I think. He's waited until the last six weeks to do $300 worth of jobs. His deadline is December 23, after which I show him love and grace: his balance due becomes zero. Nice, thoughtful, loving Christmas present, right? Well, of course, that gift takes the place of another gift. He can't be given a $95 window-money gift AND a new Ipod. He's still got plenty of gifts coming his way. Every thing he has told me he needs this year will be under the tree. I'll tell you the list after Christmas, because it is a surprise, but just know that he'll have plenty to unwrap and be thankful for. Instead of being relieved, thankful, or at least complacent, he has doubted my love for him in a panicky, angry voice every single day for the last two weeks. He is truly afraid that I only love my little ones and will only give them presents. Well, I have shown him the wrapped gifts with his name on them, I have told him he's got at least seven things to unwrap, I've done lots more to ease his fears. It's not working. His fear is borderline feral, and so is he sometimes. I've been patient and kind and loving. Until last night. I told him a story too. I said "OK, fine. I'll tell you what you want to hear. You want to hear your worst fears confirmed. You want to hear that I don't care about you and only got you socks and underwear for Christmas. You want to know that I got the underwear from Goodwill and that they have butt-stains on them. You want to know that I found an open package of socks somewhere, and they would fit a toddler, and they have pink polka-dots on them. You want to know that I don't care about your feelings this Christmas." And that's all I had to say about that.

Then my eyes popped open at 1:30 this morning, because I obviously wasn't done with my anguish. So I started to pray. The result of the prayers were three letters to Brennan, which I will type as the next three posts. I hope you read this post first, then the next three letters in order. The story will make much more sense.