It's a Bird

When Sara was four she loved birds. One of her greatest desires was to catch one. To this end, Sara and her friend Kayla spent an afternoon fastening green plastic strawberry containers to the cherry tree. Then they padded the bottoms of the containers to make them warm and comfortable for any bird that claimed a pre-fab nest.

The nest project kept them entertained for hours, so I encouraged them and gladly gave them pieces of stuffing and fabric in exchange for the peace and quiet.

A week or two passed and no birds moved in. All of the containers fell out of the tree except one. Sara faithfully checked on this one, waiting for her bird.  Then one day, when I came home from work, Sara flew out of the door to meet me.

"A bird moved in! A bird moved in!" She yelled, jumping up and down.

She grabbed my hand and I excitedly followed her to the back yard. To think I had doubted! Then she showed me a rather large (chicken size) blue egg sitting in the nest. My excitement faded.

"Oh Sara," I said, "I'm sorry, that looks like a chicken egg. Someone is playing a joke on you."

"No Mom!" She protested, "Kari told me that she saw a bird in my nest and when I came out I found this."

"Did you see the bird?" I asked

"No", she said, getting a worried look on her face. "I better take it in the house and make sure it stays warm, or it won't hatch."

While Sara gathered up the egg, I went in search of her sister, Kari. Sara would not believe that the egg was a joke. Even when Kari confessed to her she refused to believe it. She wrapped the egg in fabric scraps (Kari assured me that it was hard-boiled), and kept it in a dresser drawer until it came up missing.

Kari told her the bird hatched and flew away. Sara cried.

Incidentally, Sara did catch a bird a couple years later...but that is a different story.

To Be (clean) or Not To Be

When my daughter, Anne, was 8 years old, she quit showering or bathing. I would tell her to get cleaned up for bed and she would maybe wash her hands before putting on her pajamas. Sometimes I would hear the water running, but she would come out of the bathroom with the same layer of dirt that she went in with. Our conversations would go like this:

"Anne, Did I hear the shower?"

"Yes Mom, I turned on the shower."

"Anne, Did you get in the shower?"

"Yes Mother, you can't turn on the shower with out sticking your arm in. (Duh!)"

"Anne, Did your legs get wet?" (using the tell-me-the-truth look).

"Kind-of"

"Did you use soap?"

"I didn't see any"

"Did you wash your hair?"

"Mother, you can't wash dry hair! (Duh)"

"Get back in the bathroom right now, young lady and really take a shower - and wash your hair"

"Why?"

"Because I told you so... or else"

The last line varied according to the day:
Nurse Mom: "Because germs get on your body and can make you sick"
Mom with a sense of humor: "Because you smell like a wet cat!"
Philosophical Mom: "The universe decries it to be so."
But, most of the time it came down to: "It's just TIME to take a shower! Either get in or get thrown in!!!"

Showering/bathing became a bigger power struggle every day. Then one day I was reading a book about parenting (I had a big stack). It suggested putting the child in control. It said some things are a choice and some things are not. When possible give them a choice. Well, obviously, I felt showering was not negotiable, but on the other hand, when to shower could be. After some thought I worked out a plan. I went out and bought a calendar and some cute stickers. That evening I sat down with Anne and explained that showers/baths were not an option but which days to shower/bath could be.  The rules were that she needed to clean her body in the shower or bath 3 times a week. She needed to actually get wet and use soap. Hair washing must take place once a week.  She could do it more, but these were the minimum requirements. In exchange I would quit nagging, yelling and threatening.  I thought she took it pretty well. She hung up the calendar and admired the stickers.  Then I waited.

Sunday night I heard the shower go on. I saw a clean child emerge. She had washed her hair! I was triumphant. I went in my room and did a celebration dance.

Monday night I heard the shower go on. I saw a clean child emerge. Wow! This was over-the-top good. She must really like those stickers!

Tuesday night I heard the shower go on. I saw a clean child emerge. Was I dreaming?

Wednesday, no shower, but hey, she was already practically sparkling clean.

Thursday, no shower. I was mildly annoyed, but it was still better than she had been doing.

Friday, no shower. Hmmmm, Oh well, she wasn't really going anywhere tomorrow anyway.

Saturday, no shower.   I remembered that I promised she was in control...

Sunday no shower.

"Anne, remember our agreement?"

"Sure Mom"

"Remember it was about showering/taking a bath"

"Yeah Mom - I got it"

"But you haven't taken a shower in four days?"

"You said, three times a week right?"

"Yeah..."

"And I took one, three times last week. I took one on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday.  See, I put on the stickers. Aren't they cute?"

"They are adorable...   Aren't you going to take a shower tonight? Do you remember it was three times every week?"

"I know, three times every week, just like you said right Mom?"

"I did say three times a week, yes..."

"And I can choose when, right Mom?"

"Yes, but it has been four days now and...."

"And, this week I am going to choose Thursday, Friday and Saturday!"

BIG Black

Years ago when my husband, Rudy, went on a business trip to Italy a BIG black cockroach following him home. I'm convinced it stowed away in his suitcase. Rudy claimed this was an unreasonable accusation and that the roach could have come from anywhere, but the Utah cockroaches I had seen were smaller and paler in color, so I was convinced it was an Italian cockroach (with ties to the Mafia). Anyway, it was a BIG black cockroach and when I saw it I screamed (swore) and threw a shoe. Of course by the time the shoe hit Rudy, BIG black was long gone.

I went into a cleaning frenzy. I scrubbed, scoured, polished, recycled, threw away, bleached and sprayed   until there wasn't a crumb left in the entire apartment. When a couple of weeks had passed without a sign of BIG black, I started to breath again.

One evening, about a month after the cockroach event, I was relaxing in a hot shower. My girls knocked on the door and said something that I couldn't understand. They sounded pretty excited, so I stuck my head out of the shower and there he was, BIG black! I screamed (swore), threw a boar of soap, a bottle of shampoo, cream rinse and the bath poof, and there he sat, not moving one plastic muscle. My girls were in hysterics (of laughter) outside the bathroom door. They managed to clear out of the apartment pretty quick when I opened the door.

Apparently they had found a plastic fly. When they ripped the wings off it looked like BIG black, so they decided to slide it under the door and see how Mom would react.

It was pretty funny, once my adrenalin leveled off.