Monday, April 30, 2012
The Babysitters Club
Recently, Science Girl and I were stumped about what to do when invited to a friends birthday party on a Saturday night without our boys. Secret Service is fourteen and Sport is ten. I feel comfortable letting either one of them stay home alone but don't feel comfortable about them staying home alone together. I imagine that when together, if not supervised, they might microwave aluminum foil, break out all the lights by playing ball in the house, have an indoor water fight with garden hoses. I imagine that despite many years of almost daily warnings, they will decide to light matches with lighter fluid and aerosol cans or open the front door and usher strangers in off the street.
But, it's hard to find a babysitter for someone who is the age of many of the babysitters. I made an effort to get one of Science Girl's nineteen year old nieces to watch the boys or a grown woman who is our former nanny, but alas, they were busy. This led Science Girl to hire Secret to babysit Sport. I was half satisfied with the notion that Secret would have his eyes on Sport. But, who would watch Secret?
The evening of the party, we returned to a house that was neither burned or flooded, two boys watching a movie, pizza remnants on the counter. We shepherded them to bed and took stock. Science Girl complained that her wallet was empty - $20 for pizza, $20 for Secret to babysit Sport. I smiled. "I got a good deal," I said. "I only paid Sport $10 to babysit Secret."
Sunday, April 22, 2012
The Bank
There is an amazing children's bank, in Denver, Young Americans Bank, the only FDIC-insured bank in the world specifically designed for young people. Everything is child-size, plus there are jars stuffed with candy on the counters and on Saturdays, serving trays filled with small donuts.
We helped Secret Service and Sport open savings accounts there, several years ago. Periodically, when Secret had a windfall in terms of birthday money, we've wrested some of it away from him and coerced him into depositing it into his account.
Sport, on the other hand, has been a more willing bank participant, saving money at home and then cheerfully depositing any surplus. Because of that, Sport takes great pride in knowing that he maintains a higher account balance than his older brother.
Since Sport was more invested (so to speak) in saving, I took the liberty to sign him up for two 1 hour classes there - a banking scavenger hunt and a millionaire game. The bank gives participants $5 to deposit in their accounts for each class they attend and I thought Sport would appreciate that.
He mildly protested when I took him to the first class a couple of weeks ago but yesterday, on the way to the second class, he really balked. Sport said he hadn't been consulted and had never agreed to attend. Upon arriving, he refused to get out of the car. A lengthy negotiation ensued before we struck a deal and he willingly walked into the bank.
After the class, Sport deposited the $5 into his account. The teller asked him what he had learned and Sport said a person would be more likely to make a million dollars if they attended college. On the way home, we talked about when you do well in school you are better prepared to do well in life.
A decent conversation and it only cost me a few hours of my time, some aggravation, and a trip to Target so that Sport could use all the money he'd saved up at home to buy the latest nerf gun.
We helped Secret Service and Sport open savings accounts there, several years ago. Periodically, when Secret had a windfall in terms of birthday money, we've wrested some of it away from him and coerced him into depositing it into his account.
Sport, on the other hand, has been a more willing bank participant, saving money at home and then cheerfully depositing any surplus. Because of that, Sport takes great pride in knowing that he maintains a higher account balance than his older brother.
Since Sport was more invested (so to speak) in saving, I took the liberty to sign him up for two 1 hour classes there - a banking scavenger hunt and a millionaire game. The bank gives participants $5 to deposit in their accounts for each class they attend and I thought Sport would appreciate that.
He mildly protested when I took him to the first class a couple of weeks ago but yesterday, on the way to the second class, he really balked. Sport said he hadn't been consulted and had never agreed to attend. Upon arriving, he refused to get out of the car. A lengthy negotiation ensued before we struck a deal and he willingly walked into the bank.
After the class, Sport deposited the $5 into his account. The teller asked him what he had learned and Sport said a person would be more likely to make a million dollars if they attended college. On the way home, we talked about when you do well in school you are better prepared to do well in life.
A decent conversation and it only cost me a few hours of my time, some aggravation, and a trip to Target so that Sport could use all the money he'd saved up at home to buy the latest nerf gun.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Spring Break
Both children knew we were going skiing over Spring Break. On that Saturday, we packed the car, then took inventory. Ski gloves, check, goggles, check, ski pants, check, ski jacket, what? Secret Service looked up, all wide eyed innocence.
"Where is your ski jacket?" I asked.
He looked at me blankly.
"The jacket I bought you at the end of last winter?"
Still blank.
"The jacket you begged for because it wasn't bulky."
Blank.
"The jacket that cost more than $100?"
Science Girl, Sport and I fanned out and looked in every closet. When none of us had success, we reconvened in the kitchen. I considered increasing the questioning techniques, where was a flashlight to shine in Secret's sleepy eyes? (I found a flashlight but of course it had no batteries in it.)
Secret Service, calm as a well-trained spy in enemy territory, said, "It might be at school." The rest of us turned to look at him. "In my locker." Then, he added, "I'm not sure." Even the dog peered at him as if to say,"What?"
Science Girl ushered everyone into the car, saying we'd stop at the school before driving to the mountains. On the way over, Secret assured us the school would be locked up tight on the weekend. As we drove, I used the time to issue warnings and ultimatums to Secret, lecturing about taking care of possessions and the value of a dollar. Secret maintained that this was all my fault as I had insisted he wear a coat when the weather was 10 degrees. He patiently explained that if not for my insistence, he wouldn't have even taken it to school and it wouldn't be there now.
When we arrived as the school, it seemed obvious that the building was open and there was some sort of event being hosted. When out in the world, Secret is a strict follower of rules so he promptly announced he would not enter the building as he wasn't part of the event. I climbed out of the car to accompany him. Murmering threats of revoking numerous privileges, I persuaded him to walk into the school. We entered the school and in the main hallway, there was an iron gate to the left of the main staircase. Secret turned to me, "We can't get through that way," he said, referring to the gate, "it's all locked up." I looked over. The gate was not fastened. I asked, "Is your locker that way?" Secret said, "no." I tried not to display my impatience. Secret reluctantly indicated his locker was upstairs. He walked gingerly, as if an alarm would sound if he wasn't cautious.
I stayed on the second floor as he went to the third. A few minutes later, Secret re-appeared, the red ski coat scrunched up in his arms. He handed it to me and we raced to the car. Getting in to the front seat, I turned to the family. "What smells?" I asked.
"It's the coat," Secret said, matter of factly, from the backseat. Tentatively, I sniffed the jacket. It was vile. I could not imagine what could have caused an odor like that. I issued inappropriate expletives and demanded an explanation.
He shrugged, clearly unconcerned, offered a brief explanation of a shared locker and something that his locker mate had placed in their shared space. I held the coat out the window and then we stopped the car so I could put it in the trunk.
As I re-fastened my seat belt, Secret looked at me. "What's wrong? We got the coat, everything worked out," he said. Another happy ending.
"Where is your ski jacket?" I asked.
He looked at me blankly.
"The jacket I bought you at the end of last winter?"
Still blank.
"The jacket you begged for because it wasn't bulky."
Blank.
"The jacket that cost more than $100?"
Science Girl, Sport and I fanned out and looked in every closet. When none of us had success, we reconvened in the kitchen. I considered increasing the questioning techniques, where was a flashlight to shine in Secret's sleepy eyes? (I found a flashlight but of course it had no batteries in it.)
Secret Service, calm as a well-trained spy in enemy territory, said, "It might be at school." The rest of us turned to look at him. "In my locker." Then, he added, "I'm not sure." Even the dog peered at him as if to say,"What?"
Science Girl ushered everyone into the car, saying we'd stop at the school before driving to the mountains. On the way over, Secret assured us the school would be locked up tight on the weekend. As we drove, I used the time to issue warnings and ultimatums to Secret, lecturing about taking care of possessions and the value of a dollar. Secret maintained that this was all my fault as I had insisted he wear a coat when the weather was 10 degrees. He patiently explained that if not for my insistence, he wouldn't have even taken it to school and it wouldn't be there now.
When we arrived as the school, it seemed obvious that the building was open and there was some sort of event being hosted. When out in the world, Secret is a strict follower of rules so he promptly announced he would not enter the building as he wasn't part of the event. I climbed out of the car to accompany him. Murmering threats of revoking numerous privileges, I persuaded him to walk into the school. We entered the school and in the main hallway, there was an iron gate to the left of the main staircase. Secret turned to me, "We can't get through that way," he said, referring to the gate, "it's all locked up." I looked over. The gate was not fastened. I asked, "Is your locker that way?" Secret said, "no." I tried not to display my impatience. Secret reluctantly indicated his locker was upstairs. He walked gingerly, as if an alarm would sound if he wasn't cautious.
I stayed on the second floor as he went to the third. A few minutes later, Secret re-appeared, the red ski coat scrunched up in his arms. He handed it to me and we raced to the car. Getting in to the front seat, I turned to the family. "What smells?" I asked.
"It's the coat," Secret said, matter of factly, from the backseat. Tentatively, I sniffed the jacket. It was vile. I could not imagine what could have caused an odor like that. I issued inappropriate expletives and demanded an explanation.
He shrugged, clearly unconcerned, offered a brief explanation of a shared locker and something that his locker mate had placed in their shared space. I held the coat out the window and then we stopped the car so I could put it in the trunk.
As I re-fastened my seat belt, Secret looked at me. "What's wrong? We got the coat, everything worked out," he said. Another happy ending.
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