Why is it that kids think that if they just keep asking I just might change my mind? It's always over the most absolutely ridiculous stuff, too. Things like, "Hey, mom, can I mix together every liquid in the kitchen and see what it tastes like? Oh! Can I see if I can get anyone else to try it?" This happened two days ago. I will say, in retrospect, that the fact that their dad actually let them do this may have reinforced their tenacity in making these outlandish requests.The following is a regular tactic applied at our house that for some bizarre reason, my intelligent offspring seem to think I will fall for. Repeatedly.
They ask for something. They ask again. They ask again. Again. Wait, look away. Is that a squirrel in the yard? Point it out. Quick, ask her while she's looking at the squirrel! Ah, didn't work. Try asking again anyway. Scamper off, loop around and then attack her from behind in a surprise attack. Can't believe that didn't work! Find a sibling. Using a rare and short lived burst of filial cooperation try asking mom from two angles at the same time. She cannot say no! Hm. She said no. Launch self onto sibling and attack with much gusto in an attempt to force mom to consent out of sheer desperation. She walks off, having seen this tactic numerous times before and noting that no one is actually getting hurt. Both kids now sit up, and together begin plans for a fresh, two-pronged assault, this one involving the squirt guns... Oh look! Here comes dad! Let's ask him quick, before mom gets to him!
The boys ask for stuff, about stuff, and to do stuff unendingly, and with great zeal and gnashing of teeth.
They fall prone on the floor. There was even that one occasion where there was rending of clothing, but we try not to talk about that. But honestly, it's my daughter who has become my own personal little Sisyphus of pestering requests. She never stops asking. The boys understand reason. Ok, not so much, really, but they can be bought off with the promise of a fun hiking trip with dad, or a trip to the library with dad, or some special time with dad. (Notice any consistencies?)With my daughter, I am starting to think that if I did believe in past lives (which I don't) she would've been some sort of mutant wolverine, donkey, Shirley Temple, pit-bull mix. She gets something in her head and it just never leaves. These days she's decided she wants a guinea pig, a parrot, and a cat. And she wants them right now. She's willing to wait on the first two 'til her next birthday. The cat, she announces loudly and frequently to everyone w
ithin earshot, can wait till our dog dies. I can sort of be ok with the cat one, except that our dog only just turned one and has no plans to cross the rainbow bridge anytime soon if either he or I have anything to say about it. I have noticed the dog is starting to look at her funny when they cross paths, as though he knows that she is vocally and enthusiastically plotting his death. The fact is though, I will never allow any of those animals in this house and I have told her that. Repeatedly. And by repeatedly, I mean on the upside of 987,852,582 times. In the last week.She has finally switched tactics from outright asking. Now she is sidling up to me, turning her biggest, most charmingest smile on me, and saying in her sweetest, nicest voice (the one we hear about three times a year), "Mommy (she never calls me Mommy unless she really wants something good), thank you for getting me a guinea pig and a parrot on my fifth birthday!" And then she runs off before I can say anything. At all. The rat. She's been doing this for almost a week now and I know I am going to screw up. One morning when she's pulling her scam before I've had my wake-up brew, she's going to say her spiel, gauge the timing right in that canny way my kids have, and she's going to linger just long enough for my to say, "You're welcome, baby." And then it will all be over.
Because these short people that live in my house are not only professional askers, they are also apparently part of a secret coalition of tiny lawyers that take up residence in unsuspecting people's homes. Maybe she has a little shark in her, too.
