Just a few minutes ago, Rocky asked me, "Is Joe Biden Barack Obama's father?"
Make room for daddy at the White House.
Kiki came home from school today and announced that she got the part of Fan, Scrooge's sister, in A Christmas Carol.
"She's dead," she added.
"So it's not a speaking part?" I asked.
"No, she talks."
And I thought Halloween was last month. Kind of a Tim Burton motif, perhaps?
Nita came in from outdoors and asked, "Is Jesus a bad word?"
I told her, "It depends on how you use it."
"Well, I fell down, and it just slipped out."
This didn't surprise me, as she is my strong-willed child, the one with the temper.
I looked at her.
She quickly informed me, "So to make up for it, I did ten Hail Marys, the Act of Contrition, the Apostle's Creed, and to make sure, The Pledge of Allegiance."
Covering both church and state, I guess.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
Simple Gifts
I am one of those people who never can suggest what I want for Christmas.
I do have to say that my sister has always been very creative in her gift giving, but I know that I am difficult to buy for. I just don't care about stuff. I don't wear jewelry every day, I don't collect knicknacks, and I don't care about clothes beyond comfort and appropriateness. I have carried the same handbag for two years--it is a name brand, albeit not a designer bag, and I bought it at Goodwill for two bucks.
Anyway, my point is not to brag about how I am so saint-like in my simplicity, which would be the ONLY thing which would be remotely saint-like about me, but to reflect on something which happened last night.
The children take turns saying grace at dinner each night. Whenever it is Rocky's turn, he comes up with a version, thought up on the fly, which he delivers at warp speed:
D'Gahthankyouforthifooanthankyoufohthisbeaufulday. ..men.
Then he launches himself into his plate. By his own admission, he just wants to get the formalities over with so he can get to the food as quickly as possible. Never mind that the "beaufulday" has been cold, with rain and hail and sleet and a tornado which caused hundreds of thousands of dollars in property damage and several deaths. He just wants to get to the chow.
We have given him a printed prayer to use. He butchers it to the point of hilarity. "Which we are about to receive from your bounty" becomes "which we are about to receive wrapped in Bounty."
It does little to honor the solemnity of the occasion when the girls are falling out of their chairs in hysterics.
We have talked to him about keeping this simple, settling for something shorter from the heart, and asking him during other times of the day what he is thankful for. He can't answer that. We also talk about the option of asking for blessings for others who aren't as fortunate. Consequently, again to be efficient, I guess, he comes up with things like, "I am thankful that we don't live in an area where men come into our house with machine guns and kill us. And the rabbits." I guess these men are dog lovers. Or, "I am thankful that we don't have horrible diseases and we're not color blind." Or, my all-time favorite, "I am thankful that the pool didn't get destroyed by a hurricane today." (It was seventy five degrees, sunny and clear, we live in Ohio, and there were no hurricanes in the weather forecast anywhere.)
So I have been looking at prayers for little children. I am hoping that Rocky won't be forty and still reciting, "God is great, God is good, let us thank him for our food. Amen." However, I did stress simplicity, and if that is the grace which is from his heart, then that is all I can ask.
I do have to say that my sister has always been very creative in her gift giving, but I know that I am difficult to buy for. I just don't care about stuff. I don't wear jewelry every day, I don't collect knicknacks, and I don't care about clothes beyond comfort and appropriateness. I have carried the same handbag for two years--it is a name brand, albeit not a designer bag, and I bought it at Goodwill for two bucks.
Anyway, my point is not to brag about how I am so saint-like in my simplicity, which would be the ONLY thing which would be remotely saint-like about me, but to reflect on something which happened last night.
The children take turns saying grace at dinner each night. Whenever it is Rocky's turn, he comes up with a version, thought up on the fly, which he delivers at warp speed:
D'Gahthankyouforthifooanthankyoufohthisbeaufulday. ..men.
Then he launches himself into his plate. By his own admission, he just wants to get the formalities over with so he can get to the food as quickly as possible. Never mind that the "beaufulday" has been cold, with rain and hail and sleet and a tornado which caused hundreds of thousands of dollars in property damage and several deaths. He just wants to get to the chow.
We have given him a printed prayer to use. He butchers it to the point of hilarity. "Which we are about to receive from your bounty" becomes "which we are about to receive wrapped in Bounty."
It does little to honor the solemnity of the occasion when the girls are falling out of their chairs in hysterics.
We have talked to him about keeping this simple, settling for something shorter from the heart, and asking him during other times of the day what he is thankful for. He can't answer that. We also talk about the option of asking for blessings for others who aren't as fortunate. Consequently, again to be efficient, I guess, he comes up with things like, "I am thankful that we don't live in an area where men come into our house with machine guns and kill us. And the rabbits." I guess these men are dog lovers. Or, "I am thankful that we don't have horrible diseases and we're not color blind." Or, my all-time favorite, "I am thankful that the pool didn't get destroyed by a hurricane today." (It was seventy five degrees, sunny and clear, we live in Ohio, and there were no hurricanes in the weather forecast anywhere.)
So I have been looking at prayers for little children. I am hoping that Rocky won't be forty and still reciting, "God is great, God is good, let us thank him for our food. Amen." However, I did stress simplicity, and if that is the grace which is from his heart, then that is all I can ask.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
And I Pay Money for This
We have carefully considered our options, and we will be putting Rocky into public school.
There were several things which convinced me. First, we spent all summer working with Rocky on academics, bringing him up to grade level on several subjects. This year, Rocky has asked his special ed teacher on several occasions to let him do the same math as the other kids in his class, but she has told him that he needs to do the same math as the other two boys in the "mobile unit". I don't understand the reasoning behind this, and when I was asked, I was told, "He needs to be with his class." Yes, and if he can do the work, why not challenge him by letting him be with most of the kids (aren't THEY the class?), not the kids who are delayed.
Second, the private school has informed me that it is my responsibility to get online every night and make sure he does the correct assignments. When I commented that part of his education was that he needed to write down the assignments and part of his educational plan was that the teachers were to check his assignment book, and that he needed to be accountable, Iso why did I need to get online to check them, I was told, "He may not have them down properly." I repeated that part of his educational plan stated that the teachers double check the assignments he wrote down. They told me they don't have time for that, so I was going to have to do so.
Oh-kay. So when I went online to check assignments, guess what--they weren't there. Guess Rocky isn't the only one who is not doing what he is supposed to.
However, the upshot was when one teacher decided it was her place to give me advice on parenting my child. She sat there and said, "Let me give you some advice. I have raised three kids to adulthood, and all turned out very well. What you have here is a child in puberty. Blah blah blah blah, be consistent, and don't let him get you upset."
I asked, "Have you read his history?" Oh, no, they didn't have access to that. The principal said it was part of his permanent record. At the time, I was trying to be nice, so I refrained from adding that it was all too easy to blame the mother for her poor parenting.
So let me say this now. To all you teachers out there: There are children in our society who have experienced unbelievable trauma. They have suffered physical, emotional, and sexual abuse. They have been neglected, starved, burned, molested, electrocuted, cut, beaten, and poisoned. Like prisoners of war, they have post-traumatic stress disorder, but to add to the horror of it all, these kids didn't suffer this torture from a perceived enemy, but at the hands of a birth parent, someone who violated the most sacred of responsibilities, the parental bond. And if the parent didn't actually do this, they sure didn't protect the child.
Then there are people out there who take in these children and take on their suffering. They attempt to lead normal lives while they, themselves, are abused by these children, who are now taking out their anger and lack of trust on the new parents. Rocky has healed from a lot of his trauma, but on this journey, we have had urination throughout the house, raging for hours and hours, fire setting, false allegations of abuse and neglect, constant battles for control and manipulation, stealing, constant lying, self-mutilation, abuse of animals, and threat of bodily harm to us and our other children. This behavior has been driven by fear and has created a vicious cycle--fear drives the behavior, which we need to address so we can get to the fears, but dealing with the behaviors leaves little time for the fears.
So, yes you have had problem children in the classroom, and you may have had a challenging child at home. Yes, your consistency and clarity about expectations probably did get results. However, they also caused more stress in the child once he or she got home, which makes homework that much harder. We don't tell you how to teach, so why do you think you can tell us how to parent?
So until you can tell me that "pushing your buttons" means that you have been awakened at night by a three year old holding your bread knife to your throat, or that you have to check your shoes for feces before putting them on, or that you frisk your child every hour for sharp objects which he can use to hurt himself or for matches because he set the house on fire not once, not twice, but four times, then don't deign to think that your banal parenting advice can help. Instead, sit down, put your santimonious attitudes about your superior knowledge of children aside, and for once, shut your mouth and open your mind to what you really can do to help a child.
There were several things which convinced me. First, we spent all summer working with Rocky on academics, bringing him up to grade level on several subjects. This year, Rocky has asked his special ed teacher on several occasions to let him do the same math as the other kids in his class, but she has told him that he needs to do the same math as the other two boys in the "mobile unit". I don't understand the reasoning behind this, and when I was asked, I was told, "He needs to be with his class." Yes, and if he can do the work, why not challenge him by letting him be with most of the kids (aren't THEY the class?), not the kids who are delayed.
Second, the private school has informed me that it is my responsibility to get online every night and make sure he does the correct assignments. When I commented that part of his education was that he needed to write down the assignments and part of his educational plan was that the teachers were to check his assignment book, and that he needed to be accountable, Iso why did I need to get online to check them, I was told, "He may not have them down properly." I repeated that part of his educational plan stated that the teachers double check the assignments he wrote down. They told me they don't have time for that, so I was going to have to do so.
Oh-kay. So when I went online to check assignments, guess what--they weren't there. Guess Rocky isn't the only one who is not doing what he is supposed to.
However, the upshot was when one teacher decided it was her place to give me advice on parenting my child. She sat there and said, "Let me give you some advice. I have raised three kids to adulthood, and all turned out very well. What you have here is a child in puberty. Blah blah blah blah, be consistent, and don't let him get you upset."
I asked, "Have you read his history?" Oh, no, they didn't have access to that. The principal said it was part of his permanent record. At the time, I was trying to be nice, so I refrained from adding that it was all too easy to blame the mother for her poor parenting.
So let me say this now. To all you teachers out there: There are children in our society who have experienced unbelievable trauma. They have suffered physical, emotional, and sexual abuse. They have been neglected, starved, burned, molested, electrocuted, cut, beaten, and poisoned. Like prisoners of war, they have post-traumatic stress disorder, but to add to the horror of it all, these kids didn't suffer this torture from a perceived enemy, but at the hands of a birth parent, someone who violated the most sacred of responsibilities, the parental bond. And if the parent didn't actually do this, they sure didn't protect the child.
Then there are people out there who take in these children and take on their suffering. They attempt to lead normal lives while they, themselves, are abused by these children, who are now taking out their anger and lack of trust on the new parents. Rocky has healed from a lot of his trauma, but on this journey, we have had urination throughout the house, raging for hours and hours, fire setting, false allegations of abuse and neglect, constant battles for control and manipulation, stealing, constant lying, self-mutilation, abuse of animals, and threat of bodily harm to us and our other children. This behavior has been driven by fear and has created a vicious cycle--fear drives the behavior, which we need to address so we can get to the fears, but dealing with the behaviors leaves little time for the fears.
So, yes you have had problem children in the classroom, and you may have had a challenging child at home. Yes, your consistency and clarity about expectations probably did get results. However, they also caused more stress in the child once he or she got home, which makes homework that much harder. We don't tell you how to teach, so why do you think you can tell us how to parent?
So until you can tell me that "pushing your buttons" means that you have been awakened at night by a three year old holding your bread knife to your throat, or that you have to check your shoes for feces before putting them on, or that you frisk your child every hour for sharp objects which he can use to hurt himself or for matches because he set the house on fire not once, not twice, but four times, then don't deign to think that your banal parenting advice can help. Instead, sit down, put your santimonious attitudes about your superior knowledge of children aside, and for once, shut your mouth and open your mind to what you really can do to help a child.
Friday, October 31, 2008
That odd clunking sound in the dark part of the house
This morning I got to sleep in.
For those of you unfamiliar with our household, "sleep in" is a euphemism for "lie in bed and grind my teeth in irritation while everyone else makes too much noise for me to rest."
The worst culprit in the noise department is Rocky. We have taken to calling his shoes "tennis shoes," as there is no way that he would wear anything which could be classified as "sneakers." He can walk down the hall in sock feet and create enough noise to wake the dog; part of that may or may not be that Rocky also pinballs off walls, steps on whatever is in his way, and can trip over the design in the vinyl flooring. If that boy were in a coma, he could make enough noise, just by lying still and breathing, to rouse the others in the intensive care unit.
Perhaps I should hire him out.
Anyway, I am convinced Rocky's brain and his body have some form of disconnect which may or may not have something to do with puberty. He can go into his room to get his coat, a simple procedure for many of us. However, he will careen off his desk, knock books out of his bookcase, bash into the dresser, step into his wastebasket and hop around the room to remove it by shaking his leg, and walk heavily enough so the rest of us think he has the entire lineup for the Cleveland Browns in there wrestling wild boars. Twenty or thirty wild boars. With bad attitudes. Probably because we have watched too many horror movies, all of us are loathe to investigate these thuds and scuffles. So, after thirty seconds or so of these odd clunking noises, accompanied by falling items and repeated exclamations of pain, one of us will say, rather shrilly, "What are you DOING in there?"
To which he will reply, "Looking for my coat" in perfectly reasonable tones, as if everyone puts on outerwear with this much brouhaha.
After another minute or so, one of us will then shriek, "Can you do it QUIETLY?" The noise subsides somewhat, sounding like the boars might be winning enough to start enthusiastically rooting through his dirty clothes and debris under the bed. Eventually Rocky will reappear, coat on, looking remarkably unscathed after experiencing all that chaos and dumfounded at our aggravation.
You'd think we'd be immune by now, but somehow we repeatedly get sucked into this same discussion, playing the scenario over and over and over. It makes me think of those people in horror movies--you would think that, after years of watching poor unsuspecting boneheads go into the basement to investigate that scary noise, only to suffer an untimely demise, that people in horror movies would LEARN. I mean, my children have evolved to the point where they are afraid of the basement on general principles. However, history will repeat itself yet again in both the movies and in our lives.
What concerns me is that we are just now at the entry point of puberty. If this keeps up, we may all need protective gear or a group mental health plan by the time he gets into eighth grade.
For those of you unfamiliar with our household, "sleep in" is a euphemism for "lie in bed and grind my teeth in irritation while everyone else makes too much noise for me to rest."
The worst culprit in the noise department is Rocky. We have taken to calling his shoes "tennis shoes," as there is no way that he would wear anything which could be classified as "sneakers." He can walk down the hall in sock feet and create enough noise to wake the dog; part of that may or may not be that Rocky also pinballs off walls, steps on whatever is in his way, and can trip over the design in the vinyl flooring. If that boy were in a coma, he could make enough noise, just by lying still and breathing, to rouse the others in the intensive care unit.
Perhaps I should hire him out.
Anyway, I am convinced Rocky's brain and his body have some form of disconnect which may or may not have something to do with puberty. He can go into his room to get his coat, a simple procedure for many of us. However, he will careen off his desk, knock books out of his bookcase, bash into the dresser, step into his wastebasket and hop around the room to remove it by shaking his leg, and walk heavily enough so the rest of us think he has the entire lineup for the Cleveland Browns in there wrestling wild boars. Twenty or thirty wild boars. With bad attitudes. Probably because we have watched too many horror movies, all of us are loathe to investigate these thuds and scuffles. So, after thirty seconds or so of these odd clunking noises, accompanied by falling items and repeated exclamations of pain, one of us will say, rather shrilly, "What are you DOING in there?"
To which he will reply, "Looking for my coat" in perfectly reasonable tones, as if everyone puts on outerwear with this much brouhaha.
After another minute or so, one of us will then shriek, "Can you do it QUIETLY?" The noise subsides somewhat, sounding like the boars might be winning enough to start enthusiastically rooting through his dirty clothes and debris under the bed. Eventually Rocky will reappear, coat on, looking remarkably unscathed after experiencing all that chaos and dumfounded at our aggravation.
You'd think we'd be immune by now, but somehow we repeatedly get sucked into this same discussion, playing the scenario over and over and over. It makes me think of those people in horror movies--you would think that, after years of watching poor unsuspecting boneheads go into the basement to investigate that scary noise, only to suffer an untimely demise, that people in horror movies would LEARN. I mean, my children have evolved to the point where they are afraid of the basement on general principles. However, history will repeat itself yet again in both the movies and in our lives.
What concerns me is that we are just now at the entry point of puberty. If this keeps up, we may all need protective gear or a group mental health plan by the time he gets into eighth grade.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Next exit, reality
On Friday or Saturday night, I will sometimes enjoy a glass of wine as I prepare and eat dinner.
Today, for a variety of reasons (work, conference call, errands, attempt to lose weight), I ate only 1/2 sandwich for lunch. That was at one o'clock. At seven, after putting supper in the oven, I realized that I had too much wine on an empty stomach, and I needed to eat. So now, I am sitting here in the kitchen, eating my supper before EG finishes work, hoping to head off inebriation before I veer off the road to reality.
Let me point out here that, when it comes to the road to reality, I am most of the time driving in the breakdown lane. Just today, these words came out of my mouth.
"Who's been playing with the Carpet Fresh?"
Of course, everyone replies, "Not me." I swear, if I have another child, I will name him Not Me so I have someone to blame things on.
But I digress from the Carpet Fresh episode.
I added, "Well, one of you has been in the Carpet Fresh. I can prove it because it got all over the toilet seat, and now I have Carpet Fresh IN A RING ALL OVER MY BOTTOM!"
Now, there's a non sequitur if I ever saw one. What me having Carpet Fresh in orbit around my rear end proves about my children being naughty is completely beyond me. However, my statement worked, as Nita said, "I might have ACCIDENTALLY spilled it." Unfortunately for her, the Carpet Fresh was in the bathroom cabinet, in an area which has no carpet within fifty feet. Accident my foot.
Which proves that my children are truly along for the ride as I tool off the road yet again. Not one of them was willing to contradict me for fear I would call them to investigate the situation, I guess.
Then again, maybe they're in the driver's seat.
Today, for a variety of reasons (work, conference call, errands, attempt to lose weight), I ate only 1/2 sandwich for lunch. That was at one o'clock. At seven, after putting supper in the oven, I realized that I had too much wine on an empty stomach, and I needed to eat. So now, I am sitting here in the kitchen, eating my supper before EG finishes work, hoping to head off inebriation before I veer off the road to reality.
Let me point out here that, when it comes to the road to reality, I am most of the time driving in the breakdown lane. Just today, these words came out of my mouth.
"Who's been playing with the Carpet Fresh?"
Of course, everyone replies, "Not me." I swear, if I have another child, I will name him Not Me so I have someone to blame things on.
But I digress from the Carpet Fresh episode.
I added, "Well, one of you has been in the Carpet Fresh. I can prove it because it got all over the toilet seat, and now I have Carpet Fresh IN A RING ALL OVER MY BOTTOM!"
Now, there's a non sequitur if I ever saw one. What me having Carpet Fresh in orbit around my rear end proves about my children being naughty is completely beyond me. However, my statement worked, as Nita said, "I might have ACCIDENTALLY spilled it." Unfortunately for her, the Carpet Fresh was in the bathroom cabinet, in an area which has no carpet within fifty feet. Accident my foot.
Which proves that my children are truly along for the ride as I tool off the road yet again. Not one of them was willing to contradict me for fear I would call them to investigate the situation, I guess.
Then again, maybe they're in the driver's seat.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
I don't want to, but I will...
After putting it off for a long time, I have decided to go back and actually finish my Ph.D.
And I have enrolled, have started the financial aid process, and have committed to starting after the first of the year.
"Committed" being the operative word here.
With three kids, a full-time job, committee work, volunteering, and a house, I should feel overwhelmed. However, I do better when I am intellectually stimulated. Having said that, let me add that my house has been really clean only on several occasions: first, when Kiki was a newborn, and I took six months off work; second, when I have been on breaks from work; and third, when I have been taking classes on top of everything else.
When I am more relaxed, it seems that I have a "manana" attitude about things. I think, "Yeah, yeah, the floor should be mopped, I will do the laundry later, and I'll figure out what to do with those things some other time. " When I am busy, I think, "Better mop that floor now, since I'm here I'll throw in another load of laundry, and this junk is out of here--we won't need it." Plus, I double recipes just in case, and I multi-task when I am swamped.
The strange thing is that I appear to be wired this way--I feel energized and hopeful if my intellect is engaged.
Not that I am a type A personality, though. I do not like competing with others, and I don't get short-tempered. I just zoom through life. A friend once said that, at my funeral, the funeral home directors will be telling me, "Get in here and lie down--we have to put the lid on your coffin now."
So for the next two years, I will be happy. However, will my family be able to stand it?
And I have enrolled, have started the financial aid process, and have committed to starting after the first of the year.
"Committed" being the operative word here.
With three kids, a full-time job, committee work, volunteering, and a house, I should feel overwhelmed. However, I do better when I am intellectually stimulated. Having said that, let me add that my house has been really clean only on several occasions: first, when Kiki was a newborn, and I took six months off work; second, when I have been on breaks from work; and third, when I have been taking classes on top of everything else.
When I am more relaxed, it seems that I have a "manana" attitude about things. I think, "Yeah, yeah, the floor should be mopped, I will do the laundry later, and I'll figure out what to do with those things some other time. " When I am busy, I think, "Better mop that floor now, since I'm here I'll throw in another load of laundry, and this junk is out of here--we won't need it." Plus, I double recipes just in case, and I multi-task when I am swamped.
The strange thing is that I appear to be wired this way--I feel energized and hopeful if my intellect is engaged.
Not that I am a type A personality, though. I do not like competing with others, and I don't get short-tempered. I just zoom through life. A friend once said that, at my funeral, the funeral home directors will be telling me, "Get in here and lie down--we have to put the lid on your coffin now."
So for the next two years, I will be happy. However, will my family be able to stand it?
Sunday, October 5, 2008
The children's school practices "positive discipline." That means that the children who misbehave are given a reflection to write about their poor choices. The form will come home with a statement of behavior at the top, something like, "Took another child's food, chewed it, and put it back on the other child's tray." The reflection which the child must fill out consists of questions, something like, "What happened, who was involved, what did you do, what will you do differently?"
Rocky, who is not a yakker, has filling these forms down to an art form. Part of it is because he has had a tremendous amount of practice, I'm sure. If I don't interfere, the form will go back with these answers, "Ate Nick's food. Nick and me. Ate his food. Don't do it again."
There are two problems with this system. First, the faculty or staff person is supposed to discuss the issue and answers with the child. Notice the "supposed to"--that is because the form somehow vanishes between our kitchen and the school. This may be for the best, as discussing the issue with Rocky can be frustrating--as I can attest. Kind of like pounding myself between the eyes with a tack hammer--the only good that comes of it is that it feels better when I finally stop.
Take the example of Nick and his food. When I asked Rocky the particulars of this situation, he said, "Nick said I could." Then we have the old, old discussion of "If Nick said you could jump off the roof, would you do it?"
Rocky always looks amazed at what is the apparent lack of sense in this question. He replies, "No, because that would be stupid."
Okay...but are you supposed to eat another child's food? No. And what is with the putting the food back on his tray. "Well, those were the beans I didn't chew. I didn't like them."
Apparently, Nick didn't either.
The second issue we have with this type of situation specific discipline is that Rocky doesn't generalize the situation. To him, "Not do it again" means to not eat Nick's food again. This leaves us with plenty of wiggle room, as no mention is made of Dakota's chips or Israel's applesauce or Emma's crackers, or any edibles held by any of the 180 or so upper elementary kids in that lunchroom. Nor is there mention of doing other activities with people's food, such as using Jell-o blocks to construct cities with corn decorations or squeezing juice boxes to shoot fruit punch toward the girls' table. I have to make Rocky add caveats such as "I will not touch anyone else's food." Of course, Rocky will then come home with another reflection and tell me, "Nick's apple rolled away from him today, and I had to sit at the girls' table because I wouldn't pick it up for him, but you said to not touch anyone else's food. Ever."
Pass the tack hammer, please.
Rocky, who is not a yakker, has filling these forms down to an art form. Part of it is because he has had a tremendous amount of practice, I'm sure. If I don't interfere, the form will go back with these answers, "Ate Nick's food. Nick and me. Ate his food. Don't do it again."
There are two problems with this system. First, the faculty or staff person is supposed to discuss the issue and answers with the child. Notice the "supposed to"--that is because the form somehow vanishes between our kitchen and the school. This may be for the best, as discussing the issue with Rocky can be frustrating--as I can attest. Kind of like pounding myself between the eyes with a tack hammer--the only good that comes of it is that it feels better when I finally stop.
Take the example of Nick and his food. When I asked Rocky the particulars of this situation, he said, "Nick said I could." Then we have the old, old discussion of "If Nick said you could jump off the roof, would you do it?"
Rocky always looks amazed at what is the apparent lack of sense in this question. He replies, "No, because that would be stupid."
Okay...but are you supposed to eat another child's food? No. And what is with the putting the food back on his tray. "Well, those were the beans I didn't chew. I didn't like them."
Apparently, Nick didn't either.
The second issue we have with this type of situation specific discipline is that Rocky doesn't generalize the situation. To him, "Not do it again" means to not eat Nick's food again. This leaves us with plenty of wiggle room, as no mention is made of Dakota's chips or Israel's applesauce or Emma's crackers, or any edibles held by any of the 180 or so upper elementary kids in that lunchroom. Nor is there mention of doing other activities with people's food, such as using Jell-o blocks to construct cities with corn decorations or squeezing juice boxes to shoot fruit punch toward the girls' table. I have to make Rocky add caveats such as "I will not touch anyone else's food." Of course, Rocky will then come home with another reflection and tell me, "Nick's apple rolled away from him today, and I had to sit at the girls' table because I wouldn't pick it up for him, but you said to not touch anyone else's food. Ever."
Pass the tack hammer, please.
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